She focused on the witch's lips.
They were chapped by the winter air, smudged imperfect where the rest of her seemed frighteningly flawless. She clung to those lips, because if they were chapped and pretty lips there was a way to win because its owner could only be human. Human, and as prone to chapped lips as anyone else.
"Are you going to keep staring at me all night?" the witch asked. "Because, you know, if you want to kiss me, you may as well ask. The night is cold and hill sides are boring."
The girl spluttered and felt her face heat - despite whatever defense she'd thought chapped winter lips might give her. "I don't want to kiss you! I'm here to slay you."
The witch flashed her a smile. "And you're doing a wonderful job, cherie. Maybe you'll even remember to pick up your weapon at some point."
The girl floundered and made a grab for her sword, only for it to fly into the witch's hand with a waggle of her fingers.
The witch winked at her.
The girl clenched her jaw and stuck out a hand. "That's mine, give it back."
"So you can kill me? You make a compelling argument."
The girl flushed - because, well, really, she should have expected that.
"Why do you want to kill me?" the witch asked. She weighed the sword between her hands, studying it, balancing its sharpness between her palms.
The girl lunged.
The witch's eyes widened in shock, twisted, and they went down in a tangle of limbs.
The sword clattered a metre or so away on the mountain side.
The witch lunged for her, next, as she pounced for the blade and they went down again - graceless.
It was not exactly the type of story that the knights got in the fairy tales.
They tousled for a beat, two, the cold snow biting at their exposed hands and cheeks before the witch muttered a quick spell.
The girl gaped, pinked by cold in the snow, limbs frozen. "That's cheating!"
The witch straightened, splendid and beautiful and just as flushed from the cold, her hair in disarray. Human, human, lovely (no, don't!), human.
"You were the one trying to kill me!" The witch snatched up the sword and pressed it, panting, to the girl's throat. "So tell me why I shouldn't do the same to you. Who sent you?"
Source; the-modern-typewriter
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Aesthetic Expression
RandomA series of unusual words and stories. (Mostly from the internet unless said otherwise.)
