The smell of blood and ash permeated the air. It made Pira's nose burn with every inhale of breath. Chaos ran around her. Guards with burns were being whisked past her to the infirmary, maids ran with bowls of water, in one hand and thread and needles in the other. Pira had even seen a maid carrying a mangled torso with a head and nothing more.
In Pira's eight years, she had never seen so much destruction.
For the most part, Pira remained unscathed, save for the large cut above her right eye and the crimson blood splattered across her baby blue dress.
Eleanor, Pira's Mother, was also fortunate in that regard. Eleanor's elegant midnight blue dress had only been burned at the bottom and the blood didn't show on the fabric, but the now familiar metallic smell still wafted through the air.
The castle had been hit the hardest. On the ground, there was a myriad of colourful broken glass glinting in the torches light. Parts of crumbling stone were now lying aimlessly through the halls, a light dusting of ash laid atop of everything. The ash would swirl every time someone walked by.
Blood painted everything.
Tears pricked the corners of Pira's eyes. Her home had been attacked, people she cared about hurt. Her life had seemed to burn around her and there she was now, sitting outside of her father's room, hours after an attack.
A guard came by, standing at full attention. He bowed to Eleanor, then Pira. "Your majesty permission to speak"
"Granted," Eleanor said, pacing back and forth.
"We believe that we have caught all intruders," the guard said. "We're now awaiting instructions on what to do with the prisoners.
"Execute them," Eleanor said. There was no hesitation, no moment of thought.
The guard hesitated "My queen, I-I don't think that's wise"
"I don't care" Eleanor growled and turned to the guard. "My husband, your King is dying thanks to those scoundrels; I want their blood to paint the walls of the throne room and their bones to make a grand chandelier for the ballroom. Do you understand me?"
Pira flinched and buried her face in her hands.
"Of course my queen," the guard bowed once again before marching down the hall.
Then a sob ripped through Pira's throat, then another, then another. The young girl pulled her knees into her chest and continued to cry. Eleanor walked over to her, placing a gentle hand on her mop of muddy blonde hair.
"Shhh Sweetheart," Eleanor cooed, "Everything will be alright."
"Is p-papa going-going to die" Pira choked out, only to sob harder.
Eleanor didn't answer. After all what answer could she give? Unfortunately, the answer was soon to be found.
Moments later the door to King George room was opened by the doctor who shuffled out, bowing to Eleanor than to Pira.
His outfit, like the palace, was smattered with blood, both dried and fresh. His glasses were askew on his nose and his hair dishelved. His face was what gave Pira pause. His expression was morose and resigned as if he had already looked death in the eye and knew the end was nigh.
"Yes, doctor," Eleanor asked standing up.
Instead of answering Eleanor the doctor turned to Pira, "Young Princess, I think you should go see your father."
She looked at Eleanor who nodded and helped the girl up before gently pushing her towards the large oaken doors. Pira yanked the door open more before walking in.
The room was barely lit, only one small torch near the bed illuminating King George who lay beneath the fires glow. The man turned his head as he heard Pira's feat smacking against the floor. He let out a small, barely there, smile.
"Spitfire, come closer," he croaked.
Pira walked to the bed, climbing onto the mattress. It was there that she got her first look at her father since the attack. His usually tan face had gone ashen grey, his light brown hair was matted with sweat and blood, and his brown eyes that usually held a twinkle to them were dull.
He already looked dead.
"How's my favourite girl doing," He asked while petting her hair.
Pira burst into tears once more.
"Spitfire, what's wrong"
It was then that Pira asked the dreaded question, the one where she asked her father if he was going to die.
Her father's smile dropped ever so slightly, "I won't lie to you"
"You can't leave me," she yelled in the way young children often do when faced with something they can't comprehend. "You can't. Papa, you can't"
"Don't look at it like I'm leaving you, look at it like I won't be here in body."
"You still won't be around," Pira cried.
Her father reached for his neck and removed an amulet that he wore. one Pira would play with when she sat on his lap. he never took the amulet off.
Never.
"Give me your hand Spitfire."
Ever so slowly Pira placed her tiny hand in her father's giant palm. "Close your eyes"
She did.
Pira could feel a warm weight in her hand, then the sound of a chain "open your eyes"
The bright blue pendant - the same colour as Pira's eyes - stared back at her, surrounded by forged silver.
"As long as you have this pendant I will always be near you," Pira's father said. "Near your heart where you'll need me the most. Life won't always be easy for you Spitfire, but as long as you have people who love you nearby, it will be a wonderful life."
Pira traced the pendant with her small fingers. Then with shaking hands, she put the amulet on and felt the heavy warm metal against her chest.
The king smiled, his eyes closing slowly, his heart rate decreasing, his breath shallow.
"You are going to do amazing things Pira," her father said. "I just know it."
"How do you know that," she asked. " Papa, how do you know?"
She was gripping the tunic he wore with a strength unknown. Trying to keep his attention if just for a moment longer.
"Because You are my daughter and I love you."
And with that, the good King closed his eyes and let out his last breath.
Pira grabbed his arm, shaking him. "Papa wake up," she cried. "Wake up. Please wake up."
Eleanor stormed into the room and ran to her husband. Two sharp nails went to his neck feeling for a pulse.
"He's gone," she said as if in disbelief staggering back slightly. "He's really gone"
A second passed before Eleanor threw herself atop his body and began to sob violently mumbling his name, begging him to come back to her. Pira jumped off of the bed and ran past the doctor, down the hall, over shards of broken glass and rubble, through the courtyard and into the forest away from the death and destruction. The snow bit into her feet and turned her nose pink. The tears blurred her eyesight making the world around her an array of dark shapes. Dark shapes that wanted to hurt her. Dark shapes that wanted to destroy her. Nothing good came from the dark.
The breath left her lung and she was flung back after her body collided with something hard. She sat in the snow for a moment before wiping away the tears and standing up. She looked at the thing she had run into. It was round and made of grey stones.
It was an old well.
Pira walked over to the well, peering over the rock and into her reflection below. The water was frozen - giving a distorted appearance- causing the ice to twist her reflection.
She looked pitiful, a mess. Her face was red, her nose was running, her hair tussled. The ice only seemed to exaggerate those features twisting them cruelly into some caricature of her. Her reflection mocked the way she felt on the inside.
She hated this, hated the way she looked.
Hated how weak she felt.
Hated being this. She hated being her.
She took one last glance in that well. she never wanted to look this weak ever again.