The Enchanted Warriors (Dragon Riders AU)

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Tori sat by her window, the cold wind blowing through her red hair. Her green eyes looked up at the sky, but each day they seemed to lose more of their shine. The bright color that once made them glow had faded, leaving them dull and tired.

It felt like something inside her was breaking. The more she showed him, the more her heart ached. Life had never been kind to her-but she had learned to live with it. What she wasn't used to... was hope.

It had flickered for only a moment, a soft light in her darkness, only to be stolen the second it appeared-a dull throb where her heart used to dream. Hope had sparked when her soul brushed against another, when their bond stirred something deep within her. When her eyes met his,
time-and the world-stood still.

But he cursed it. Just like everyone else had.

The mark on her left hand began to burn. She rubbed it hard-too hard-until her skin felt like it was on fire. But she didn't stop. The pain on the outside was easier than the one inside.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. A single tear rolled down her cheek, quiet and slow, like something inside her was breaking.

7 Years Ago
Tori's POV

The water was cold today. The maid's hands were rougher than usual, scrubbing at my skin like she was trying to scrub me out of existence. Each stroke of the coarse cloth burned against my arms, my back, my legs-until my skin turned raw and red. I winced, but she didn't stop. I wasn't allowed to complain. I was something to be cleaned, polished, presented.

When she was done, she yanked a towel from the rack and wrapped it around me with mechanical haste. No warmth. No care. Just duty. She didn't look at me as she shoved me into the next room.

A white dress waited there-ironed, spotless, lifeless. She slid it over my head like I was a doll. I felt like a ghost wearing a funeral gown.

Then came Mother.

She stood in the doorway like a statue, arms crossed, her eyes locked on me. I held my breath, hoping-just this once-she might smile. That maybe today she'd say I looked nice.

She didn't.

Her gaze swept over me-slow, heavy-and stopped on my face. On my eyes.

I have her hair. Long, dark red, like fire waiting to burn. The more people told me how pretty it was, the angrier she got. Like my beauty was an insult. Like it stole something from her. The maid pulled it into tight braids while I sat still, silent.

But my eyes... they're green.

My father's eyes.

She told me once that she hated them. That she hated looking at me.

"Why were you born? Why couldn't you have been a boy?" she had whispered when I was five.

"You were a mistake I couldn't undo."

"Every time I look at you, I see the ruin of my life."

She didn't say anything today. But the way she looked at me-like I was a mistake wrapped in white silk-cut deeper than any words ever could.

As the maid finished the last braid, my mother turned and walked away.

Her silence was louder than a scream.