Note from .Snazzy: I haven't written in a while. In fact I haven't read this book in a while either. Funny story I don't even have access to this book anymore so the one section where there should be dialogue was replaced with some of my own clumsy non dialogue words. It was an effort. Hope you can enjoy, possibly review.
Not A Grace
Her eyes couldn't stop following him around the room. She looked on not in rapture but in disgust. It was disgust at his leering eyes and straying hands that kept her watching.
He was invited by the king; a cousin of hers. A distant cousin she hoped. He was to dine with them and discuss politics or whatever men did in their oh so important time. As a young girl of nine, Katsa didn't really know but she knew she didn't wish for that stuffy life. She would never get it either; not with her eyes, one of blue the other of green, eyes of a Graced, eyes of evil most thought. It was really the only thing she could thank her eyes for. While she didn't have any friends and people automatically strayed from her, at least she wouldn't go into politics. She didn't even have the comforts of an actual Grace since it had not realized itself yet. She hoped that day would come soon with some unique but magnificent gift that would make up for her loneliness. She didn't know what could be so great but at least there was that possibility.
So he strode; he strode around the room pinching waists here, whispering filth into every young pretty ear. Katsa hoped he would not come over. She bristled at the very thought. No, he should leave and leave quickly. But here he came.
With a saunter he saw the young girl and stalked over, drinking her in with his eyes. His mouth moved spewing filth that wasn't translatable to Katsa's ears. At his every word she grew uneasier until his presence was like a sickness she needed to rid herself of. He reached for her and time sped up. Before she knew it her hand had made its way forward, brushing his away while her other hand shoved itself into his face. Her only thought was to stop him, to make him leave, to get away. And he did.
He lay there twin streams of blood flowing from his nostrils, all pomp gone now that life had left. The maids that had despised him a seconds ago shrieked. It was harder to hate a dead man. A man killed by the hands of a 9 year old. Katsa stared. She thought to scream but she wasn't the victim here, was she? Her hands were stained with blood that had come too easily. Killing was not a Grace. Bodies weren't supposed to be that fragile under little girls' hands. Killing was not a Grace. And as she saw the king's guards finally step forward to take the killer away she wished that it was just a big joke, just a laugh. Because her hands weren't meant to be stained in blood. Killing was not her Grace.