Arcane ~ QUEENDOM (seasons 1 & 2)

VIII ~ Bow and Arrow

~ NO SPOILERS ~

(this is the setting for "The Hound of the Underground")

(this story-line contains SMUT aka sexual content, reader discretion is advised)

A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees, adding to the subtle symphony of sounds that travelled through the vast field. She inhaled, angling her practice bow away from the flittering strands of grass and directly at her target. An apple, red and nearly perfect in shape and size, was resting onto a pillar-like platform at the opposite end of the training grounds. Holding her breath, she expertly pulled the bow's string back, deftly pinching the arrow in place. The sun shone brightly and the golden tips of her favorite set of arrows consequently glistened underneath its rays. She gently released the body of the arrow, exhaling.

She remained frozen, perhaps stiller than the many statues that stood in her back, heaving up a slab of marble with their fragile arms to serve both as a roof for those who watched from below and a balcony for those who observed her trainings from higher up.

The thin arrow curved gracefully, as expected, slicing through the lukewarm air with a soft hum. Then, it accomplished its mission. In a brief instant, the golden point and dark wooden structure of the arrow had flown right throughout the center of the apple, obliterating its shiny skin, its sugary flesh, its bitter seeds and hard core. In a single motion, pierced by the arrow, the apple had been propelled off its pedestal, had fallen to the ground. Now, it lay there, a red sphere with a long ornate stick poking out of its sides. The delicate blades of grass brushed its vibrant surface.

She sighed, picking out an arrow and sliding it out off her practice quiver, previously thrown onto the ground next to her feet, on her right, by her most aggressive instructor. She didn't dare - or bother - slinging it upon one of her shoulders, or even moving it. Boredom was already creeping up inside her chest. She was tired of motionless targets. Surely, with her talent, she could at least attempt hitting something ever so slightly more challenging than a fruit. Where was the pressure, the rush, the excitement of pursuing her target, trying to predict its trajectory..? Craving some action, she began surveying her surroundings, bow and arrow in hand. Anything at all that moves, anything...

A satisfied smirk pulled at the left corner of her lips. Her fingers clenched around the bow nervously, but she quickly regained control. Confident in her skills, she heedfully licked her lips and aimed. Suddenly energized, her eyes flicked speedily, following the small creature she had spotted. It was a bird, light pink with beautiful feathers, each more sparkly and brighter than the last. It fluttered gayly, above the area, oblivious to her mischievous plans. The flying animal was small, with short almond-shaped wings and a tiny rounded beak the color of ripe plums. However, all of this could not have mattered less to the aspiring archer.

The arrow escaped the contraption as soon as she decided it would. The bird, just like the apple, never stood a chance.

   "Hiedra!" a voice screamed, most likely to reprobate her actions.

The limp, little corpse hit the grass, its bones snapped, blood-stained and losing its warmth even under the sun. She wanted to spin around, defy whoever desired to scold her. Strangely, though, she could not even lift a finger, movement was impossible, as if her legs were chained into the soil. Wisps of vapor started erasing the sides of the scenery, and before anything else occurred, her dream washed away like waves crashing upon the shore. In the remnants, the sea-foam, she heard her name again.

~

Hiedra sprang upwards, panting. The dark bedroom was spinning, and unbearable heat was crushing her whole being. Swallowing air in heavy, frantic gulps, she finally managed to breathe again and she could see the room clearly. Her heart was still beating against her rib cage, thundering violently. She hurriedly tossed her covers away, cold sweat running down her back. The prostitute patted the mattress to her right, her fingers trembling over the dent left by his muscular body. Her breath caught into her throat and her feverish heart ceased pumping her blood for a moment. Where..?