Blood and Iron

Prologue

The sweet scent of pine whisked away all sign of trouble, all everlasting hatred and rivalries that men and women swore would have no end. Such a celebration involved all feuds to be put to an end, which citizens thought would be the end to wars and ill doings by families to other families. The innocence and purity of such a nation would have surprised the kids of our generation, yet there was always a rotted fruit to ruin the others, or dirty air to sicken the health of residents incapable of breathing such a thing. The king thought that the corrupt must be punished, put to rest or exiled for their rash decisions and harsh thinking.

And to end the atrocious occurances, they handpicked today to inspire all inhabitants that chose to stay loyal to the king a treat that no one would forget. Yet the night was to die and the fourty courses of food were almost to cease. The finish line was coming to a close, the ceremony was to end and the children dancing gaily would soon be put to bed, maybe even for eternity. 

But there was one particular entity that caught the eye in the crowd of people, smiling with artificial joy, laughing when needed and knowing when to remember her courtesy. She was a girl of many priveleges, a young lady with such a heart that it was impossible to understand how it fit with such a diminutive body. Her generosity and genuinity was a thing to admire, and even I would say that her parents tought her well. Despite the anger inside, the rage boiling inside of her chest and the tears threatening to run from cerulean eyes, there was no outcome. With great power came great responsibility, and she knew that more than anyone. Right now, her responsibilty was to play her part.

Blonde locks of scented honey spilled down to a thin waist, a deep ruby red bodice hugging her small frame so as to show her elegance and capability of soon becoming a wife that any man would desire to have. A cloak draped her shoulders, lined with a coat of ermine and tiny pearls to represent the worth of her family. A small but beautiful necklace of sapphires hung around her neck as she wore it with dignity, her tiny feet slipped into pointed shoes of yellow leather.

Her dress was far better than any other woman's, yet she hadn't gloated of her garb nor stood so judgemental eyes could admire it. And last but not least, a pin hand-made as the cherub that protected the family with the surname Sonitori, the sole object that every one knew her from.