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He was on a path in the woods.
She sat in a cabin.
There was a voice in his head. An insistent voice, urging him forward towards a small hill. His steps were unwilling, but there was little choice to his actions.
There was a chain on her wrist. Nothing teeth couldn’t handle. A door, however, could be more impossible than chains.
The sharp resinous scent of pine brought him to awareness. He thought any number of arbitrary replies, half-heartedly playing to an unseen god’s whimsy.
Was it godliness that brought her to this moment? Change boiled beneath her skin, waiting for release. All she needed was a suitable vessel.
The voice wouldn’t shut up. It had begun to take form—a voice of urgency, of action. “We’re supposed to save princesses, not slay them.”
She would not be slain so easily.
The cabin stood on a grassy hill, the stars staring down. All the while, he wondered: a voice. Another voice. He was wanderer and hero and
Perhaps, perhaps. She tugged at the chain again. Perhaps it would hold. Perhaps it held because she knew it would.
The cabin door was unlocked, and inside was empty, save for a blade. It sat on a table, reflecting slatted wood and the dust coating everything else. Would he slay the princess? Could he?
She couldn’t be slain, not really.
He stared at the blade, lifting it. It was heavier than it looked. Carrying the blade was tantamount to an admission of guilt.
She was guiltless.
The stairs were colder than the outside. Claws gouged palms as he curled hands into empty fists. They sat tense at his sides as he breathed in damp, rotted air.
Footsteps sounded from the staircase. “H-hello? Is someone there?” An obvious answer, for no wind could land such heavy footfalls.
Beyond the bottom of the steps was a woman in a rich brocade dress. Her eyes were large, her features fine. She wore a crown over long, straight hair.
An enigma. Unplaceable déjà vu. They stared at one another, crowded by decisions.
Her words were silver and rubies, and his chest ached at what he must do. (Must he?)
She wasn’t sure where the story led, only that there was something there, deep inside, waiting for change.
His actions were not his own, but
She made him act.
“We both know this isn’t you.”
He was on a path in the woods.