His name was Steve Burnside, and she thought he was downright irritating – annoying, to be nice. He was loud and careless, young, and there had to be something wrong with him – he was a prison inmate, for crying out loud!
Still... there was something special about him. Maybe it was his smile or his laugh, or the way he declared himself "Prince Steve" and celebrated like a rowdy child. Maybe it was the way he was so willing to fight the zombies... maybe it was the way they fought together, as if they were meant to fight together.
Maybe it was the way he called her "Princess Claire".
She didn't notice what her heart was telling her. She didn't have time for it. And when she looked back at it, all those years later, she always wondered how she had missed the clues, the evidence. When did their relationship go from forced allies to friends?
When did she fall in love with Steve?
She'd always been told that princesses were girly, in lacy pink dresses with heavy golden crowns glittering atop their heads. She had known she wasn't a princess, and yet Steve had called her that. She didn't like princesses – a princess was no good at shooting, or running, or surviving for that matter – but... it didn't matter. She had liked it when he called her that. She had liked everything about him.
His laugh, his smile, the way his eyes glittered with emotion. He wasn't very good at hiding how he felt – if he was scared his voice rose an octave; if he was angry his eyes glittered with frustrated tears. They had only been together for a few days, but she grew to love the red-blonde colour of his hair, that one earring. The way he was comfortable with a gun, and even if he scared easily, he didn't run, standing his ground and ready to defend her with his life. He was brave, caring – he didn't belong in a prison.
Why did it take his death to get her to realize that he loved her too?
She didn't notice, of course; didn't notice the way his laughter and his jokes seemed to soften just for her, the way he started to put himself on the frontlines to make sure she was safe. It was a tense moment, minute, hour – day. Claire had only been concerned with survival, nothing more, knowing full well that if she slipped up – if she let her guard down for an instant – they would die. Even if she felt the faintest bit like she loved him, she had crushed it, firmly believing that everything would turn out okay in the end. They would have time for it later.
They didn't.
She had frozen when she had seen him, that heavy axe pinning him to the wall. Rooted to the spot, all she had eyes for was his eyes, dull with pain and panic. She had only heard his voice – soft, exhausted – as if it were the only thing in the world. It didn't matter if her brother was with her, the brother that she wanted to be just as strong and tough as. All that mattered was Steve.
She had felt her heart breaking, simply shattering like the stone column when he mutated, roared and attacked. There was no recognition in his eyes anymore, no more love, no more caring – only pure murder. The pain of the axe slicing at her jarred her out of her shock, told her quietly and calmly that he was an enemy now. She had shot him because he attacked her, shot him until he reeled and fell, momentarily stunned and dazed. But she couldn't finish him off just like that. He was still Steve. She wavered. She let her guard down.
Alexia's vines took the opening in her moment of doubt, grabbing her arms and legs and pulling as if to rip her apart. Claire wanted to fight but... couldn't. Steve wasn't hers anymore; he belonged to Alexia. She was helpless. She would die soon – by Alexia or by Steve, it didn't matter – so why fight? When he stumbled to his feet and moved to strike, she closed her eyes, waiting for her the end.
Instead, she felt the sudden weightlessness of falling, the hard impact of the cold stone ground against her back. Her eyes shot open in disbelief; she was alive, how could Steve have missed? He looked so proud of himself, though, standing above her. Proud. That was the Steve she knew; "Prince Steve is here to rescue you!" Even mutated and murderous... he was still hers.
And then he wasn't, Alexia's vine stabbing into his stomach – sending him back to that accursed stone column – and retreating. He was shrinking, the blood pooling from the hole in his stomach, bare skin still lined with blue veins. He was cold – he was shaking – it couldn't be, that he had saved her, he'd come to her rescue – one last time – and...
It couldn't be.
She barely heard his words over her own pounding heart, her mind screaming, her ragged breathing. She could see his lips, those final words.
I'm glad that I met you... I... I love you...
And then that wonderful sparking light had gone out of his eyes, his hand had dropped from where it had been caressing her cheek as if to wipe away a tear. It couldn't have been that easy. Not after all they'd been through, he couldn't be gone, not so easily! Even as she cried for him, buried her face in his shoulder, she could feel his skin getting cold, couldn't feel him breathing. Even when her mind screamed no, she knew it was true.
Alexia had taken him. Alexia had taken Steve from her, and her broken heart froze solid. Claire wasn't going to cry – only Princesses cry! – when she could be doing something better. She vowed it, before she lost her resolve – she would kill Alexia. She would avenge him, just like Steve knew and expected her to. That was all that had been on her mind during that final battle, fighting the sick creature who laughed like a human girl. The creature had taken her Steve.
She would take its life. With that in mind, it was simple - she did what she wanted, she killed the creature with cold satisfaction.
What did she expect, that because the evil villain was dead, her prince would come back to life? No, she wasn't a child – she knew death when she saw it, knew that there was no miraculous return. But even so, she had run back to where they had left him, expecting to find a dead body that deserved a proper burial.
Instead, she found a final insult from the third party in the game.
His body was gone, taken.
When the fight drained out of her, taking with it the ice that had frozen her heart, her anger, all she had left was sorrow. The boy she loved was dead, and she didn't even have a body to bury. She had never told him she loved him. She hadn't even realized it until he said it first. When her brother was gone, when she was finally alone, she simply collapsed and cried, feeling the water tracing its way down her cheek like his hand just before...
He had been moving as if to wipe away a tear. The memory pushed itself to the front of her mind and she smiled, a weak, watery smile as she sniffled and brushed it away herself.
Maybe Steve knew all along that she would cry. Maybe he wasn't so wrong with thinking she was a princess – his princess.
Princess Claire.