Poisoned Lips

15: The Storm

The kiss wasn't like what she'd read in stories. It didn't give her butterflies; It didn't leave her wanting more. Instead, it left her drained. Her legs shook. Her breaths were short and rapid. Her stomach was hollow like he had sucked all the energy from her body as he pulled away.

The world blurred and for a moment, Freyja lost her balance.

She dug her fingernails into her palms, leaving crescents moons as she straightened herself against the wall. Freyja brought her fingers to her lips and gaped at the High Guard.

He was smirking, his ghostly eyes gleaming with power.

Suddenly, Freyja was back in the shadows of the alleyway. Her tiny was back pressed against the wall, eyes wide in panic and fear. She was twelve at the time, still learning her way in the streets of Deggertip, Aføya. The night was dark and the sky was pitch black, unilluminated by stars or a full moon.

Freyja had just had another fight with her mother.

I want to have a life, she had screamed.

Well, you can't!

She remembered she was drowning in rage, fists clenched, and heart rate rapid. She knew what she would do was stupid and reckless, but she did it anyway. She grabbed a flower vase, hurled it across the room, and with her mother distracted, she sprinted out of the house.

The night was cold but Freyja pushed through the burning in her lungs, a determined frown on her face. She could hear her mother trying to catch up with her, yelling her name. The excited chatter of the village fueled her as she ran. She hopped blindly over fallen trees, swatted branches, and ran faster as the end of the forest emerged.

She entered the village that was positioned on the cliffs. Her back was to the beach; she heard the mighty waves crashing against the sand. Beside her, the forest stood, imposing and isolating. In the distance, her mother's voice echoed. Her eyes twinkled with admiration and awe as she caught sight of the lamps that hung off strings, the people leaning against the wall with cigars hanging between their fingers, and the high-pitched laughter that danced around in every group. She smelled a whiff of roasted beef.

Her nose followed the aroma of the food and she let it guide her, occasionally apologizing as people bumped into her. The yellow lights in the windows of the houses contrasted with the black color of the sky but complemented the glow of the street lamps. The shops were still open- the night was alive and so was she. Far off, she heard music and claps of dancers.

When she arrived at the location of the food, her heart pounded a bit faster. The street lights were dimmer. The area was less crowded and filled with guards in red, huddled in small groups around food stalls. Freyja gulped. They were laughing and holding beer mugs. She saw the swords on their waist and the peacock emblem on their chest. They would kill her. She took a step back, still staring at them.

Then, one of them saw her.

The brown-haired man waved her over with a large smile, nudging his companion. She spun around to leave but bumped into a buff man, who forced her to approach the one who had waved. They don't know what you are. Act normal.

"Hi. I'm a normal girl. Hello." She stuck her tiny hands out.

"Normal girl," he slurred, "Where are your parents?"

Freyja shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...Waiting for me at home?"

At the sign of her hesitation, he nudged his companion. Something in his eyes made her hair rise. It gleamed with power. Leave. Turn around and run! She took a step back, and turned around, ready to sprint.