~blood.queens~

⎈𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗.𝖔𝖓𝖊⎈

heyo!

this is actually my first story so far and this is just a Little Experiment to look if people would actually want to read this or not...

I am very eager on feedback so if anything just comes to your mind just comment!

This is like said in a description a fantasy novel about two you g women and I wanted to give all the brave girls out there some motivation:)

But please just look if it's good and we will see:)

Bye and enjoy!!!

<3

A sword is a intended for cutting or thrusting, that is longer than a or , consisting of a long blade attached to a hilt.

That's it. Some metal and some wood. Nothing more. But with it you can kill a man. Their long and straight yet light and well balanced design made them highly manoeuvrable and deadly.

Deadly. But why? If it lies on a board does it kill? No. It gets picked up, taken, lain in a hand, swung through the air and then, then it kills. And without a leading hand it's beautiful. Humans admire beautiful things. Beauty. The quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind.

Pleasure and satisfaction. But does the killing give pleasure and satisfaction? Depends on the victim. On the reason. But does not everyone feel guilty afterwards? Guilt. Guilt is described as a self-conscious emotion, involving reflection on oneself. A tiny sting? Or a ton of stones on your soul? But what if you kill to save? Does the remaining guilt depend on the number of the saved or the importance and revelation of each?

I can't afford to feel guilty. I can't. If I would, the stones would weigh me down, letting none of the other emotions come through and crushing my soul. If I would feel guilty for every victim of my sword I would be shattered to pieces. My victims. A heavy word. Someone or something that has been , , or or has , either because of the of someone or something , or because of or . Evil isn't easy. It demands strength, if physical and mentally in the act and the strength to go past your morality. The human brain is coded for compassion, for guilt, for a kind of empathic pain that causes the person inflicting harm to feel a degree of suffering that is in many ways as intense as what the victim is experiencing.

I shoved my morality away. I can't afford to have it in my way. I can't afford much. If I would let all this "nonsense" as one would say, get in my way I would break. Alone. Because my reputation is before all of me. A reputation. The that in have about someone or something, or how much or someone or something , on past or . I hate it. All of it. "Me"? Doesn't matter. No one would believe my true self. They would turn it, squish it and form it to fill the right size and shaped box where I "belong" . Belong. To be in the or a . As if I would fit in somewhere. As if there was a "right place". But I don't and there isn't. I certainly stick out of the walls, have a door to go out, a higher roof at one point. Because I'm not plain. Plain. Not in any way; with nothing . Having no pretensions; not remarkable or special. Not special. That's it. Not a straight line. Not a full circle. Not a pointed triangle. Or maybe I am. Maybe I am really the one they think I am. A warrior. A , usually one who has both and in , in the past. The unemotional. Not having or , often when this is or a thing. The fighter. someone who in a or in a against an The girl who kills. Maybe I just wish to be any different. Someone loving, caring. Accomplished in feeling. Feeling something like love, other than hate, fierceness and violence. But again I can't afford it. Because no one would care if I broke of it. I just know.

So at the end I am here all alone with my swords in the hand living up to my reputation. But my swords are my safe place. A or in which you are from or . And I really am protected from harm. Because without them I could defend myself. It isn't really a place but the moment. The moment I touch the hilt, worn of leather, smooth on my skin the feeling of safety as I balance it on my palm. The moment of strength as I grip harder, a bit of the metal wire stinging in the palm of the hand.

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A ship. A ship is a large that travels the world's oceans and other sufficiently deep , carrying goods or passengers, or in support of specialised missions, such as defence, research, and fishing. It's more than that. A safe place. Home. The feeling of the wooden planks, the tiny splinters that cut in your skin but don't hurt. The wind in the sails. The feeling of saltwater on my face. The clamp ness in your clothes after hanging from the railing.

The bluest waves lapping against the trunk and the millions of flashing lights that break like crystals on the surface. Waves. A of that the of an of , the . It's my most beautiful sound. I would bottle it up if I could. And on shore it would be my drink. Because you need a piece of home wherever you go.

There are two homes. A place in the world. A home, or domicile, is a used as a permanent or semi-permanent residence for an individual, group or . Or something in between our worlds. Something in us. Something no one can see, just feel. Something so personal that it seems unlikely so. someone's or something's of , or the where a they . An origin. Not the place you're born but, the place where you belong. Something like your roots but not your familys but the actual rootes that stay there regardless of where you are.

I still don't have one. Neither of the two. But maybe with this day to pass, i will be one step closer to finding one. A place to call my home...