'Athos' she awoke with his name on her lips, as she did often. Her first and only kiss. A 22 year old virgin was practically unheard of in this age.
How she hated him. He who had betrayed them, she and Rene. He had wormed his way into her heart, made a home there, in the short week he and Porthos had stayed with her family. Less than six months later he had written the short letter that served to notify her and her father of Rene's death.
Her father had succumbed to the madness of grief, leaving his daughter to care for him until he too died shortly after. She kept the manor. Kept it as it was, she visited every so often, to the joy of her small town, who awaited the day she would bring home a husband.
She had come across Athos, blind drunk, stumbling back to his rooms. She had held a knife to his throat, so close to spilling his blood right there in the street. It was dark, it was the perfect opportunity. But she wanted him sober, she wanted him to know who was bringing about his destruction, and why. She doubted he would remember her, or Rene.
She had pushed him forward, leaving nothing but a thin cut to one side of his neck, easily healed. He stumbled after her as she fled, shouting into the darkness. He recognised that scent that had enveloped him, memories stirring in the depths of his mind, but he stumbled back to his lodgings and slipped into drunken sleep before they rose to the surface.
Athos awoke with his mind flooded with images of a beautiful young girl, and intelligent woman who had captivated him. Who he had almost become betrothed to, whose brother he had all but killed. She was here. His soldierly senses had been dulled by the wine last night, but this morning he could smell that unmistakable scent upon his clothes. He had wanted so often to return to her, to take her to the city, to make her his wife. Now it seemed she was here, and was preparing for revenge. So many years he had wondered what became of her, now he had the answer, he did not like it at all.