A shallow existence consumes me. Fervor lies and swallow-tailed choices make up most of my life until now.
Then... She found me.
My puppet master, my Queen. She gave me purpose once more, a meaningful life. She needed a knight steadfast to her whims, I became one. I became her Knight.
She held me by her strings. But I am not bothered by it. I gave her my loyalty, my life. She fixed my broken psyche, held it by her silk. Fingers danced through the linen strands that I adore and worship. She is calling my assistance, my power, my Being.
"My Queen." I said with conviction and worship. "What do you desire?"
After those words left my mouth, I knelt in front of her throne. My eyes not worthy to look at her. She is my Queen after all. Blasphemous eyes of a Heretic such as mine cannot dare to look.
"It's time," Her voice vibrated to my body, added with her tugging the strings wrapped around some parts of my body. "For me and my subjects to take what is mine. After all,"
"What is a Queen without a kingdom to hold?"
She is the one for me. Her luscious hair drenched in the blood of her targets, her angular face and edgy eyes that held a sharp side that no other blade can replicate.
Don't let me get started to her lithe body, even though I am much more muscular and held the height advantage over her. She made it her most dangerous asset, with a nimble foot across the battlefield, her prey won't even detect her presence.
A dangerous and beautiful blade indeed.
I find her interesting at first, with both our countries at war, which was a fleeting emotion I told myself. Soldiers and footmen have very short lifespans in this type of profession.
But I was wrong. Every time our legion goes head first to battle, taking the full frontal assault, I can see her dance with death. A dance that reeks with bloodshed and overwhelming desire to kill. I am not a stranger to death, but if one of us get caught with that? We would be buried by blades.
Blades of my demise. Blades of my bewitching and beloved Assassin.
Cold...
Ruthless...
White...
Harsh...
The very definition of Winter in my own words. The harsh weather reminded me of my time as a soldier, a footman. Enduring the weather by the standard breastplate and cold-resistant clothes, heated rations and a boiling hot cup of a concoction even today I don't know.
Snow crunched below my feet, dragging my shivering body forward. I needed to find shelter, a safe haven.
In my time in being a soldier, this territory housed an outpost that held supplies and rations. But that was a long time ago, it might be abandoned.
But I cannot falter, the surrounding trees now familiar.
'Just a little more,' Movement slowed, and joints freezing. I charged forward, familiar tenacity coming forth. 'Over the treeline, a few klicks away. Just let me see that flag.'
A surge of blackness crept to his vision, halting all movement. He struggled to venture forward, but his body is wavering. He dropped head first to the snow filled clearing. His mind swimming with thoughts on how things should have ended.
He didn't even saw the Hawk perched on the high branches of the tree above him.
Or heard the fast crunches of snow coming towards him.
All he know was that he saw a black wraith with gold accents coming towards him.