fourteen: not a fairytale
notes: i realised that there isn't many angst-themed chapters anymore, so this was made to make up for that!
.
so that they are instantly wrapped in red.
.
He's surrounded by pretty girls, swathed in silk and smooth fabric and flowing dresses, with their hair pulled and teased into pretty, elaborate hairstyles, all surrounding him and flapping their fans around. She watches from the back, faded azure eyes emotionless and pristine, as he laughs politely at something a girl in a bubblegum pink dress says.
He's a prince and a heir to the throne: he's quite popular among the citizens in the town and his father was getting old; he would be about twenty-one next Saturday, she realises, peering at her fingers. The person to inherit the crown was originally his elder brother until he passed away from a terrible sickness a year ago. She looks at him silently, her back leaning against the pole. Her captain and chief soldier, Luki, walks up to talk to the prince and swats the girls away a little.
That's what she is. A soldier meant to protect humanity from danger. She used to dress in pretty gowns and dance in ballrooms, but now she's a soldier she's not allowed to do that anymore. Or maybe she just doesn't want to. She joined the military to get rid of her old, girly life, she chopped her hair off to stop being the girl she was previously, she did all of this because she wanted to be responsible for something, wanted people to rely on her for once.
And she falls for the prince — or Len, his name — the one she's supposed to protect. Things sure are going her way.
Luki makes a few hand gestures and the prince nods quietly, sunshine falling onto his face. She gets why so many girls are fawning over him, because he's not only unfathomably handsome, he's also beautiful, like a carved statue. Naïve and handsome, of course everyone would like him and want him to rule them. And it's all the more reason why she shouldn't harbour feelings for him. He's completely out of her league.
She repeats that in her head, over and over again that it must be etched into her head, but when he looks her way and shoots her a charming smile — tired, exasperated (probably at Luki's exaggerating speech about war and his safety again) and yet still unbelievably handsome — she forgets what she's been repeating over and over again in her head and has to remember again.
He's of noble blood and she's just a plain soldier, and there's nothing that can change that. Yet, she's still in love.
.
(x)
.
War. Blood everywhere. Screaming. She's in a living nightmare.
She's running, tripping over the bodies and herself, panting and panicked. She calls out for him, her voice insignificant and tiny against the war cries and the sound of swords clashing together, but she still screams his name until her throat burns and aches and her voice catches. She nearly breaks into tears but she doesn't, and she continues to run, continues to shout, her heart hammering with worry.
She ducks past a few fighting soldiers and behind a tree, she finds him and a chill blows in her chest. He's straddled by another man who's trying to kill him, and the prince is pushing the man's hands away with gritted teeth. The man finally finds his strength and thrusts his hand, the one holding the dagger, downwards, towards the prince ... And she dashes forward at that exact moment.
She's too late ... I'm too late ... He's going to die ...
She shrieks and plunges her dagger into the opponent, whose blade barely scratches the prince's neck, so that they are wrapped in red. He props himself up with an arm and sits up so that he towers over her, his gaze filled with awe and wonder and gratefulness. She pants, her hand still clutching the blade that's lodged in the dead man's back, and he gently removes them from the handle, holding her tiny hands in his bloody ones.
"Miku," he says, quietly, whispering, and she's suddenly crying. "Miku Miku Miku," he repeats, pulling her into his chest, murmuring and breathing into her ear, hands shaking as he buried his face in her hair, not caring about the sweat and the blood. She looks up at him, tears streaming, and tries to find words.
"Len," she says, testing his name on her tongue and he smiles. "I ... I ..." She breathes in, ragged and pained, stumbling over her own words with wide eyes. He cups her face and wipes away the stream of tears that's trickling down to her chin, leaving a trail of red but she doesn't mind.
"I know," he says gently and bumps their foreheads together. She bites on her lip and smiles, first hesitantly, then more and more widely that the tears come back again.
He's of noble blood and she's just a plain soldier, and there's nothing that can change that. Yet, they're in love.
fin.