Thanks. I'm not normally one for ghost story type vibes, but once I decided it would be in a smoky tavern, I couldn't help it.

Ser Alfred rode hard through the night until, just at the break of dawn, he arrived at the entrance of a cave in the foot of a mountain, miles from his cabin and the nearby village. "Dragon! Come forth! I would have a word with you!" the knight shouted in the general direction of the cave. He listened closely as he tightened the straps of his shield as tight as he could, tighter than he could bear. He knew this would cost him what remained of his right arm, but lacking a hand to grip it, he had to rely on the straps to hold it in place.

The first sign that his words had been heard were a rumbling from within the cave, and Ser Alfred knew what was coming next. "Damn," he muttered, before raising the shield before him. He notched the front of his bow into a hook at the front of the shield, nocked an arrow, and held it ready to draw. A moment later, flames burst from within the cave, engulfing the knight and his horse. An instant before the flames could touch them, however, horse and rider alike were bathed in a brilliant light, protecting them from the flames, and Ser Alfred drew his bow.

"Listen, you old bastard, I'm just here to talk!" he said, taking aim with his bow. The flames made it nigh impossible to see, but he could gauge roughly where they were coming from. He waited a moment more to see if the dragon would listen, but when the red hot flames intensified and turned blue, he knew there would be no peaceful resolution to this conflict. "Damn," he muttered, and loosed the arrow. A brief sputter and the immediate cessation of flames told him his arrow was on its mark.

Five days after leaving Ser Alfred's cabin, Mikhail looked up from his chores to see a horse just on the other side of the fence where his family kept their sheep. Almost as soon as he noticed the mare, a raven landed on the saddle, a note clutched in its beak. Wary, Mikhail approached the pair and took the note from the raven; no sooner had he gripped the paper than the raven took off, disappearing into the sky. Mikhail looked at the note in his hands and read. It was scrawled, barely legible, and he knew immediately what the note meant. Tears welled in his eyes as he read.

"Mikhail,

You've taken better care of me than I deserve these past few years. Despite everything, despite how ungrateful and insufferable I have been, you have never failed me.

If you're reading this now, then I've fought my last. If Elonzie is there with you, she will bring you to a treasure the likes of which you can hardly fathom. If she is not, there is a hefty sum of gold in my cabin. Take what you want, it's all yours.

I strongly advise you to take what you can and leave this place. I believe this land to be cursed. In the beginning, I thought I could cleanse this land. I was fated to save it, after all. Now, after everything, I'm not so sure. I'm not sure this land can be saved.

Whatever you do, don't follow in my footsteps. Believe it or not, as bitter as I've been lately, I was once a happy man. Happiness, it would seem, isn't meant for men like me. As hard as I have fought, I have failed, time and again, to save those closest to me. That's why I implore you, leave this place.

• Alfred"

The note fell from the boy's hands.

A week later, Mikhail and his family rode out of the village, never to return. Just outside of the village, an empty cabin sat, abandoned, with five piles of rocks outside of it, each with a rose of winter sitting atop it.

Thanks, I've been away from writing anything for a few months, so good to be back in the groove.

Thanks! I now need to find some cake.

Thanks! Nice to wake up to this having been read a load of times.

"Please, Ser Alfred. No one else can defeat this beast. Others have tried, many others, and all have failed. You alone can bring this conflict to an end."

"No," the old man replied. He lifted a poker and stoked the fire, choosing to look at it, rather than the man pleading before him. "I've told you twice now. I'll not tell you again. I am done."

"I- but-" the younger man began. "Very well, Ser Alfred. Thank you for your time."

"Aye." The old man felt the young diplomat hesitate before turning, as though contemplating whether he should plead his case just one more time. Ser Alfred soon felt the chill of the cold air outside of his cabin, and it wasn't until he heard the slam of his door before he looked away from the fire.

"Damn." Ser Alfred returned to the fire, stoking it once more with the poker before dropping the iron to the floor in frustration. He reached across the fire and retrieved from it the kettle, hardly feeling the flames on the skin of his bare hand, and poured the water over the leaves in his mug.

"Damn." Ser Alfred swore as he struggled with the buckles. He hadn't bothered with the peg leg in years; a boy from the village down the way brought whatever supplies he needed in exchange for a few copper pieces every other week, and he had long since modified his cabin to be able to get around with only his right leg. With only the thumb and index finger of his left hand, manipulating the buckles was quite the challenge. The damage to the muscles of his forearm meant most of his strength in that arm had waned. That he used the arm to support himself around the cabin was the one thing keeping the muscles of that arm from atrophy since his retirement.

Ser Alfred finally stood, on two legs for the first time in over a dozen seasons. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, the stub of his leg no longer accustomed to bearing his weight, as he took a few tentative steps around his cabin. After a brief walk around the cabin, he snatched his walking stick from its place by the door and stepped out into the cold.

Even with the walking stick, Ser Alfred struggled on his walk, muttering a curse here or there as a new ache or pain flared up. The walk took three times as long as the last time, he figured, but at long last, he came to the clearing where he knew he would find the flowers he sought. Despite the chill, he hoped he'd find what he was looking for.

"Damn." He finally found what he was looking for, but there were no flowers. The shrub had been eaten by foraging animals, and appeared to have been eaten to the stems. Ser Alfred rolled his eye and looked up briefly before closing his eye. "Damn." Ser Alfred winced as he kneeled before the shrub. He brought his hand before him and murmured a quiet prayer. As he prayed, a light emanated from within him and slowly enveloped the shrub. After a few seconds, the shrub, initially just a few sticks barely worth calling kindling, began to heal. It started with the branches, the bark healing where it was torn, new bark appearing where it was missing. New branches grew, thickening the shrub, and leaves began to sprout from old and new branches alike. Finally, flowers appeared and bloomed on the branches, and the light faded from the shrub.

At last, Ser Alfred opened his eye. He reached into the furs covering him and produced from his waist a thin blade, curved and with a razor's edge on the inside of the curve. He placed the edge of the blade at the base of one of the flowers and pulled, slicing the stem from the shrub. He did this three more times, allowing four flowers to fall to the ground before him. His job done, he secured the blade to his belt again before reaching out to the plant. "Thank you for your sacrifice," he said, touching the wound left by his blade. A small bit of the light from within him brightened his finger where it touched the plant, healing the wound. He repeated this once for each of the flowers he cut from the plant, and the light faded from within him.

After collecting the flowers, he pushed himself to standing, his back popping from the effort. The walk back to the cabin took half the time.

Mikhail was tending the chickens on his parents' farm when the raven landed. It wasn't so odd that a raven should land here; ravens weren't particularly uncommon in this land. What was odd was that it would be this particular raven, coming at this unusual time.

The young boy eyed the raven for a moment, then nodded before continuing his chores. As though it understood, the raven flew away. A short while later, the chickens fed and the coop cleaned, the boy entered his home.

"Mum, Ser Alfred has sent for me."

As Mikhail approached the old man's cabin, he noticed that the piles of rocks next to it had roses of winter on them, one on each. He paused at this; he knew at once this wasn't simply a request for supplies. Although he was too young to have seen the old man fight, he'd heard the tales, knew of the legends. He also knew of the danger threatening his village.

The boy shook his head; the answers to his questions were on the other side of that door. He reached up and knocked before reaching for the handle, but before he could open the door, it opened from within, and Ser Alfred greeted him. It was possibly the first time the boy saw the old knight properly groomed.

"You're here. Good. Come in." Ser Alfred stepped to the side to allow the boy in, and at once, Mikhail knew. Scattered around the one chair in the cabin lay the old knight's armor. Although it lay disused in a chest, there wasn't a sign of rot on the leather or rust on the plate.

"You're going to fight?" the boy asked, unable to take his eyes from the evidence before him.

"Aye." Ser Alfred stepped away from the door and approached the armor, stepping into the leather pants that would protect his legs from the hardened plates he would soon don, with the boy's help.

"But... why? I thought you'd stopped, I thought... I thought you were done," the boy said, finally looking at the old knight.

"Aye, so did I lad. So did I."

For each piece of armor the pair strapped to Ser Alfred, the old man could feel his strength returning to him. After a half hour's work, the boy looked in awe at the knight, having never seen him dressed for battle. In that moment, Ser Alfred looked ready for war. "I'll need you to prepare Elonzie for me. I know you've taken good care of her; I could always smell her on you when you brought supplies, before you left. Brush her well, say your peace, then saddle her. There is a quiver outside her stable, I'll need you to mount that on the saddle along side the scabbard. I have a few more things to attend to before I leave, so if you're quick, you might have time for a quick ride."

"O-of course, Ser Alfred, thank you, right away, sir!" The boy turned step out the door, but the old knight's voice halted him.

"Mikhail," the old knight called out, "thank you for helping all this time. I know I've been an insufferable bastard, so I'm... I'm sorry for that."

The boy struggled to think of a response, but before one could form, Ser Alfred threw open a trap door in the floor of his cabin and disappeared down a flight of stairs.

It wouldn't be quite fair to call the room Ser Alfred kept beneath his cabin an armory; there were quite a few weapons in it, but they were not well kept, and only a couple of them would actually see use. Ser Alfred threw open a chest and dug through, pulling from it a longbow and quiver, and slung both over his shoulder. He pulled a spare string from the chest as well, and tied it as best he could to the straps of the quiver. He stepped over to a wall, approaching the only two things displayed in this room, a sword and a shield. He slipped his left arm through the harness before placing the stump of his right arm into the straps and tightening them. He didn't tighten them all the way, not just yet. For now, he merely needed to carry the shield; when the time came to use it, he would tighten it again.

With the shield secured, he reached out for the sword, and as soon as his finger and thumb wrapped around the blade, he felt a power surge through him he hadn't felt in far too long. He leaned his head back and relished the feeling a moment before sheathing the blade at his side. Finally, the old knight sought three things he felt almost unlikely to find, at this point. Surprised to have found them, he dipped the quill into the inkpot and began writing.

"I'll see you when this is all over."

A simple phrase, one I have said many times to many.

_____

When this first started for me, I was eager. Children like to grow up hearing stories of heroes saving the day, battling against terrible odds so that we may all see the next sunrise. I was no different. To be given the chance to be that hero, to be the storied figure that many would tell for generations spoke to my inner child. Those days roaming around the fields slaying imaginary monsters with a simple stick I had found lying somewhere around seems lifetimes ago now.

Training was not for the weak hearted. Every dawn I was to report to the arms master to train for every weapon could feasibly use in the foreseeable future. I trained in swords, spears, longbows, crossbows, shields, magic, even bare handed if you could believe it. For years this routine would dominate much of my younger life. I have sadly lost many childhood friendships during these years. the pressures of my destiny and the demands of my labor leaving me with little time. Still, I made new bonds with those I trained alongside with.

In the beginning was never alone. I was surrounded with like minded individuals, or those who I believed to be cut from purer cloth than I. We laughed, we cried, we complained, and we trained. We talked about who we once were, who we wanted to be, what we were proud of, and sometimes what we were ashamed of. It was like finding a new family to me. When our training was complete, we were blessed with long life.

Then the fated day, and many of us took up arms to defend against many dangers. Many of us had fallen in battle, each one dying an honorable death. We mourned, we grieved, and we moved on together. Then the next fated day arrived. The the next one. Then the next. I've lost count of how many 'fated days' there have been now, each one leaving us with less than the last.

With the end of each day, I found myself gazing at those we protected, and the pride in their eyes. I would see the eyes of the children and see the wonder in their eyes. To them, we were living legends. We were heroes. Even when the burden of being heroes grew heavy on us. those eyes would remind us of why we fought, and calm our doubts. We were heroes.

Sadly, time is merciless. Those children would grow up and have children of their own. Then the same would happen to those children and those children's children. Over time, I would see the wonder in the adults turn dull overtime. No longer did the people understand the weight of our sacred duty, no longer did the people understand our struggles. They no longer understood our purpose. Though few in number, I had began to look to my fellow heroes for support.

Eventually, I was the last hero. So many deserved to be standing here today, yet none will. I returned to find the people seeing my return with the eyes of complacency. They had relied on the heroes for so long, I wondered if they had lost the ability to face the dangers themselves. Was I all that stood between them and destruction? Was I the last hero?

A hero was to never falter, to stand firm as a defiant light against the encroaching darkness. A hero was to be the paragon of justice, the pillar of peace whose very name becomes synonymous with righteousness. Ideals meant for the ideal hero.

I had realized that, after all these years, I was not not the ideal hero.

_____

"I'll see you when this is all over."

A simple phrase, one I have said many times too many.

[deleted]

The breeze on the balcony was sweet and brought up memories of lying in fields as a young child. I took in a deep breath and Odin rested his head on my knee.

The view was ignited with bright pink and purple clouds that reflected the setting sun. The sky was a deep purple/blue. Bright white sun rays cut through holes in the clouds, painting the entire scene in shimmering spotlights. The mountains loomed upon this horizon, shadowing the trees just yonder. It was beautiful and I hoped I wouldn’t forget it.

Claudia opened the door and stepped over Odin who watched her with curious brown eyes.

“Here you go,” she said, handing me a cup of steaming tea. I had no intention of drinking the tea, I was worried that Claudia might try to drug me or something, so I blew on it and held it in my hands. I hoped she wouldn’t notice I wasn’t sipping it.

“This is so beautiful,” I said, nodding to the sunset.

“Yea,” Claudia said, “It’s my favourite part of this place.”

“Would you mind telling me a little about yourself?” I said, “I assume you have a script prepared, I probably ask you this a lot.” Claudia laughed and nodded her head.

“We have been through this a few times,” she said, “it’s true. But I don’t mind. It’s nice when you’re interested in me.”

“Am I not always?”

“Some days you’re in a more… challenging mindset.” She said, “I can’t even begin to imagine how confusing it must be, losing memories all over the place, feeling lost in your own life. I do not fault you for having days where you just sit in your room and read or have some time alone. Days like today are very special to me. It feels like, well, old times.”

“Old times,” I said, watching as the colours of the evening began to darken. “I hope we were happy.”

“We were!” Claudia said, “We are. You are an amazing person and nothing could ever change that.”

“Thank you.”

“As for me,” Claudia said, “I’m a bit of a mess. I was in school but I took a year off. I’m working on selling my artwork and in this long process with a gallery, which I won’t bore you with. But life is really good but complicated.”

“I would love to see some of your artwork.”

“I’d love to show you! One minute.”

Claudia stood up and ran through the door. I glanced over my shoulder and then clipped the leash on… what was his name?

Right, Odin.

I ran for the door, got my hand around the lock but just as I was about to open it Claudia ran back into the room.

“Where are you going?” she said, pain in her eyes.

“I-” I said, but I couldn’t think of a good reason. The fog was coming back.

“What do you know?” Claudia said, her eyes narrowing as she took a step towards me.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, “Odin looked like he needed a walk.”

“No,” Claudia said, admiring my eyes. “No, I see it now. That little spark. There’s a light within you that is new. So I ask again, what do you know?”

I opened my mouth but decided I could probably push past her, even with these old muscles, and I tried to open the door.

Claudia moved too quickly. She was in front of me in the blink of an eye. She opened her mouth revealing sharpened teeth. She sneered and walked her hand up my arm which was on the door handle.

“Oh little mouse,” she said, “You cannot leave that easily. Do you take me for a fool.”

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth but there was something sinister about it.

“There is something different about you today,” Claudia said, “Usually you’re this little worm of a man with an empty head, consumed with confusion and anger. You lash out, you sit and stare at the wall for hours, and each day you lose a little more of yourself. But today…”

Claudia touched my cheek. Her hand was clammy and cold. Her eyes turned yellow as she leaned in towards me. “Even now, you can’t even begin to be able to understand what is real and what is being made up inside your own head.”

I pushed her into the door. Odin started to bark as Claudia laughed. Her black hair framed her face, her skin was pale but her eyes were the most changed. They reminded me of something I saw in my dream but it was just beyond my reach.

“You’re weak.” Claudia sneered, her lips uncomfortably close to my neck. “So close to death that all it has to do is reach out a sharpened fingernail and-” she traced a line across my neck with her sharp nail. “Death would sweep you away in a second. So I suggest you go back to your room, take your pills, and sleep the madness away.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the creature that haunts you,” Claudia said. “Your keeper. Your mistake.”

I ran to the fireplace but Claudia jumped on my back. We fell to the floor, rolling around, limbs flying everywhere. Claudia bit me and blood flowed from my arm. She lunged for me but I rolled away. Odin bit her leg and she kicked him across the room.

“No!”

I scampered to my feet but she was too fast. She grabbed my neck and lifted me up. I kicked my legs and tried to break free. I gasped for air, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

“Don’t worry,” Claudia said, “You won’t remember any of this in the morning. Tomorrow I will just be your loving daughter and then, before you know it, you’ll be dead.”

My lungs were burning and I couldn’t breathe. I felt a cold hand reach out, death here to sweep me away. Images started to flicker through my mind. A man with black hair and emerald eyes. He shouted something and an explosion knocked back his foe. What were those words? The author said magic didn’t work here but, what if I could give it a try?

Claudia dropped me to the floor in a pile. I gasped for air, big gulps. She rolled her eyes and reached for me.

“Might as well fix up that wound,” she said, “Before I feel tempted to take just a little bit more.”

Her head was over mine, inches away. I looked up at her, right into her ugly yellow eyes and shouted: “Sh’okour!”

BOOM!

Claudia was thrown backwards with enough force to make a dent in the wall. I didn’t trust that she would be hurt too badly so I needed to take this opportunity. I ran to Odin who seemed mostly okay and flung open the door. We ran down the hallway until I found the stairs. We went down, down, down, spirling and praying that Claudia was not behind us and Jennifer wasn’t in front of us.

I reached the bottom floor and flung open the door and into a busy street. I turned in a circle unsure of where to go, but Odin pulled me right and I followed him without question because, Odin knew the way.

-End Part 6

Oh shit. Okay, I don’t have much time. I have to make this quick:

You have become a monster with a blackened soul, but you haven’t always been this way.

You are Ammon to me but you are known by many names. You are a powerful spell-caster, also known as a wizard. You were once kind and I hope somewhere deep down you still have a good soul but you were tempted by the side of magic we do not touch. You- I will just say it, you allowed yourself to be seduced by a dangerous warlock known as Jennifyiar, who I warned you about but, whatever.

Together you discovered a powerful relic or something, you were rather withholding concerning the details. Bet you wish you hadn’t been now.

Anyway, this relic sparked some morality that was still inside of you and you stole it from Jennifyar. The relic consumed your mind, you said, and taught you something. Some ultimate secret of something that would be rather dangerous in the hands of someone like Jennifyar.

You were caught eventually. I’m not sure how. You and I had an argument, it’s not important what it was about, and I hadn’t seen you in days. Eventually I was able to find you and infiltrate your mind prison, but I have been cautious. Arising any amount of suspicion is dangerous, and I know I took many risks today. But it’s been really challenging and I have only recently learned how to send you information. She’s keeping you in some other time-line without magic so it’s been hard. It's also rather inconvenient that you forget everything the next day so I’m always starting from scratch.

Klara is the key to your escape. You can find her at 4966 Forest Road. It’s about a thirty minute walk from your apartment. Bring the dog, he knows the way.

You will need to leave before Jennifer gets home. She won’t expect you to attempt to leave the place since you’ve been a shell of a man for a long time.

I will try to contact you again soon but it's risky and I am afraid I will rouse more suspicion in Jennifer. Bring this book, I’ll try to contact you again this way.

You must do as I say. You must not hesitate. You must not let Claudia see you leave. She is not who she seems to be. She is just as dangerous as Jennifer.

I blinked and the words on the page began to move until they settled into an entirely new text:

The man stood on the hillside, admiring the manor that resided atop the rocky cliff. Many memories-

I closed and opened the book but the mysterious author was gone. I realised that she never told me her name. Or did she? I frowned, why did I assume it was a she?

Fragmented.

I am fragmented.

What did that mean? And what did I learn from that so-called relic? And what did it mean that I was a monster with a blackened soul? What did I do? What had I become?

Where did she say I was? An alternative timeline? Does that mean that somewhere, someplace, I truly am this elderly man who is slowly losing himself to a terrifying disease?

It all felt too good to be true. Since the moment I awoke to this life I longed to be able to escape it. Being this man, Keith, who can’t trust anything around him, who wakes up only to learn about his life for the first time again. Trapped in this looping, daily cycle of confusion with no way out. The only question on his mind is the one that can never be answered: who am I?

It was terrifying, being this man.

So it would make sense, right, that this man would create an elaborate fantasy where he had a way out of this life. A mysterious saviour who could unravel him from his trap. It would make all this feel like it could have meaning. It excited me beyond words to be able to take this road and follow it to another possible life, even if that life came with its own challenges.

I didn’t know what to do and I was still struggling to figure out what to believe. What was at stake here? According to the author it was a lot. But what is the harm in taking the dog for a walk? The worst that can happen is I’ll forget where the house is and eventually someone will find me and take me home. So it was worth a try to follow this path and see where it goes. Maybe I am truly this Ammon person. Perhaps there is some power and strength within me that I had forgotten.

The dog knows the way?

What the hell did that mean?

I stood up and grabbed a jacket from the closet. I put the book in one of the breast pockets and opened the bedroom door slowly. The living room was empty but as I started to walk down the hallway Odin came running around the corner. He licked my hand and led the way towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

I turned around to see Claudia standing in her bedroom doorway. She smiled sweetly and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. I forced a smile on my lips and reminded myself that I needed to act like I hadn’t just been told that Claudia was dangerous. I needed to navigate this conversation carefully.

“I wanted to sit on the balcony, watch the run set.” I said. “Would you like to join me?” Claudia’s face brightened with a smile and she nodded her head.

“I’ll make some tea,” she said, “I’ll meet you outside.” I nodded and walked towards the balcony. On the way I snatched the leash off the wall and shoved it in my pocket.

-End Part 5

damn this is well written!!

Nanny Ogg and Greebo!

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Slow clap 👏

👏 👏 👏

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I'm almost done part 5!

Great story.

This is really good! Fingers crossed for more :)

Amazing, this is pretty chilling!

As every day, Princess Elmyra spent her afternoon waiting by the lake, attended by an old woman. They repeat this same refrain every day.

"One day..." The princess says wistfully.

" One day, my lady," her attendant replies.

"Prince Tomason will return."

"So he will."

"And when he does," the princess placed a hand over her heart.

"When he does," the old woman said.

The princess raised a determined fist in front of her face, "I'm going to punch him so hard his grandmother will feel it."

"Very good, my lady," the old woman said, dutifully polishing the princess's heavy iron gauntlet.

The air is cold this morning—so cold that when the princess releases a small sigh, I can see her breath freeze in the air. The lake shimmers with a thin layer of frost, and the grass beneath our is skirts green with the first breath of spring. Winter has always been her favorite season. No one visits the lake in winter.

No one but us.

I watch her round eyes skate over the surface of the water, watch her hem flutter and stray wisps of hair float in the wind. She turns and catches me looking. I don’t look away.

This is the story: Prince Lucion was called to battle the night before his wedding to Princess Aryllen. He donned his armor and his sword and left at dawn; they say Princess Aryllen came out in her wedding dress, tears shining on her cheeks, to kiss him goodbye.

This is the story: She spent the next day at the lake that introduced them, the day he’d been fishing and she’d been picking the little yellow flowers that only grow on the lakeshore—the one they met in again, and again, and again, each time less of an accident. She spent the day after that at the lake, as well. Then the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. Spring turned to Summer, Summer to Fall, Fall to Winter, and Princess Aryllen never once wavered in her routine. Every sunrise, she was there, her dutiful attendant by her side.

The once-secret lake became famous, renowned by the entire kingdom. Great painters travelled from far and wide to capture her essence at the place she fell in love, tourists flocked in droves to see her—wistful, they say she is, and always just a little sad. The spot was given a name: the Lake of Longing, where lovers now come to greet the Princess and offer up a coin to the lake, in the hopes that they will never be separated. That she is bearing the burden of loneliness for all of them.

Of course, she is never entirely alone.

I am there by her side, every sunrise, every sunset. I rouse her to wake, dress her in fine chiffons and silks, brush her hair and bedeck her in jewels. I walk beside her on the path, sit when she does and remain there until she rises. I am by her side through hordes of poets, packs of bards, all of the so-called artists who will spend their entire lives trying to know her. Little do they know, that is a privilege only one of us has received.

This is the story: on the night before her wedding, a princess was crying on her bedroom floor. Her attendant finds her, and begs her to tell her what is wrong. Through the tears, the princess confesses that she does not want to marry her betrothed. That she never has. That he asked her, and because he was a prince, and she was a princess, she said yes. That she wished she could have said anything but.

She cried and didn’t stop crying. Not until that attendant pulled her in by her shoulders and kissed her petal-pink lips.

That night, as if by divine intervention, the prince was called away to war. It was a far-off kingdom, a dangerous rivalry that had been brewing for far too long. It was a sword to the heart and a body dumped in an unmarked grave. It was every answer buried—and every promise along with it.

Now, Princess Aryllen smiles, just slightly, and it warms me more than any fire. Her hand slides over mine—the feeling of her skin, smooth and soft from a pampered life, sends a shiver up my spine. It has been like this since the first time I set foot in her chambers. It was only on the brink of our total destruction that we could finally pull it into the light, coax our desires to reveal themselves.

Some call the princess a widow. Others, a tragic virgin. Everyone agrees on one thing: that she will spend the rest of her life alone. But they’ll never know of the rumpled sheets on both sides of her bed in the morning, or what goes on once I lock her doors for the night. They’ll never know of the little yellow flowers she left on my nightstand after she went out to the lake, that first life-shattering time.

She squeezes my hand and looks back out over the water. I return it, and feel no cold at all.

I call her Aryllen. And I know that everyone is wrong.

"Princess the coach is ready." Marda said, as young Wanda entered the room and nodded, taking her place along the wall with the other house staff.

Marda remembered her first years serving as a member of the castle staff. Having to run those stairs to nod to that old hag Reena. Wanda no more than 15, wasn't even winded and not for the first time Marda was glad to have her position at this age. Her mouth twitched at the idea of running those stairs herself now.

"What is it Marda?" The Princess had caught her twitching and a sly smile said she had some idea as to what the reaction had been from.

"I started as a runner for the stable master when I was a young girl." Marda said as she signaled the attendants to start opening the doors and raised her arm to let Princess Galla go ahead of her.

"Oh yes, I remember and the memory of those stairs was clear in your grimace at little Wanda." Princess Galla said as she made her way out of the doorway and into the long hallway of the royal bedroom wing. Marda couldn't see it but she well knew the smirk painted across her royal lady's face was entirely too smug over the thought of Marda running those stairs now.

"To the lake today my Lady?" Marda said, changing the subject. It had been a day or two longer than usual and Marda was a little worried by that in truth. "Would she still go if I wasn't around to insist on it?" Marda wondered to herself.

"Yes, to the lake." Galla replied, her melodic tone not giving away her sadness at the thought of visiting the place, even so long after. Though Marda often saw it in her eyes, such a pain was not so easily hidden from someone she'd known nearly her entire life.

The carriage ride of course was as bumpy as always. Marda remembered a time when the paving stones of the lake road hadn't been felt in her bones and back. But even that seemed many years ago now. The snorting and shifting of the horses and the guards alongside the carriage distracted her enough to put the pains out of mind. Watching a younger looking fellow with a spectacular jaw line under his helmet, bounce along beside her window. She very likely was three or four times his age but that motion..

"Marda you're no better than a wolf leering at sheep." Princess Galla shattered her thoughts. Marda looked up to her ruler and saw the joy of having caught her in such a moment.

"Princess I'm not dead yet. This mind is still willing even if the flesh has grown weak." Marda chuckled as she said it, a bright smile letting the Princess know she wasn't about to back down on this topic.

Galla sighed "I suppose one could say I have the opposite issue Marda. Or neither really. If you weren't here I wouldn't make this trip, I'd be no better than that first day."

Marda lowered her eyes, her smile slipping away. She knew the truth of it really, that the Princess would likely always be that same broken girl. Never letting go of what was lost.

"One day at a time my Lady. There is no need to rush such things." Marda reached across the carriage and squeezed the Princess's hand. "No need to rush it at all, someday, some bright and beautiful day. But there's no rush."

Marda remembered the day it happened. When the Princesses betrothed went and got himself killed, fighting an evil deity of all things. Him, the King and nearly every man able to hold a stick on this side of the continent. She remembered how it had broken Galla. Remembered how she had grown sick and pale, how she had become bed ridden and refused to eat. When she had asked to be taken to the meadow one last time, Marda had been sure it was the last few days she would be in the service of the princess.

"Lake ahead." Shouted the captain of the guard from ahead. Breaking Marda out of her reminiscing mood. She'd done this once a week, for how many years? Why was today such a trip down memory lane?

The carriage stopped and the box was placed at the door as the two climbed out of the carriage. The guards knew to make a wide circle around the edges of the meadow, their backs turned away. The attendants went about sweeping any leaves or debris that had blown in off the lake or from the forest, out of the small seating area. And began assisting Princess Galla in removing her clothing.

Marda gazed out at the lake, clear calm waters disappearing across the horizon. The Lake of Tears.

Galla had shed her clothing and her naked skin seemed to merge with the mirror film of the lakes surface.

The magic that so long ago poured from her own eyes, over the battlefield of her dead lover and father and half her kingdom, sparked and spiraled across her skin. Marda remembered the day so long ago, when a girl only a few years older than her had wept so true in mourning that the magics of a dead god responded. That same magic inspired by her then, now kept her young when all others faded. Marda had been the stable runner then, 14 years old, joining what all thought would be the last outing for a dying royal. Now, now she was soon to be 70 and Princess Galla hadn't aged a single day.

Marda sat down on the wooden bench by the water, watching the Princess soak in the magic of a dead god and relaxing knowing she had at least an hour to herself while Galla soaked in dead god soup, she turned her head to see if she could find the back end of that spectacular jaw line from earlier.

The first apocalypse was the worst. It wasn't just the shock of death and destruction, it's the toll it takes. The first battle that ends in loss. The first time you fight for your life. The first loss of love. When we managed to destroy the evil, we knew relief. We knew mourning, we knew loss, but we also knew peace.

For the first time in a long time, we rebuilt.

Rebuilt our homes, our cities and our lives.

And when the earth shook asecond time, our fear gave way to hope. Evil had been awoken once before, but it had been dealt with. There was no search for a weapon, no late night journeys setting watch for enemy attacks. We saw the enemy and we had the power of heroes.

I had an inkling then, but I ignored it. Not just the potential for loss, but the fear that this was another in a series. Cities fell and the deaths were in the thousands, but we fought back. We triumphed over evil (as was right) and though we were made a little less, we set ourselves back on the path to peace.

Only evil showed itself, again and again. A necromancer's spirit awakened when graverobbers disturbed his tomb. A world-eater summoned by a rogue wizard. And again we cut them down, losing bits of ourselves and our lives in the process. A wife. A son. And, finally, hope.

The hot breath of victory gave way to a numbness. An inevitability that this was not the last.

So I say let it end. Let the hereafter come and let us meet it. Whether it be the warm embrace of loved ones long past or a cold dark nothing, I welcome it.

I gave all I had to the fight. And like a greedy pig, it took it all. I have nothing left. So I welcome the end.

I posted this same prompt a few months ago