Purple Eyes

A big choice for a little girl

Tears streamed down Beven's face as she hastily packed clothes, supplies, and useful items into a suitcase. She was in a hurry, and the tears blurred her vision at times. She was angry and extremely irritated, yet simultaneously felt a profound sadness. Something monumental had occurred for her to finally make that decision, and nothing would alter her course at this point. Her thoughts raced as if something long-buried within Beven's core had been set free, akin to a wild beast unleashed from its cage, now roaming free with no one able to confine it once more.

The men arrived, their footsteps echoing like a march of death. Beven trembled with fear at the impending consequences. She had allied herself with an enemy of humanity and set them free—the punishment for such acts in Mucercia was death, that is, if she weren't deemed a sympathizer to witchcraft and sentenced to burn at the stake. Beven had no idea how she would face her father, who would likely cast his perennially disappointed gaze upon her. However, this time was different; this marked Beven's most egregious transgression against her parents and her boldest act of rebellion in all these years. This time, there would be no escaping the consequences.

Beven was determined to flee Mucercia, even if she had to go alone, even if it meant never seeing her parents again, and even if it cost her life. Death, to Beven, wasn't as daunting as the prospect of remaining a caged bird for all her years, never realizing the life she truly desired. It might be an impulsive and poorly thought-out act, but at that moment, the rebellious girl cared for nothing else. She packed all her hopes and dreams into a small suitcase, believing in a life beyond the towering walls.

Her father and Alpameo arrived on horseback in extreme urgency. As they came face to face with Beven, she could discern the expressions on both their faces. The young prince appeared pallid, perspiring profusely as if he had seen a ghost. His eyes were wide, mouth agape, gazing at Beven in disbelief. Meanwhile, her father displayed his usual stoic countenance, but the glint in his eyes had shifted. Beven had never seen her father like this, and it genuinely frightened her, intensifying the pounding of her heart.

However, it wasn't enough for Beven to simply adopt a different demeanor. She knew she couldn't maintain her true identity outside Mucercia, or she'd swiftly meet her demise. Getting past the gates without drawing attention was a formidable challenge. Then, a recollection surfaced—her father's hunting permit. If she were fortunate, she could present it to the gate guards, claiming she was leaving for a hunting expedition. She fervently hoped they wouldn't be familiar with her father. The optimal plan involved slipping through the back gates of Mucercia, less monitored and rarely used. Since the gate guards had already seen her face, there was a risk of recognition. To employ her father's permit successfully, she needed to assume the guise of a boy.

"You told me you were going to call for help! You liar!" Beven exclaimed, pointing at the face of the young prince who had just dismounted from his horse. Alpameo remained silent, his eyes still wide with shock. Her father, who dismounted after him, didn't utter a single word. However, with a swiftness that caught Beven off guard, he delivered a slap to her face, leaving her momentarily stunned. The sound was so loud it even hurt her ear, and for a few seconds, Beven stood there, hand on her reddened cheek.

The maiden donned an attire once worn by her father in his youth, when he was less corpulent. As she beheld her reflection in the looking glass, she discerned that her petite bosom, lack of pronounced curves, and stature surpassing one meter and seventy centimeters held a peculiar charm. She bore semblance to a lad, yet there lingered an elusive element, a distinctive feature that, upon the scrutiny of any denizen in that hamlet, would unmistakably identify her – her cascading locks, so abundant that they cascaded down to her waist. The voluminous curls, an arresting spectacle as she strolled through the thoroughfare, were an undeniable hallmark, rendering it inconceivable for a man to possess tresses of such prodigious length.