Duo

A Tale of Chance and Fortune

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Part One

A Child’s Tale

The King

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 The king's dark eyes were stone as he gazed upon his men.
They were identical.
With dark iron armor, pitch flumes spraying from their helmets, and all perched upon
sleek, dark-furred horses, they looked clean-cut, cookie-cutter.

Just as the king liked it.

The gate creaked and rattled as it dragged upward on its rusted wheels.

The gypsy rebel wouldn't bother him no longer.

He thought killing her husband would push her away, but her latest stunt proved his
assumptions false.

His jaw tightened.

The gate clicked as it locked in place.
Eyes were on him.
Dead, soldier eyes.
Eyes that would get his job done.

He took a steady breath, steeling his nerves.

"Bring her back dead." He barked, voice echoing in the silent courtyard, "Or rather, throw
her corpse in the well. As long as she does not enter my gates alive, it is a success."
A silent nod from the leader of the pack.
The king raised his arm, and with a jerk of his wrist, commanded his legions forward.

Good riddance. He thought to himself as he listened to the pounding hooves fade into the
distance.

Satisfied with his work, he turned back to his castle, a drawn, tired look on his face.

Bye-bye gypsy girl.

Malorie

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 Malorie gazed at the blue eyes of her little girl. She was so small, it was strange to even
picture her the cause of so much strife. Well, she and her sister of course.

Malorie closed her eyes and took a steady breath.

She could still feel the gaping emptiness in her arms as her sister took Amalia from her.
She was not eager to give up curious little Nora as well.

The baby cooed softly, sweetly, and Malorie found herself opening her eyes once more.

Each inhale felt like it was numbing her lungs, and each exhale made her hands shakier
than before. And yet, she knew her nerves did not matter, and she knew that even if she decided
it was wrong to send her away, there was nothing she could do.

As far as the king was concerned, there was no baby. Let alone two.
She could save them.​

Her fingers worked quickly, expertly as she wove a knot in the canvas. It had to be tight,
and it had to be careful. It was her second to last gift she would ever give her, and it was as close
to a home as she could get.

Tiny, curious fingers found Malorie’s shaking hand, holding on with surprising strength.
The baby giggled, a toothless smile breaking on her tiny face. It made Malorie pause, watching
the girl with a sad love in her eyes.

“I love you, Nora.” She whispered in the baby’s ear like it was a secret. “I love you more
than anything. Do not forget that.” She took a shuddering breath, willing tears back from her
burning eyes. “I’m sorry we don’t get to share what your Daddy built, but this is not a world a
family can thrive in.”

She kissed her daughter’s cheek slowly, closing her eyes and wishing the world were
kinder, wishing Xavier and her plan for a family could have followed through, wishing their
baby girls could have grown in the house their father built.

And for a second, with her eyes closed and her wishes dancing behind her eyes, she was
sure it was true, and that reality was just a little warped.
But then she opened them again and was met with a beautiful baby girl smiling up at her,
swaddled in a filthy canvas sheet, only illuminated by a melting candle in an empty, dingy house
that was shadowed and shriveled.

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 “It’s okay,” she assured herself, lifting the bottle to Nora’s tiny mouth, “It’s okay. It’s
okay. It’s okay.”

As the drug met the small girl’s system, her eyes began to droop, and her breathing
slowed into the gentle lull of sleep.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

A single tear ran down her face as Malorie pressed her lips together in a silent sob.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

She slid the sheet a little snugger around her fragile baby girl, before scooping her up in
her arms, and blowing out the light.

Decisions

Everything was silent to Malorie.

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 Her feet barely even touched the cobblestone streets, her bare toes seemed to dance
across them soundlessly. Even her skirt, as it’s long, brown fabric flapped and whipped behind
her, made very little sound, and even less so, little sleeping Nora wrapped snuggly in her
mother’s arms.

Her eyes did not wander, nor did they search. Instead, they remained trained steadily
forwards, waiting for the inn ahead.

She knew the woman who owned it, in fact--they were childhood friends. She had agreed
to take Nora and raise her as their own. All Malorie had to do, was get her there safely.

Almost there.

***

Pounding hooves slammed against the cobbled streets.

The horses screamed and bucked in their owners' reigns and the men watched soundlessly at the
world around them.

It was silent.

Silent, until their horses broke the bubble the town was in.

Shutters were closed frantically, in a domino effect around the square the group had
paused in. They were slammed, bolted, and cowered behind.

The king’s men only brought death to them.

The small house the king had described was to their right, and it was empty. The door
hung ajar, and the inside swallowed by hollow darkness.
The leader soundlessly signaled to his men.
A runner.

And it was with no more than a gesture of his arm that sent them running.

Hooves pounded.
Men shouted commands to their steeds.

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 Follow the road, follow the road​.
HI’YA!

***

The stars above Malorie’s head were comforting, but she did not gaze at them long. They
were a reminder someone watching out for her, someone assuring her it would be okay. She
thanked the stars silently, and the stars replied by winking down at her.

***

The men followed the road dutifully, swallowing up the distance between themselves and
the fleeing girl they were ordered to kill.

Whips cracked.
Hooves slammed against stone-like fingers against drum.
The men were perched upon the backs of their steeds, leaning forward expectantly,
waiting for their chance to make the king proud.

***

Malorie found herself stopping. She heard a noise, a noise that was only getting steadily
louder and steadily closer.
Her breath hitched, and she tore down the street, her heart pounding in her chest.

Whips.
Hooves.
Men.

She had to outrun them all. She had to get Nora to the inn before they came.
***

Gaining, gaining, gaining. Closer and closer they drew. Malorie couldn't breathe, her feet
pounded against the stone and her eyes searched the street in terror.

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 Nora had begun to cry. The sweet purple herb only did so much in making her sleepy,
and with her mother’s pounding heart by her head, and the jolting of Malorie’s run, the girl had
awoken and was wailing from inside the bundle of canvas.

Run run run!​ Malorie screamed to herself inside her head, ​Get to the Inn!

But the inn was still a long way down, and the sounds of death were only drawing closer.

Her feet skid, tearing against the rough street.

She saw a pillar.

Closer.
Closer.
Closer.

HI’YA!

Desperate, she flung herself behind it, pressing her back close to the icy stone, and
tucking her crying child in the fold of her dress, hoping to muffle her wails.

“​Shhh,”​ She pleaded, voice breaking, “​Shh, please Nora, shhhh.”​

Her baby hiccuped, but had slowed her cries, and was left whimpering against her
mother’s chest. Malorie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling on the edge of crying, as she held her
breath.

Don't.​ She pleaded with the universe as the sounds grew closer, ​Don't don't don't.

The horses never stopped.

They continued by.

Malorie still could not breathe.

She sobbed silently instead, shoulders shaking in terror as she pressed herself against the
pillar harder.

How she wished for Xavier.

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 Xavier would take her hand and squeeze and squeeze until there was nothing left but him.
Malorie longed for the comfort of it, the simplicity it brought.

Instead, she clutched the fold of her skirt, feeling it ball and bunch up in her shaking fist.

She let out a choked out sob, feeling it vibrate and tear at her throat as it escaped her lips.
Realizing her mistake, she pressed her hand against her mouth, each breath was ragged, each
inhale expectant and each exhale terrified.

Voices.
Hooves.
Whips.

It took every ounce of energy Malorie had not to scream.

There was no running now.

There was no inn.
She was doomed to die, doomed to roam hell for her little girl's life she could have saved
if not for her weakness.

And Nora--Nora with her curious eyes and bubbling laugh. Nora with her sweet little
smile, and gentle coo, Nora, who supposed to grow in a warm house with a father, mother, and
sister at her side, would be reaped before her time.

She would be killed in cold blood by the ruthless men that took her Xavier.

She screamed her pleas as the men tore her from her arms, taking what hope Malorie had
left.
“NO!” She sobbed, voice echoing in the street as rough hands dragged her to her knees.
They were only silent.
Silent as they took the baby in their arms.
Silent as they gazed upon her with masked eyes.
Then the leader spoke, as he gazed at Nora who appeared so much tinier in his large
hands.

“What’s her name?” He almost sounded human.

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 “Nora.” Malorie choked out, tears streaming down her face, “Her name is Nora, please--
please.​”

The man was silent for a moment, before finally turning to his expectant men.
“Kill the girl.” He ordered. “We’ll take the infant back to the king.”

Malorie stared at the stars with burning eyes.

They did not look so comforting now.

She could only wonder if Xavier had cried as well.

Mirrored

Nora laughed happily as her feet danced across the cold, wooden floor of the ballroom.

“Why don't we have balls anymore?” She had asked Maria, her nanny, that morning.

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“Oh, we do, little one.” Maria replied playfully, tapping the giggling seven-year-old on the nose,
“You just have to use your imagination sometimes.”

And use it, she did.

Her bright blue eyes scanned the large, barren room and she could see tables of foods from all
nations, chandeliers of diamonds that seemed to rain from the ceiling, and people everywhere.
Grown-ups, kids, nobles, queens, she saw them all. All dressed in their shiniest gowns and
neatest tuxes.

Dancing, with her toes barely brushing the floor, she went around the room, laughing and
pretending to eat the assortment of delicious desserts piled high on every platter.

Someday, she’d be in a real ball, she decided matter-of-factly, and she’d dance with every person
in the room and eat until she was full.

***

Amalia felt the cool mud push between her toes. It made a funny squishy sound that left
her giggling. Her dark brown eyes were big and mischievous as she lifted her foot, pressing it
down once more. This time, she was left cackling, her little head held back and eyes full of joy.

“Are you collecting those berries, ‘Malia?” Her aunt called from the porch, raising a
pointed eyebrow.
“Yes…” Amalia replied guiltily, her wicker basket clutched in her small seven-year-old
hands.

“You better be!” Her aunt was sweet and loving, but there was no doubt she was strict.
Amalia loved her anyway, even though sometimes she was a “meanie”.

Deciding it was time for chores, Amalia bent down, swaying back and forth as if her feet
were cemented to the muddy clay.

She plucked berry after berry, letting them drop into the basket.

With every step, the funny noise would greet her again.

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 She giggled, and as she filled her basket with the sweet red strawberries, all she could
smell was the delicious pie her aunt was going to make out of them.

She’ll live here forever, she decided matter-of-factly, eating sour of berries and playing in
the funny mud.

***

Nora yawned behind her hand, trying not to let it show.

Suitor meetings were rather boring.

And long.

The seventeen-year-old wanted nothing but to run around like she used to when she was
little. Skirt dancing, bare feet hitting the cold floor, a smile pulling at her face--

She sighed, eyes dully dragging through the room.

This wasn’t the ball she had dreamed of as a little girl. She dreamed of lively music and
laughing voices filling the room. Not…… she gazed at the room full of egotistical suitors, their
noses arched in the air, This.

But, she had to pick one to marry. (of course, she already knew who, but it was all part of
the show, talking with each one, pretending to consider them, pretending to like them… It was
her duty as a princess to make them feel like they mattered).

She entertained herself by watching the Duke of Voeri. (she didn’t know how to
pronounce it either). He was tall and handsome, with a strong jaw, glittering smile, and soft dark
hair curled atop his head. She could only picture him in a wedding crown, staring charismatically
at the crowd.

Handsome, sweet, strong and brave-- what wasn’t there to like? He was the perfect suitor
and the perfect man!

And by which, he was egotistical, bratty, and an all-around a--

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 He turned to her, his dark eyes glittering hungrily as he sent a wink across the floor. She
replied with a fake shy wave.

I know what you do to girls! Sheepish giggle and a wink, I know how disgusting you are!
Tiny princess wave. Burn in hell like the beast you are! Sweet bite of her lip.

Gah! The life of a princess. It was entertaining but confining.

Once she was married away, though-- she could do what she wanted. Wives had power
over their husbands, not true power, but influence.

She could get things done.

She sent a small smile to the duke.

She could get things done.

***

Grain spilled from the edges of her wicker basket. Her back arched as she pulled it along
with her. The moist dirt felt strange beneath her bare toes, but the dust had become an issue for
the market, so she was grateful they had at least figured out a way to solve it.

The market place bustle around her, the stream of people split around her as if she were a
stone placed on a creek bed. The cries of desperate sellers filled the air.

“TWO BITS ONLY!”

“THEY’RE RIPE THIS SEASON!”

“AAAAAPPLES, GET YOUR APPLES HEEEEEEEEEEEERE!”

It was getting annoying. Screams filled her ears and drowned out her thoughts. It was
loud, it was busy, it was bustling. All Amalia wanted was peace!

She sighed, finally seeing her aunt’s shop in view. The small red roof gleamed like a
beacon. She remembered painting it, her laughing aunt helping her wipe the red ink from her
scrunched little nose.

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 “Is that you, ‘Malia?” Aunty called from inside as she neared.
“It’s me, Aunty.” She grit her teeth, setting the basket down slowly on the step, “I got the
grain, as you asked.”

“Thank you, doll.” She appeared, her lined face framed in frizzy curls. She looked tired,
drawn. “Would you mind bringin’ it inside for me, darlin?” She asked wiping her dirty hands on
an old rag. “You know how my back is.”

“Yes, Aunty.” Her eyes flicked along the crowd as she stretched, mentally preparing
herself for the weight of the basket.

“Would you like some help?”

Amalia froze.
A boy.
A boy.
She turned, surprised anyone was even talking to her.

Oh, he was pretty.

Dark hair fell into his sweet brown eyes, and an embarrassed smile pulled at his mouth.

“Yes please.” Amalia sighed in relief, stepping to the side and giving him room to grab
the basket, “I only warn you that it’s heavy.”

He laughed, head held back and eyes shut. He laughed with his whole body, it was sweet.
“Good thing I’m so strong.”

Amalia laughed as well, watching as the skinny boy lifted the basket with her.
“You must exercise with sacks of flour, by the muscles on you!”

“Nay,” He replied, giving a false haughty air, “I exercise with only the densest sacks of
iron!”

Amalia grinned, as they both set the basket down with a grunt.

“Thank you.” She said sheepishly, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear.
“Anytime.” He replied. Without a joke on his lips, he looked awkward. “My name is
Julio, by the way. I’m the tailors' son.”

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 Amalia smiled, offering her hand. “Amalia.” She replied to a question he need not speak,
“Farmer’s niece, but I'm sure you gathered that.” He took it gratefully, giving it a firm shake
with a sweet grin on his lips.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He said kindly. “I hope to see you around.”

“I’ll pray we do.” And with that, the boy turned and disappeared back into the bustling
street.

The Joust

Nora let out a choked gasp.

She could feel her ribs ache. She was sure they would snap. She blinked tears from her
burning eyes and dug her nails deeper into the soft wooden chair.

She’d swear if she could breathe.

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 “Oh, shut your gaping trap,” Maria scolded, sliding her foot against the base of Nora’s
spine and pulling the corset tighter, “You look like a dying fish on Maurice’s table.”

Nora squeezed her eyes shut, and wondered if anyone had ever been suffocated by a
corset before.

“Why must a lady have the waist of a wasp, Maria?” She replied, turning to the sour
nanny. “Does no one realize it is squeezing out innards?”

“Men like it.” Was all she replied with, pursing her lips. She grabbed the girl’s shoulder,
and spun her around fast enough to stumble, “Our tummies do not please them so much.”

“But even the married ones…” She let out a squeak like a mouse as Maria gave it another
tug, “They--”

“The ladies are judgemental of those who do not wear them.”

“But--”

“You talk like a schoolboy,” She scolded again, finally tying the blasted contraption off
and turning her for a final inspection, “Curiosity is a sinner’s drink.”

“But why?”

Maria almost slapped her the grinning princess.

“You’re to be the death of me, girl.” She snapped, tugging at the dress’s folds and
straightening them out, “Every strand of gray atop my head is a testament to your shenanigans.”

To that, Nora could only giggle mischievously.

“Once I am married, Maria,” She said grandly, turning to the flap of her tent that would
lead to the joust, “You will no longer have to deal with me.”

Shouts of ‘praise the lord’ and ‘the heavens have been kind’ followed her outside.

Maria was a dramatic one. She was a lover of the theater, after all.

The sounds of the joust overwhelmed her, the screaming of horns and the bustling of feet,
accompanied with chatter and laughter.

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 She took a slow breath, steeling her nerves, before hesitantly venturing forward.

***

Amalia had never witnessed something so spectacular before. Jousts only occurred rarely,
and the king had not been kind to many people lately, least so his own, making visits from other
kingdoms increasingly rare.

But the King of Qas had been overthrown (read: murdered) rather recently, and a new
ruler took his place, this one rather excited over King Donald’s ways of ruling. They had
scheduled a visit to discuss foreign affairs this week, and to cap it off, a duel between the two
nations as a playful determinant of who was superior and who was less so.

It was to the people of Baelith’s great delight, for a joust was a public event hosted by
nobles, meaning for once the public could live gallantly, if even for only an afternoon.

Amalia was bouncing on the balls of her bare feet, a sticky bun clutched in her fingers.
Julio, the tailor's boy, was seated atop the fence to her right, also eating a sweet, sticky bun with
a grin on his face.

“I’d like to be a knight some day.” He said matter-of-factly, turning to Amalia with joy in
his deep brown eyes. The sunset was catching his smooth, dark skin just right, making him look
fit for a painting. “Then ​other people​ would have to sew my boots.”

Amalia laughed, mouth full of sweet pastry.

“I’d rather be a noble.” She replied, turning and gesturing to the empty booth decked in
shimmering fabrics, (the kings and their men had not arrived yet), “I’d command servants and
maids to do the farming for me, and lounge about silk cushions from dusk ‘til dawn.”

“True,” Julio ventured, cocking his head, “But that sounds rather boring, don’t you
think?”

“No.” She answered, turning to the booth once more with a far off look in her eye.

The wonderful, joyous hustle and bustle of the town was calming slightly, as the sun set
across the plains. It, of course, would liven up again once the night-time dances began, but that
was for a ways, and for now, a gentle sleepy lull was drifting over the buzz of excitement.

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 A glint caught Amalia’s eye, and head turned suddenly.

It was the flash of a glittering gown.

The nobles and royalty had arrived.

Lead by the two kings, a thin stream of people followed, all bedecked in their finest
dresses and outfits, their heads adorned with either crowns or flowing sheets of fabric in the form
of headdresses

The finest of all was, of course, the princess. Despite the distance, her long, curly blonde
hair could be seen cascading down her shoulders. Her dress was a deep navy blue with golden
ribbons lining the edges. It was a simple dress, but on the princess, nothing was simple.

“You kinda look like her,” Julio commented suddenly, tearing Amalia from her thoughts.
“From a distance, and if you kinda squint and tilt your head a little.”

Amalia laughed at the joke.

Princess Nora was rarely seen by common folk, and yet she (and her enchanting beauty)
were beloved by everyone in the kingdom.

“No, really! My father and I tailored for a noble once, and we saw her in the castle
hallway. You look very much alike.” He scratched his head, “Except she doesn't have your
eyes.”

It was a compliment, to be compared to the princess, and even more so to be compared

higher​ than the princess. ​‘You don't have her eyes’​ versus ​‘She doesn't have your eyes’.​ It was a
startling enough difference to make her head turn.

“You shouldn't say such things, Tailor boy.” Amalia scolded, whacking him on the arm.
He only shrugged, an unreadable smile on his face as the echoing horns filled the air.

In the red sunlight that spilled across the land, you could not tell Amalia was blushing,
and she convinced herself she was not. But the heat upon her cheeks was difficult to ignore.

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 Curiosity

Nora hugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders, keeping her head down. She only
wanted to see what town life was like, but she knew it would never happened if anyone
recognized her. Of course, as long as her iconic long blonde hair stayed back in a ribbon and not
in it’s recognizable curls, hopefully the clueless people would not notice her.

“I feel faint.” She swooned, fanning herself dramatically. The duke turned to her, a look
of feigned concern crossing his face.

“You must get some fresh air then, princess.” He told her gently, hand placed across her
thigh. She suppressed a shudder, and offered a weak smile.

“Yes,” King Donald agreed, turning to her, “Take a guard with you.”

“No.” She replied too quickly, fingers jumping to the Duke’s roaming hand. “No, I… I
need to be alone.”

She had been waiting for far too long to explore the land beyond the castle.

The wait had been worth it.

The sweet, cinnamony smells filled her nose and made her woozy. She loved it instantly.
Laughter filled her ears and children played with a leather ball down the street. People bustled
around ehr, talking and laughing, and enjoying the day.

Shoulders bumped in to her own, shouts of ‘excuse me’ followed short after.

What a wonder-- people not kissing her feet after simply brushing by.

The thought made her excited.

Her eyes were caught by a baker’s stand, a small pile of sweet, sticky buns filled the
table. They were mouth watering. She picked one up, and took a slow bite, enjoying it
immensely.

“Hey!”

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 She opened her eyes in surprise.
“You need to pay for that!” The round face of the baker was red and scowling angrily at
her.

Pay?

“Hm?” She asked, mouth full of delicious pastry.

“Yeah! You!”

And suddenly she was running, a screaming man on her heels with a rolling pin in the air.

“THIEF!” He howled, voice screeching and carving the air like a rusted blade.

She had never been so afraid in her life.

Her feet pounded, her hands shook, ​was she going to get caught?

She could barely breath and her heart pounded against her chest like the hands of the
royal drummer.

She collided into something.

Nay, someone.

Arms grabbed her instinctively, and Nora didn’t have time to react.

“YOU BETTER PAY FOR THAT!”

“What’s going on here?” It was the voice of the stranger. Nora stumbled slightly, pulling
back.

She felt dizzy, the stranger’s hands hadn’t let her go.

The heavy footfalls of the baker skid to a halt. She could hear his panting, he sounded
like a hound.

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 “Give her,” He greeted, gasping for air. Nora struggled to turn, but the hand gripping her
shoulder was surprisingly strong, and she was still weak and shaking from adrenaline. “The girl
is a theif, she refuses to pay.”

A pause, then “​Can​ she pay, Malian?”

“Why does that matter? She stole a roll and ran!”

The girl turned to her. Nora was startled into silence by her shocking green eyes peering
from beneath her dark, dark curls.

“Can you pay?”

“What?”

“Do you have money?”

Money? Princesses didn’t carry money. No noble carried money, they didn’t bother.

“No.”

“Lies!” The baker cried angrily. Nora couldn't look away from the girl’s beguiling
features, “Look at her robe! Only a rich man can afford something like that!”

The girl reached into her pocket, bringing forth a few rusted coins before placing them in
the baker’s hands.

“The bun costs only a few pennies, Malian.” She replied, voice unreadable, “If the girl
cannot afford such a thing, then it is charity to allow her to take it.”

Malian grumbled a response, but walked away, his angry storm following him.

“Thank you.” Nora stammered, as the girl finally released her. She smoothed the folds of
her dress and attempted to regain her dignity, “I can pay you back.”

The girl only grinned a crooked grin. Nora found herself silent. It was a mischievous
smile, a smile that lit up her eyes and made her nose scrunch up.

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 “No need.” She answered smoothly, crossing her arms across her chest. She wore a
simple brown dress, with a wide skirt that danced around her feet and never seemed to catch
beneath her stride, and most importantly without a corset.

“I’m Clio.” She held out a hand. As Nora shook it, she could feel worn callouses beneath
her fingers, and see dirt beneath the girl’s nails.

She was a worker. And by the rings on her fingers, a blacksmith.

“Nora.” She answered, feeling her name roll around her tongue. It was rare she was
introduced without a title to her name these days, and even more rare to be named without the
Duke’s attached.

Clio cocked ehr head. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

To that, Nora did not need to answer.

“I’m the town blacksmith.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Clio replied with a wink. It made Nora increasingly uncomfortable and antsy. She was
practically squirming beneath the sharp gaze of her green irises.

There was a sudden shout from down the street.

Nora turned, but Clio grabbed her arm and she was suddenly dragged behind the mystery
girl as she cut through crowds like a light footed dancer.

“The coins were fake!” She shouted over her shoulder, joy flicking across her eyes.

Fake?

Nora was to busy making sure she did not stumble to think about it much longer.

“Why?” Nora shouted over the wind whipping past ehr ears and the pounding of ehr feet.

Clio turned her head once more, a mischevious grin on her face that gave every answer
Nora could have needed.

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 She found it fun.

Nora was distracted by her smile, and with a sharp pain, her toe drove into an upturned
stone.

With a crash, she hit the ground.

She did not experience pain often, and it was a new sensation to shoot down her elbows
and the palms of her hands.

She was dragged to ehr feet.

“Come on!” Clio shouted, pulling her forward.

A sharp turn down an alley, stone and soil turned to grass, and in front of Nora’s very
eyes, the towering buildings and rickety stalls melted into a densely wooded forest, with ight
glittering through the cracks in the leaves like secret stars.

Her feet pounded against soft, molding leaves that felt cool and strange against ehr feet.

She had long since lost her shoes in the chase.

The ribbon slipped from her long curls and flew behind her, gettign lost in the branches
and bushes,

She didnt have time to turn and retrieve it.

Clio skid to a stop, grass tearing from the soft soil as the heels of her feet dug into the
earth.

Nora stumbled, but stopped at her side.

Both girls were doubled over and panting heavily.

Clio was laughing loudly, head thrown back and shoulders shaking with every bellow of
joy.
“Wow, Pulchra.” Clio said joyously, standing up straight and flipping ehr hair from her
eyes, “You know how to run.”

23
 Nora didnt even question the strange new nickname.

“You’re insane.” Was all she could choke out, still doubled over. When she did stand, she
was surprised at the beautiful clearing she discovered them in. Bright green grass brushed against
ehr feet, and trees arched upwards, reaching their wooden fingertips to the sky.

A hand found hers, and pulled her along, this time at a slow, guided pace.

“Come.” CLio told her with a smile, puling ehr towards where two trees hugged one
another, leaving a small natural archway beneath them, “I gotta show you something great.”

Nora found herself starstruck by the girl. She seemed so wise and calm, and just a
moment ago she was howling in laughter at a malicious deed she performed, and now she
sounded sweet and serenely excited.

They stepped out into yet another clearing, and Nora found herself staring at a pond.
Lillypads floated by lazily, and leaves flittered down from above, landing in the crystal water
and floating away like small boats. The mud was soft and sticky beneath her bare feet, and she
would have stayed planted there forever if Clio hadnt gently taken her hand again.

A rowboat came into view.

Boats were illegal in the kingdom, despite being so near to the sea. Only the king could
own them, and dctate their travels.

This was startling to Nora.

But she allowed herself to be lead to the small, rickety thing. Clio waited expectantly,
and wobbling slightly, Nora sat down in the clean wooden bench.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked nervously, too overwhelm with surprise to
question the foolish action of stepping into a stranger’s vessel.

The girl only smiled.

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 Addiction

Horns blared and filled Amalia’s chest, making her ribcage rattle in anticipation. She had
lost all sight of the world around her, and instead found her eyes steadfast on the beautiful men
and women seated along the stands across the field. They were nobles, and Amalia was lost in
the daydream of them

They wore jewels she could only dream of, and were dressed in nothing but the finest
fabrics that would feel soft beneath her fingers if she were to touch them. The rough canvas of
ehr dress felt itchy in comparison to her thoughts.

She would be one of them someday. She told herself.

She would wear fabrics from far off lands and wear shoes that covered her clean toes
daintily. He would walk down marble halls with her head held high and not a care on her mind.

Julio sat to her right, watching her. His face held betrayal and sadness. He looked
devastated, for he had seen the look on Amalia’s face far too many times.

“Amalia?” He asked, the delight of the joust long forgotten. “Amalia?”

“Yes?” Her voice sounded far away.

Julio had nothing else to say, but Amalia didn't even notice. She was trapped in her
thoughts.

She’d dance with suitors who would sacrifice dignity for her hand, she’d find a beautiful
duke from a nearby county with a fortune and title to his name. She’d marry him in front of a
jealous and adoring crowd, she’d stare out at the sea of riches-adorned noble men, and know she
was the richest and luckiest of them all.

She’d live a life of bliss, surrounded by praise and adoration, without as care on her
mind. She’d be happy, she’d be safe, she’d be ​perfect.

“Amalia?” Julio asked again, voice catching in his throat. He loved her dearly, and all he
could do was watch as she fell for something else.

It was a sight to see, watching a girl fall for a dream.

25
Part Two

Truly Living

26
Bliss

27