FEATURED BY @Retold
A fight for a kingdom that belongs to neither.
Aneira Guinevere was the fairest in the land - with her flowing dark tresses reminiscent of the midnight sky, and her delicate skin as pure as snow. Though the weight of her past l...
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Rumors of Zara Pyrecrest's newfound "daughter" fluttered through the town like wildfire, captivating the townsfolk. Word had spread that a milkman had caught sight of her entering her abode with a young girl, and soon, the secret of the mysterious child had become public knowledge.
The revelation of Zara, the town's enigmatic witch, having any involvement with children took everyone by surprise. Eager to catch a glimpse of this unexpected sight, the townspeople gathered outside her residence, curious and intrigued.
"I heard she's a sacrificial offering to the gods," one voice speculated.
"Nonsense! She must be a faerie," another chimed in.
"No, no! She's a demon-child, used by the witch to carry out her dark deeds," claimed yet another.
"You're mistaken! The girl is surely an orphan," interjected a hopeful soul.
"I heard rumors that the witch extended her hand to shelter the girl, cast aside by her own family for her unfortunate appearance," whispered another passerby.
Such were the murmurs circulating among the crowd.
It had been a grueling fifty hours since Zara had brought the ailing girl home, wrapped in a cozy blanket to shield her from the biting cold. Yet, Zara herself was absent now, leaving the nearly recovered child to rest in solitude. The crowd outside hoped to catch a glimpse of the girl, fully aware that Zara would never allow them near her precious charge.
Curiosity mingled with caution, and the villagers dismissed any malicious intentions, viewing the gathering as innocuous—a mere peculiarity born from their community's insatiable intrigue.
Earlier that day, Zara had mounted her ebony mare in preparation for the excursion to which she had been invited. Throughout the day, she harbored doubts, pouring out her concerns to the sleeping girl.
"I am tempted to brand him as shallow and superficial. However, Ser Henry was right... he possesses an uncanny way with words," she murmured, stealing a glance at the sleeping child through the mirror.
She shook her head. "No, you are right. He is likely playing me for a fool..."
The child sighed peacefully in her sleep, and Zara's lips curled into a tender smile. "But perhaps that is the only path forward. A man who can enthrall with words is akin to a talking parrot," she whispered, tucking the blanket snugly around the girl and then drawing the hood over her own head.
The room descended into darkness. When Zara departed, the clock had just ticked past five in the morning, and the solitary wax candle that flickered softly was extinguished before her departure.
The town lay silent, and she relished in the tranquility of the moment. The frigid air embraced her visage as she guided her mare, towards the outskirts. The filly- India had not welcomed the early awakening, but the carrots she received proved sufficient payment.
