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“What do you MEAN it’s illegal to sell drugs?!” “Not just any drugs, your drugs specifically!” “What’s wrong with my drugs?! They help people stay awake, alert, & strong! Is there something so wrong about selling a helpful drug people need?” “Well to begin with, you just decided to go out into the streets & sell these drugs, breaking several laws. And while your drugs may be able to do those things, they also cause blood vessels to burst, exploding hearts, & sever brain damage.” “…they were weak people.” “One of your customers was Tom Coldwell! The most durable man in history! He specifically took your pills because of how dangerous they were & began to bleed out from every orifice in his body!” “How much did he take?” “3 pills!” “Ok! Is my drug strong? Yes. But any drug can be dangerous if someone takes more than the recommended amount!” “3 pills were recommended for a casual jog.” “…I still don’t see the problem.” “You’re still going to jail.” “For selling some slightly strong performance enhancers?” “These enhancers are 1000 times stronger than 50 lbs of cocaine & meth combined, 2 very strong illicit drugs!” “Meth & cocaine is illegal?” “Oh my god.”

Yes

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i don't know how to leave

^s^a^v^e ^y^o^u^r^s^e^l^f

thanks Fox, I went through and made a few corrections. Hopefully it reads better now

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Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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"W-why?" More so than a word the question came out of my mouth as a gasp of air. My lungs have been punctured and yet the physical sensation of pain failed to startle me as my mind was in much further despair than what any pain could have brought it.

Yet she still heard my plea. She answered "Why? Must you truly question my reason for punishing you in this manner? Or has your mind truly degraded to the point that you do not see the hypocrisy and naivety in your voice?" Her tone was cold like the thin metal blade edging itself in between my cracked ribs. As she spoke her purple, wet lips practically danced on her crimson-red face as if a graceful butterfly or perhaps the petals of an exotic flower in the gentle breeze of the wind. Behind those pearly yet also milky teeth hid her long tongue. That even as it spat such hurtful words still seemed so gentle and full of care like a mother cat bathing her kitten.

She frowned. I panicked. Why? Why was she unhappy? Her statue-esque face ruined by the wrinkles on her cheek. Like cracks and tears they appeared on her forehead. And the lines underneath her eyes sullied her godlike beauty. "Disgusting" her voice reverberated through my ears and as if an endless echo the word kept repeating over and over in my mind. "It seems I was incorrect. I would usually ask for your forgiveness after I made an error in my judgement. Especially so when the error is major. Yet it seems that my fury has gotten the best of me and I no longer see you as someone who deserves my politeness. I claimed that it was your love that was to blame for your fate at the tip of my sword. But that is incorrect. In truth, it is your lust. Your mindless fascination with me. Your eyes that dart around groping my body are no better than a flea bitten mutt that is humping it's hips, grinding at the leg of it's master. You are nothing more than a pathetic animal. Unable to overcome your wild impulses. Controlled by instinct rather than reason."

Her entire body was filled with hatred. Her long smooth arms that were envied by even the prettiest of swans had tensed. Why? Her slender fingers strained as they clutched at the handle of the weapon. Why? Her straight back that carried with her, her royal air was hunched. Why? Her succulent thighs and her strong yet brittle in appearance legs seemed contorted at the unsightly tense angle they were in. Why? Why? Why?! Why must she tarnish her figure?! Why much she betray my love like so?! Why does she dare to pollute what is rightfully mine?!

"You're fucking sick and you have no fucking clue, do you?" With those words she plunged the metal through me. A cold shiver froze over my body. Not for the reason that the blade had made it's exit through my spine. Rather because it she was gone. My love. My muse. My goddess had vanished with the disappearance of her eloquent speech and the wiping of that aura that magnified her matriarchal stature.

So in my final moments...

I could not help but loathe that heinous slag!

(I’ll do one per comment. And I’m starting with my absolute favorite that you posted, the third.)

“So. . . the god of death. . . is lovesick.”

Charon had to fight the urge to strangle this woman. Her tone was so freaking condescending, Charon (“of the infinite patience”, as his boss liked to call him) was on his last nerve.

And he didn’t even have nerves anymore!

“Lord Hades is the god of the dead, Ms. Karen, not the god of death itself,” he explained for the umpteenth time. “And yes. For half the year, Lord Hades is pinning for his lover, in Olympus.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. “And this effects me how?”

Charon of the infinite patience was about to punch a mortal woman’s soul in the face.

“It effects you,” he explained slowly, “because Lord Hades has a very short temper for people like you. People with your attitude, you self-centered cow. Now, get through the gate to Asphodel before I throw you to the depths of Tartarus myself.

“Go. Now.”

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scorpion_and_the_Frog

The inherent evil nature of man, mutually assured destruction.

There was a legend of the 5 rings clan called the scorpions whose motto was “I can swim”

Glad you liked it. I could continue this if people wanted a part 2.

2/2

"By the look of you I would hazard to guess that you're an Akkadian," I said.
With a thought I gave him his tongue back.

"You can kill me, but we will never stop until we give you your final death," the man said in English that sounded American, or nasal enough to pass as such.

"We have an opportunity here for a palaver and that is what you have to say to me?" I asked.

The Akkad descendant -how many generations down his line would he be- gave me his best sneer of proud defiance. I started the outboard engine and forced him to return to his seat and steer our course further out to sea. Akkad children did not always work alone, some of my worse encounters had been from sibling pairs.

I raised my voice over the wind and the engine noise. "Do you even know why your family has spent so many generations hunting me?"

"We have to save the world from you," the Akkad assassin glared at me with zealot intensity.

"I've heard that one from your family before," I nodded. "But you have been saying that for millennia now. Has your family long forgotten why you hunt me? Because I certainly have if I had ever known why."

Confusion on his face, but only for a moment before the sneer and pride reasserted.

"You want to trick us, make us think that this is all some kind of mistake," the Akkad man tried to spit at me but I did not permit him to. He settled on calling me a bitch, then a cunt, then a few terms I had yet to learn but were most likely more of the same.

"Spell it out for the old bitch then," I prompted. "What did I do that makes all these tens of centuries worth it?"

"What? No, it's not what you did because you haven't done it yet," the Akkad man said.

"Come again?" I prompted.

"You are going to be the ruin of the entire world if we don't stop you," the Akkad man said. "We're running out of time, but fuck it. I bet I came closer to killing you today than all my ancestors. Maybe it will be one of my grandkids or-"

I cut his speech short with a thought to freeze his face for a moment. I forced him to cut the engine so I could speak lowly, and slowly.

"Am I to understand that more than four thousand years ago your family took up this fucking hunt because of some vague prophecy?"

Even after I gave him his faculty of speech back the man took a few moments to compose his words. "The last of our line sent a dream to our progenitor, every new age something from the dream comes true. Every century we see proof. We can't stop until you can't take away the future of everyone yet to be born."

For a moment memories overwhelmed me. Memories of all the children I had lost, the husbands, the wives, and all of their futures taken from them in order to get to me. I wanted to rend the man before me, to flense his flesh away and dip him in the salt ocean to hear his screams. I took a breath and set those feelings in the field they belonged in and not in this moment.

"Have you considered that this is is becoming a self fulfilling prophecy?" I asked.

"It is because of your family I stopped having families. It is because of your hunt that I have to distance myself from people. From love. From my own humanity. What if, some day far from now, I just can't take it anymore and I burn down the entire granary just to get you, the rats, out of my life? Has that been explained away in whatever dream your ancestor had?"

The man stared at me, uncomprehending. What had I expected of him, some epiphany? Some doubt for the cause he had been born into, raise for?

"We are going back ashore," I said. "You will go home and you will hold your children in your arms. I want you to think hard on how you would feel were they to be taken from you. I want you to think on how that would feel to happen again and again. And when your family's mind sickness makes you want to turn those feelings into redoubling your pursuit of me, I want you to reflect on how long before you turn me into the hunter. Just so I can have someone to hold in my arms again without waiting for your family to take them from me."

I sat down next to him while I made him turn on the engine and turn the skiff about.

"A dream sent from the future," I said to myself. "Some Akkadian has a nightmare and passes that on to his entire line. Who has he made suffer more I ask you. Has it been me or has it been his descendants giving their happiness generation after generation to make that nightmare come true. Just something to think about when you see your family."

"But if I can kill you that all goes away," the man said to me.

"Of course," I patted his knee and put my head on his broad shoulder. "Because if you can't tell yourself that what else did all your ancestors die trying to accomplish? Just like everyone else. One more conquest. One more genocide. One more ethnic cleansing. Then, oh then, the nightmare will be over and all will be Elysium. Please tell me of any such success."

The man brooded, his body locked in my spell.

"Of course," I sighed.

The docks were a few minutes more away. I could at least enjoy some simulacrum of company with the man, as a symbol of another constant in my life even as the centuries rolled on like seasons.

Read this to my Fiancé and they loved it. Beautiful story, very funny and very cute.

Nature is my only constant. The feel of sand under my feet and the sound of waves breaking on the beach is the same as the first time I ever heard it. Empires rise and fall, languages change like clouds in the sky, everything about the world people create is in flux and always will be. But the sensations of nature orient me, focus me. Every time I begin to feel myself becoming lost in memory I retreat to the closest place I can to feel nature's hand.

The whipcrack of a bullet barely missing my head is also the same as the first time I had been shot at, centuries ago. One hand goes to cover my ringing ear as I run into the surf. I don't hear the second shot but I see the fountain of sea spray come off the wave ahead of me before I can dive in properly. Water becomes a better shield the faster the bullet is. I claw at the sand at the bottom, helping the undertow take me out to sea. My eyes sting with the salt and entrained stand, but even through the blur I can see the cavitation bubble trail of another shot at me.

The undertow has me in hand, I put my trust in it and go limp. With preparation I can hold my breath for several minutes, but I had no time to prepare. Any person can slow their heart and persist long after their lungs feel like they are burning. I had learned far more on down the long years. In moments I had quieted my heart and distanced myself from the coming complaints of my lungs. By the time the ocean carried me to the surface I had estimated more than ten minutes had passed. Still, I remained limp, my heart beating rarely. Barely any part of me would be above the surface. If another shot came I knew I would have to take more drastic action. A minute passed. I raised my face to part the surface and take a breath. Another minute without a following shot. Either a very patient sniper or they had lost sight of me.

I righted myself in the water until my entire head was above the surface. My heart proceeded to race as soon as I had unrestrained it. I gasped and panted for a few moments. Then I heard an engine. It took a moment of coming about as I treaded water to find the skiff. Persistent. Although with the waves carrying both shooter and quarry to and fro, up and down it was almost impossible that-

The shot skipped off of a wave ten cubits in front of me. The bullet then struck my hairline, snapping my head back into the water and taking some shiver of my skull with it. I did not have to try to sink beneath the waves. I was three cubits under them before I could think properly again. In the last century most of the cults and societies that knew of me had fallen to history. Of the handful that remained I had a notion of which one had spawned this assassin.

Two minutes later I was far deeper and had a view of the hull of the skiff. Now, would the assassin be stupid enough to try and enter the ocean and pursue me? The water blurred my sight but an errant flash of white warned me that something had been dropped. Then the grenade exploded some twenty cubits above me. My eyes clouded with stars while my ears rang loud enough to drive thought away for an instant. I sank deeper and forced the pain to a distant realm above the clouds in my mind. The assassin tossed more grenades, varying the depth by cooking off some of the timer before the toss. I hoped I had more time than they had grenades. How many could they have brought in anticipation?

The assault stopped with the deepest detonation yet. The assassin had probably thrown that down as hard as they could have. Now it was my turn, but I had several minutes yet in reserve, no need to breach like a whale. I swam up with deliberate slowness, conserving my wind. I eased myself along the shallow keel to the still propeller. Once my hands were on the plate and my feet on the skeg I let the rocking of the boat dictate my timing. At the downward rock of the stern I lifted my head and shoulders above the water but below the lip of the gunnels. Another pause for the ocean to tell me when to raise myself again.

My assailant sat just before me, his elbow on the tiller as he scanned the water with some kind of electronic binoculars. Apparently, his conclusion had been that I had fled further out to sea. I raised myself again to the rock of the skiff. Once I had my right foot on the gunnel I took hold of the man, wrapping his throat into the crook of my left arm while I locked out the elbow he had had on the tiller. We crashed to the deck and I wrapped my legs around his thighs to lock his knees together. He was strong, quite strong, but my thews had aged like oak and I overpowered him despite his superior size. His mind left him, his brain starved for blood.

That gave me the moments I needed. I released him, turned him over, and wrote the mandala I needed on his forehead in my blood though I had to scrape at my wound to bring forth the bleeding again. A few old words later and the man's body left his control and entered mine. I sat him up and enjoyed the terror and confusion in his eyes as he regained consciousness in a body not under his dominion any longer.

I tried English. Everyone seemed to speak some English these days.

1/2

“No?” she tried, still a little hopeful.

“Listen, we still have the ladder set up. Either come to the window or…”

“Alright, alright” she said unhappily. She slowly stood up and looked outside.

The three men were standing at the base of the ladder.The knight held a long scroll with what appeared to her to be a portrait. When he saw her, he held up the portrait in triumph and pointed to it with his other finger.

“Aha!” he said “the princess is not here is she! Then why do you resemble this exact portrait of her! And don’t try to tell me this portrait is wrong! We had this drawn at the Witch’s All-Seeing Eye and also Affordable Headshots Coven.”

The prince could not really make out the figure on the portrait, but she had heard of the Witch’s All-Seeing Eye and also Affordable Headshots Coven, so she assumed that it resembled her.

“Well” she started desperately “you don’t know-”

“Enough!” the knight said. “We know it’s you. There is no need for further lies, princess. You need not fear us. In fact, you will find our arrival gives you much reason to rejoice! For I am the 18th prince of the assistant to the Lord of Shrubbery Upkeep of the Eastern Half of the Lower Frozen Ring.”

He sank to one knee and raised one hand to her.

“And I am here, to win your hand in marriage, and thereby take control of you lands and your es-”

“Shhh” one squire quickly said.

“Not yet, sire, not yet!” the other whispered.

“Ju-just to win your hand in marriage. Thats it. For you are so fair and such. Possibly even one of the most fair maidens in the all the lands, maybe.”

She had been worried that he might be here on such business. These suitors dug in like a tick. To his credit, thus far he had been the most polite, calmest, and best smelling (and by that she could not smell him yet, which was an improvement) suitor thus far. She was never certain how to let these men down gently.

“No thank you” she tried, though by now she had no hope of this working.

“No thank you what?” the knight said.

“No thank you to your proposal. I mean, its very kind of you. Thank you! But no thank you. You can go back now. Please?”

The knight raised his finger at her.

“I have heard of your reputation princess. Do you intend to turn down noble suitors all your life. Let the man before me have been the last. Least you end up alone for all your life. Is that what you want?”

“Well, actually, I’m not alone,” she said, rubbing her hands together nervously. “I have my pet dragon, Myran. He’ll be back any minute now.”

The three men looked at each other. Then they looked back at her.

“Your what?” the knight.

“My pet dragon, Myran. He’s a-”

“Yes, that's what I thought you said” and then he fell over, howling with laughter. The two squires joined him.

“A fucking dragon”

“-Of all the stupid-”

“What a dumb broad”

“No, he’s real. Actually, you need to leave before-” she began.

“Before he gets here and eats us…right right. Enough lies from you princess. We’ll do it the old fashioned way”

The knight turned to one of his squires. 

“Go get the sack.”

“Oh yes, sire” the man said eagerly. Then he went back to the pile where their supplies lay.

The princess brought both hands to her lips and screamed,“MYRAN! HURRY! PLEASE!”

The knight brought one hand to his mouth and shouted mockingly “Yes, Myran, hurry! Come here and eat us!”

The squire returned with a brown sack that was stained with something that looked eerily like dried blood. The knight had one hand on the ladder, when something like a drumbeat sounded in the sky.

The knight turned his head and looked into the sky, to see where the sound came from.

“Oh lord” he said.

The princess turned away from her window, and closed her eyes and covered her ears. She always hated this part. But at least she would have a chance to spend time with Myran.

After he had a chance to digest.

Suddenly she sprang to her feet, rushed to her window, thrust her head out, and immediately came face to face with knight who was, at that moment, clearly more preoccupied with the dangers of ladder climbing rather than the unforeseen, but equally important dangers of socially anxious damsels rushing you while you climb said ladder.

“No thank you!” she said in a voice much more shrill and much, much louder than she intended.

“Ahh!” he said back. And with that, he went tumbling down the ladder while she ducked back down to her original position below the window.

After her heart had slowed to a pace that didn't threaten to break open her chest, she relaxed enough to gather her thoughts. The man had taken quite a tumble off the ladder. If he had injured or perhaps even killed himself, she realized with guilty hopefulness, she might not have to talk with him (almost certainly in the latter, though strange things do happen).

She risked another peak over the window. To her chagrin, the man did not appear to be injured, dead, or undead. In fact, he was already back on his, cursing in a dark tone, while his two squires beat the grass from his garments.

She ducked back down. Well, you don’t know…perhaps he-

But she had not time to think of another half-hearted excuse, when a voice called out in a strangely soothing tone

“Hello! Hello! Is this the heavenly estate of the 9th Princess of the Lord Commander of Waterlandia and other Waterpark Activities? ”

This was indeed her estate, and she was indeed the 9th princess of the Lord Commander of Waterlandia and other Waterpark Activities. She briefly considered not answering his challenge. But then, another idea came to her. One that struck her as being, pretty kinda good, actually.

She stuck her head above the window and began to splutter.

“No, I’m not here- I mean I’m not her- she isn’t here. This isn’t her castle. Sorry about that!”

Then she ducked back down beneath the window and held her breath.

“This isn’t her castle?”

“Nope!” she called out, not bothering to get up.

“Tell me” the voice said, and a bit of an attitude crept into it, so that the princess began suspect there was a flaw in her plan “tell me, do you know what the sigil of the 9th Princess of the Lord Commander of Waterlandia is?”

“Nope” she lied.

“It is a ferret lying on its back, curled in a circle, biting its own testicles.”

That was indeed her sigil. She was quite nervous now, and chose not to reply further. She had a feeling he was setting a trap, she might as well let him spring it.

After several moments passed the voice resumed, more haughty than before.

“Do you know which sigil currently occupies the space above your front gate?”

Damn, she thought, why have I never thought to take that down. I could have replaced it a long time ago with a sign that says “very sick, very contagious maidens within, definitely not suitable for marriage” or something.

It was too late for that. She had better think of something. She wracked her brain desperately and came up with nothing. She tried again desperately, and came up with nothing good. Still, she gave it a shot.

“Well I-

“It is a ferret lying on its back, curled in a circle, biting its own testicles!” the voice roared in mixture of savage vindication and somewhat forced indignation. The princess could hear the voices of the squires now.

“No, no sire, not like that-”

“-The hurricane breaks on the mountainside, sire, but the gentle wind carves canyons with time-”

They continued on like this for sometime. The princess waited in silence, terrified. Finally, the voice called out again, much more silky this time, but with just the tiniest hint of menace.

“Well, well have you nothing to say dear?”

When she spoke again, her voice was shaky.

“I-I was saying that, yes, that is her sigil and it is on this castle, but this isn’t her castle. Technically, this castle belongs to her father-”

–someone below made a “hmph” sound-

“-and anyways, she isn’t here right now.”

“Well, when does she come back?”

“Never?” the princess tried hopefully, though by now she knew they wouldn’t be leaving so easily. She heard them muttering amongst themselves. After a few moments, the voice called out again

“Could you come out where we could see you? I only had a cursory glance at you, my dear.”

What is this story? I’ve never heard it before.

She began to wring her hands nervously. She could hear them making a great clattering noise outside. The sounds of steel armor, and those of the large, sweaty men they incased.

Oh dear, oh dear she thought, how on earth do these men keep finding me?

She hated dealing with these kinds of situations. They made her…well, nervous doesn’t even begin to describe it. The last social interaction she had, had her left sweating profusely from every pore, with sweat running down the sides of her cheeks like tears. Every breath she had taken was labored and short as though a vice crushed her chest.

And that had been with the castle caretaker, bringing a fresh supply of food as he did every week! The last time he visited, he had dropped off the food at the front gate before heading off in his rickety wagon. Then, while she crept outside to begin bringing in the packs of dried berries and salted meat, he turned his head and made eye contact with her.

She had turned to flee, immediately tripped over her dress with enough force to give herself a bloody nose, sprang up in a wondrous plume of dust and pink fabric, and then practically dove back into the castle.

She sighed, as she often did when memories of such nature forced their way to the forefront of her brain. I was just starting to get used to him too, she thought.

More crashing and banging, followed by a whirlwind of swearing. They were clearly unloading something. Her heart pounding, she crept to the stone window at the edge of her room and peered outside.

There they were. Out on the grassy knoll that surrounded her castle. One knight, two squires. The knight had a complete set of black armor, above which he wore a wondrous garment with a design of vibrant pink and white squares, which she did enjoy looking at. Atop his helm sat fluffy pink plume, which she also did enjoy.

What she did not enjoy was the equipment they were putting together on the grass below. It should be noted that “they” did not include the knight, who stood glistening in the sun, while his squires huffed and puffed before him. They were clearly putting together some sort of ladder.

She ducked back down beneath her window and hid with her back to the wall and her hands wrapped around her knees. She had already begun trembling, she noted with dismay.

Outside, the sounds of working continue. Occasionally, she heard what she assumed was the knight offering words of encouragement, such as “faster you sloths” and “do you intend to finish today or next week”.

Alright, she thought to herself, this is it. This is the moment we talked about. You swore, you swore you would say something the next time someone tried this. Its time now. Lets go.

At this point, she began to do absolutely nothing for several moments.

Well she thought, let's not be too hasty. You don’t know what could happen. Perhaps they forgot to bring a piece of the ladder? That way, they won't be able to finish it and I won’t even have to…

“Finished sire!” a voice called out, to which another replied with a rather nasty tone “and today too! Do you two think you could handle bringing it to the window or should we just give up here and now?”

That last phrase gave her a tiny glimmer of hope. However, these hopes were quickly dashed when, instead of making sounds of agreement and departure, the other two voices made the strained and perhaps overdone sounds of two men lifting a very, very heavy ladder while their boss lackadaisical watched them.

Alright, better now than never, she thought. Knees, do your thing.

Instead of assisting her in getting up, as she intended, they continued to remain huddled against her chest with her arms wrapped around them. It was a position she found quite comfortable, especially in comparison to getting up and dealing with the problem that, by the sound of it, was getting closer and closer to her window.

Well, you don’t know. Perhaps they brought a ladder too short? Happens to the best of us. They’ll just have to go home in that case. And I won’t have to say a…

There was a horrible banging noise on the window above her that sent her scampering on all fours across the velvet carpet of her room to the wall on the other side. When she turned around, the two top feet of a ladder were sitting at her windowsill, and a pair of metal hooks at their tips had swung around to fasten themselves to her wall.

Well, she thought to herself desperately, well you don’t know. You don’t know. Maybe he is too fat or something…but already the ladder was shaking, as though a well armored man was climbing it with impressive pace.

She thought she might vomit. The vice was crushing her chest. The sweat was pouring down in the rivets. She was shaking.

If he comes through the window, it's over. You have to do something now. Myran isn’t here to save you. You have to do something now. If you don’t, he’ll get in here and you’ll have to speak to him while he’s here in the room…

Lightning. The flashes danced through the glass panes of the window above my bed, bringing loud booms and violent vibrations with them. Every flash sent me further from the window. Further and further back until I was teetering uncomfortably on the edge of the bedframe.

I always had a fear of storms. They brought me back to memories of my father sending me out in the cold rain to "Build strength" is what he'd say. The only thing it built though was a lifelong fear of the natural and anxiety enough for two people. Also the much later understanding that my father had never wanted a girl, so I would have to do. No matter how many times he sent me out into the rain I never came back stronger; only cold, wet, and a little more terrified.

Another rumble of thunder, this time much closer sending a shaking through the room that I thought would send the great windows lining the wall clattering out of their frames and into pieces on the floor.

This time when I jumped a great scaled head pressed up against my arm in comforting reply. I turned to face it, my eyes locking with its great golden irises that practically glowed in the darkness of the room. It pressed up against me once more: a request to be held.

I took its great head into my lap and stroked at the spaces between scales until it cooed in reply. A dragons coo is not that of a baby or a kitten, it is a low rumble like soft thunder rolling over distant hills. A rewarding sound to achieve a bond with such a great being.

"Thank you Oren, for the distraction." I whispered, as if it was not just her and I.

In reply she brought her golden eyes back up to mine, then let them drift closed once more.

Hours later, come morning, the storm had barely subsided. The room remained as dark as it had been. I lay flat in bed, Orin's head still filling my lap. A voice at the other side of the door called.

"Lady Helvor, there is a suitor here for you! He says he has no fear of the", the voice hesitated, then continued. "Well that he has no fear of the beast that holds you captive." At his words Oren stretched her wings up to the ceiling, shook herself awake, and stood tall.

"Tell him he may come if he'd like, but that if Oren doesn't kill him then I gladly will."

"Well you may tell him yourself he-" Before he could finish the door burst forth in a violent series of bangs and splinters. In the doorway a suit of armor stood proudly.

"I am Sir Gladwell the Mighty here to save you from the great beast that holds you captive m'lady!" At his words he unsheathed his sword in an empty display of courage. If a dragon could smile then in this moment Oren did, and I followed, drawing a sword of my own from the bedside.

Gladwell gave a shocked look before stuttering out the words. "I..I suppose we can fight the beast together, which by the way seems awfully docile-"

"Docile because she's mine. And if you harm her, not that you could, I will skin you and send that skin back to my father."

His brain seemed to stop. He maintained a steady grip on his blade, but his eyes shot back and forth, from me to Oren, then me, then Oren once more. Behind him in the door Johnathan peeked in and gave a shrug.

"So, you don't want to get married then?"

Oren reared her head back, flames licking up out of her mouth and up her face in a threatening display. Behind the knight, Johnathan came forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I believe it's time to leave sir. Good try, tell her father we send our regards. Oh, and if you have friends, maybe mention they not come."

Though dazed, Gladwell seemed smart enough to weigh his options, of which the latter was death. He turned, shoulders slumped, and stomped back out of the castle into the rain. I let out a long sigh upon him leaving and fell back to the bed, then brought my face up to the window

And as Oren and I watched him trudge through the mud and back onto his horse, for the first time in quite a long while, I felt thankful for the rain. Hopefully it would keep others like him away.