***
He tenses and for a moment I fear he is going to run his sword through my chest. I cannot defeat him, not ever, and I am foolish for continuing to provoke him. But he doesn't move. The fight in his eyes dissolves and he pulls his weapon back slightly.
“What did you
say?” His face softens in disbelief and I hate him for being so beautiful. Enemies should not be beautiful.
I grip my weapon tighter, too stubborn
and terrified to move as I repeat my name--the name that has him so perplexed. My breathing is more elevated than
before and my misty exhales cloud the air between us.
His gaze trails over me and he seems confused. Angry, even. When his eyes return to mine he pinches his lips and turns away from me, cursing into the wind. Why is he upset?
Why do I care?
With his back to me, he is vulnerable. I could pull back and swing and bring him to the ground. I could cut
through his chest and be on my way. He is my rival. This is what I should do.
I hesitate.
He turns back to me with a torn expression and, in that moment, staring into silver eyes that look just as frightened as I feel, I know I've already lost. Not because he is mightier than I, but because I am now more
curious of him than fearful.
I do not hate him, I realize.
I do not hate him at all.
And this terrifies me more than his sword through my heart.
***
Thanks for reading, guys. :) Have a great week!
Thanks for reading, guys. :) Have a great week!
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Ooohh I want!!! Like now so hurry ok? Haha