A Blacksmith and Her Prince // Technoblade x Reader

The Graveyard

[Hi,

contrary to popular belief, I am not dead. I have basically written out the entire story for this book in my notes as dot points and scenes, since what I was doing before was making it up as I go along. Which worked for the first bit of it, but it has gotten so long my ADHD has forgotten so much of what I wanted to do (it's sorted now). When this story is fully finished,

"Emily, it will never be finished-"

*shoots face*

Anyway, when it is, I'll be making a "GUIDE FOR A BLACKSMITH AND HER PRINCE." It will showcase the entirety of my notes, hidden secrets and a full summary in my own words.

🦀 Anyway enjoy the new part 🦀

Also congratulations, you're like half way through now, thanks for sticking with me ♥️

~Emily]

Narrow corners greet you with a hint of curiosity. The unknown possibility of what's behind a slight edge would send pricks of sensations down one's back, exciting the heart with erratic blood, screaming with the urge to either bite the bullet or turn away running. Yet, even with the looming castle walls and stone cold paintings that watch every tip toe of a movement, you don't find the suffocating hallways as miserable as the first couple nights here. It was still confusing to navigate, there really should be a map for this impractical labyrinth. But, with enough nightly pacing, it has become an easier trip for you.

It was further in the day now, late afternoon with the way the sun beamed a light orange through stained glass windows, tattooing intricate shadows on your weary legs as you walked your way on by. You hadn't had the chance to wonder what time it could have been, instead preoccupied with his majesty and what taboo emotions come along with such a Prince. You certainly didn't think of wet bodies and translucent fabric against each other in heart hammering affection. Well, it may have crossed your mind once or twice since then, poking you continuously until it was given the attention it oh so craved. It was funny you thought, how at the start of all of this you only wanted to read a flimsy note with him. Now, that paper was hopelessly ruined. You wanted to read it back in the safety of your bedroom, underneath silk sheets with a possibility of a nap, only to pull the letter out and have it melt between rough fingers. It welted quite pathetically, words fading away like moving ink, disappearing back into the mush you accidentally created, mixing in with mud and water you managed to catch in dirty jean pockets.

You fidget, remembering the Prince made a copy.

"Fuck sake," you mumble fowly. It was inevitable after all, his eventual presence will succumb to you again, no matter how hollowing it seems. A feeling along the lines of bellowing fear halted you from even searching for his stoic figure. Then again, running from your problems should never be first instinct, mother certainly didn't raise a quitter, even if doing so got you into this mess. If only you ignored fathers wishes, begging to stay inside and continue to slave away wilfully with cramped hands moulding molten rock. Would things be different now? Would the butterfly's pattern change your life so drastically it would be an entirely different reality, shutting out the riches of the prestige, plagued murder and thorned infatuation? The tugging of entangled heartstrings argues to disagree, somehow imagining that in this situation, in this realm, right now, it is where you are meant to be, where you are needed.

Even if that is the case, the itching never stops.

You come around another bend, it's walls becoming more enticing to it's familiarity, along with some faces you've been meaning to find.

"Elania, Alicia." You wave quickly, strutting over with eagerness.

They find themselves stopping mid sentence, words turning into hushed whispers before you kindly interrupted them.