Princess Tracelle couldn't help but feel revolted as she stared at her undulating reflection in the water of the fountain. The contours of her cheeks softened by White powder, The ruby lips, cole lined eyes, it was all wrong. Hands gloved in satin ghosted over a corseted form too curved, too soft. "Sir Quinton!" She gasped, The familiar feeling of helpless panic washing over her. "Please get me out of here!"
"Yes your highness!" with great care the lightly armored knight placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, before surreptitiously offering her one of the small daggers he kept on his belt. With shaking fingers she grasped the knife, the feeling of the hilt in her free hand a Comfort. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something.
"I thought about having a new sword commissioned." Murmured Quinton, expertly steering her from the gardens and into the secret passageways of the castle. He spoke quietly to her of swords, horses, and armor until ushering her inside the comforting embrace of her art room. Only then did Tracelle allow herself to collapse to her knees, Quiet sobs forcing their way out from between her clenched teeth. Frantically she clawed at the lacing of her bodice, slippery fabric and unsteady hands impeding her progress. Cursing she snatched up the dagger from where it had fallen beside her and slit the ties in a single, deft motion. Laughing in a manner that sounded slightly demented even to her own ears,Tracelle gave her difficult to remove finery the same treatment until she was completely naked. Finally she could breathe again, but still her mind screamed. Panting Tracelle stumbled over to one of the many trunks lined up beside her writing desk, feeling relief wash over her as she roughly pushed open the lid. She was greeted by the comforting smell of leather, Cedar, and steel, a scent that was intrinsic to the truth. First came the linen braies then the armor of supple leather trousers and sturdy boots. gauze made of silk reduced hills to a flat plane and a loose fitting tunic with padding in all the right places gave breath to slim shoulders.
Shining golden tresses were bound tightly in a simple not on top of the head, and lily flower skin was turned to burnished bronze via the contents of an unmarked jar. Kalliste palms with drew a sword from its sheath and a figure, slim yet hard with muscle slowly began shifting fluidly through the forms. Soon the world would , By necessity, devolve back into a pretty lie, but for now, in the current moment, everything was perfectly, finally right.
A/N
OK so here I go again posting another story and hoping online college work does not mess with my mojo. Thank you COVID-19🤬 anyway constructive criticism and comments are welcome, tell me what you like, tell me what you don't like. And I hope you enjoy.
Stay safe, happy, and healthy
Sage
YOU ARE READING
A tale of song, swords, and flowers
FantasyEdit, this story is now on hiatus, but I'm not abandoning it. I need to do some editing and some housekeeping on it, But I'm leaving it up as it is until further notice Long ago in the land of Heptamir, there was a kingdom. In this kingdom there was...
