The Ring

0010

The prison was lethal. There existed four tall, dark walls with stained glass windows on all of them. It was still darkness, and thunder outside.

The shade of violet that were the windows, had shined elegantly onto Chrissa's face. The reflection had danced into the pupils of her dark eyes and kissed the curls of her hair in an ethereal-like way. Both she and Michael had been sat into immense darkness.

The only thing chained were their ankles. They had been thrown in the cell what seemed like minutes ago, hours, when in reality Michael honestly had no idea.

He looked at her again. Chrissa's head had been turned to her shoulder, her eyes deep in slumber, and her legs had folded daintily beside her. She looked angelic, he thought. At first glance, you would never think there existed so many things within her.

Her personality fully exceeded her looks, for sure. It was almost as if it were only an illusion. Who she was was more beautiful. Michael gazed at her in a trance-like state, almost completely lost within her. He hated himself for how he felt about her, he didn't know what it was. It had all come so quickly and completely obliterated everything that he was and stood for.

She was dangerous.

He could've lost his position for even touching her the way that he did, for the thoughts that he had about her, but something within him seemed to not care in the slightest.

He'd been serving at the palace since he was a young boy. Twenty years. He remembered the day that he watched his mother pass away, trying to escape it. Escape the life of servitude, with her own magic; and she failed. The magic of the Fae was no joke. It wasn't as light as Chrissa had imagined it.

"What are you thinking about?"

Her voice had broken him from thought as he jumped, looking over to her again. "Uh...Horses. My horse." Michael said when he uncrossed his arms.

Her eyes calmed him down. They were dark, yet so inviting. They were soft. He could tell they hadn't seen much suffering. Not that they deserved to, anyway. He tensed at the thought of anything ever harming her.

She rolled her eyes and smiled, "you're simply fibbing." Chrissa mumbled, as the grin then faded when she looked at him sincerely. "Also, I'm sorry for ever thinking of you as my property," she blurted out.

She felt like she owed him an apology for what happened in the forest, before Kandor and his crew of Vampiric minions came and arrested them. She suddenly noticed his expression and frowned. "Michael...are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He responded quickly and broke their eye contact, "how are you feeling?"

"Disastrous," the girl said with thick defeat in her tone of voice. She gazed up at the windows as the light then bounced in her eyes. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He only shrugged and shook his head slightly, "we have to find a way to get out of here. They can't keep forever." He said, as he studied the point of her ears and the way her skin sparkled in the dark. "They wouldn't. That would be stupid. And you shouldn't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"But I care."

"Well don't," he snapped. Chrissa rolled her eyes at him. She didn't feel like apologizing. He was being annoying, she thought. He sighed, "I mean, you can care if you...if you want to. But not like that."

Chrissa scoffed at his confusion.

Michael hated speaking about what he truly felt. Knights of the palace and the ones who would often go to war were trained to be that way, and so were the guards. It was his own nature, and a part of his own morality and ethics to not overshare, or open up. He'd never told anyone about how he felt about the death of his mother, or what happened to his father. He only knew being a palace guard, always protecting something.