The Ring

008

The forests that they had reached were dark and gruesome. Tall dark trees had towered over them in antagonizing figures of twists and turns, full of thorns and bones. The sky had been a mixture of grays and dark blues, the sun had been hidden from her true candor as the darkness and velocity of the upset clouds had locked her away.

They were getting closer to the Vampriclands. She'd often forgotten that you had to pass through their land before ever getting to the entirety of the east, where all of the rich would often stay.
The soil from the ground smelt rich in spice, and burned the insides of your nose if you concentrated on it too much. It reminded Chrissa of the sweetbreads that her kitchen maids would often bake for the royals; it tasted sweet on the outside, smelt of vanilla, and on top was a creamy white icing-like substance that melted within your tongue. In the center, there was a kick of this smoky flavor. That was what the forests smelt like, she thought.

She was riding on Michael's horse, trying to desperately escape the tension that had just happened between them. Chrissa felt a sea of emotions that drowned her often, whenever she thought of Michael. All her life, she'd never really had a choice in who she loved. From as young as she could remember, it was just an unspoken rule that she belonged to Stephen. It had been arranged years ago, when he introduced himself to her, and they'd quickly become friends. Chrissa'd never been allowed to seek other men, and Michael fascinated her. She didn't realize such feelings could ever exist within her. She never felt the electricity that Michael had given to her in the inn, from Stephen. She felt like a silly virgin. But she just couldn't be with him. She couldn't! He was a palace guard. What will her father think?

"Michael," she said, with slight desperation in her voice. Chrissa then sighed, as she rested her head against his back, as scenery from the forest had flashed by due to how fast the horse was going. She could feel his body react to her touch.

"Michael, we must talk about it."

The horse suddenly slowed, "no. Talk to yourself."

Chrissa almost laughed, "no?"

"Yes, Chrissa. No. I don't want to," he shot back at her with an annoyed tone.

That was a tone that she had never heard from anyone in her life. It was stern. It was otherworldly, it felt like a different language. "No?" She repeated, as if she didn't understand his words. She scoffed, "but why?" 

Chrissa had never been told no. She had never been turned down. Especially by someone who was socially beneath her. "Who do you think you are?"

The horse stopped.

Michael suddenly jumped from the animal and narrowed his eyes, "look. I can't help you anymore." He admitted, as his hands rested on the belt of his dark trousers. He gave her an expressionless gaze, as if he'd been through hell with her and came back.

She looked at him in disbelief, and let out a short, dry laugh. Chrissa shook her head, "t-the kingdom pays you to serve. Which was your own choice, Michael. You're like, my property."

"No," he scoffed, as he shook his head. "I don't think I am actually." He told her coldly. Chrissa got off the horse, and landed on her feet this time. She crossed her arms and cocked her head, "really?"

"I'm owned by no one, I make my own decisions," he said. "But you, on the other hand? You're nothing but another royal who cares only about yourself."

She uncrossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, "because I didn't want to kiss your disgusting lips?"

"You can't even bring yourself to kiss my disgusting lips. You don't have it in you," Michael shot back at her. "You have feelings for me and you hate it."