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The grass was cold beneath her palms. The warm sun beating down on her scarred face, nobody would expect such an innocent-looking girl to be the survivor of death; a warrior.
Her life barely skimming through countless wars, and conclaves - and yet here she sat, leaned back on the grass, the warm, morning sun beating down on her tanned body, not a single speck of blood found on her murderous palms.
She liked this spot, they were a small parting in the towering trees where the sun could skim through and rest on her tiny body. It was a safe distance from any of the villages around - nobody would accidentally find her out here, peacefully relaxing.
Without her warrior paint her face looked young, fragile; no longer masking her freckled cheeks and button-like nose. She had been the youngest sent to war from her small village, soon working her way up the ranks; finding herself talking with the all mighty commander; Lexa.
People bowed down to her, looked up at her as she walked through Polis, her blooded bow and arrows thrown lazily over her shoulder. Everybody knew her, they weren't a single man, woman, or child that did not know the name of Fiona Hawkins. The life of her meant the life of others around her, she was cherished among all, wars led to protect her; not that she needed protecting, she was a warrior, a survivor of death.
She squinted, holding her hand up to shield her eyes as she studied the sky, looking out into the cloudless space. Her mother once told her, before she was murdered for her sins, that when you die your soul leaves your body and joins the millions of stars that littered the sky. Fiona often found her bright eyes studying the vast space, at night and day, counting the bright stars, imagining the blooded figures of the hundreds of lives she had taken.
She knew she was going to Hell, heck, she had decided that as she walked over to her blooded mother, and dragged a knife across her face; one cut to match the hundred. Her mother's green eyes, that conveniently matched her own, boring into her and she did; she no longer screamed, at the time Fiona thought she had become numb to the pain - but now she knew different, her mother was strong; a survivor like her daughter.
In a way, Fiona was proud to be the daughter of a woman who was so brutally murdered, despite the belief as she dragged the knife gifted to her on her ninth birthday across her face. Because, although she was a traitor, a monster - Fiona held respect as she was still breathing as Commander Lexa drew her sword through her stomach.
A part of her wondered when she would pass, and join her victims in Hell, would it be today? - no surely not, but then - would she grow old, only living to fight in these endless wars? The older you got, the weaker you became. If they were one thing Fiona despised more than anything else - it was being weak.
Her curiosity helped build her armour, she often knew what was going to happen before it did, this is why it caught her by so much of a surprise.
She had been laying on the hard mud since the beginning of sunrise, relishing on the feeling of the sun shining on her freckled face, her eyes studying the sky - not caring how the sunburned back at them.
She watched it get closer, an object of sorts, falling from the sky. Her eyebrows furrowed as she squinted against the harsh sun, it was large - the sun bouncing off its metallic surface. And then, just as she realised it was a space ship of some sorts - she noticed it was heading straight towards her.
She scrambled to her feet, trying to rush away from the object as it came straight towards her, although, for once in Fiona Hawkins life - she wasn't quick enough. An inaudible scream, from the engine of the large object, escaped from her lips as the metallic structure landed on her.
