A pounding on the door woke Blythe up as she slept in one of the dressing rooms in the Hot spring.

“Hey- anyone in there!? I need to change.”

She startled up, but fell back down as her head thumped at her. She cleared her throat, before calling out.

“Ocuppied, I’ll be a moment!” 

“Damn, alright.” Followed by receding footsteps, and the pounding on the door halted.

Though, it did not stop the pounding in her head. She curled back into a ball, her hands pressed around her head to try and make it stop. Though, as she did this, she realized her hands also hurt. Her entire body hurt and she felt unwell. 

Eyes remaining closed, she whispered to herself, trying to will herself to be better. Though, eventually gave up she only asked herself one question: “Why do I do this to myself?” She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, wanting to feel like she was being hugged. 

“I need to get up.” But she was having a hard time doing so. With the thumping in her mind and her eyes closed, she could feel herself drifting back off to sleep and along with those few minutes of sleep came the reminisce of memories long past.

–

“You know, my sweet.” An older blonde woman looked down at a younger Blythe, her green eyes looking striking in the sunlight, “You can do anything you put your mind to, you know that?” It was her mother, teaching her lessons as they stood at one of the market stalls. Her mother turning away for a moment to interact with a customer.

Blythe watched on, sat below her Mother’s feet. Her Father, a joyful man, chatting with another patron not too far away. “Can I really, Mama?” Her fingers stroked at the hair of a doll she had made, “Because I’m wanting to do lots and lots of things. I want to be just like you!” 

“Well-” Her mother knelt down, grasping her child in her arms in a tight hug, “You can’t be just like me, because you are you.” Her mother’s hand crept upwards, before she launched into a tickle attack, “And there is no more perfect you, then the you that you want to be.” 

Child Blythe screeched out in laughter as she was tickled, trying to wriggle away from her mother. Her tiny palms trying to fight back, but it was useless. The tickle monster had gotten her. Though, she found reprieve a few moments later as Blythe’s father looked at them both. Though, it was a knowing look- indicating to his wife that they had business to conduct and could not have a child screeching.

“Here Blythe,” He all but commanded, “Come learn to count these coins.” This meant time for fun was over.

Blythe collected her doll, getting ready to go join her father. But before she did, she was halted by her mother. Who whispered more words of wisdom into her ear, “Even with all your quirks, your eccentricities. Habits that might drive people mad. There is no more perfect person, than the person you strive to be.”

And with those words of Wisdom, Blythe was sent on her way to learn to count.

–

How many years had passed since that moment? Blythe could not recall. She awoke again, trying to grasp her Mother’s face in her memory. But even then, she struggled. It had been what? 13-14 years since she had lost her? The day haunted her memories even now, despite the smile she had worn. If Blythe had known that would be the starting downfall of her family, maybe she woud have left sooner.

–

It was only a cold her mother had. She should have recovered in the first few days, but this one lingered and it only got worse. Her once healthy, full of spirit mother, was now nothing but gaunt under the sheets of her bed.

A skeletal hand reaching out towards her daughter. Poor, young Blythe. Too afraid to reach out. She was struggling to breath, words whispered over the stale quiet of the room, “A perfect you.” Her mother rattled out, her hand dropping. She was too weak to keep it up for long. Her breathing continued to remain raspy. 

In that moment, Blythe’s father ushered her out from the room. “Your mother needs to rest, Blythe. Leave her be.” The joyful man had vanished, his face slowly turning to stone during the course of his Wife’s sickness. He knew, even if his daughter did not, that his wife was gone. She would not be returning. His heart hardening over, he did not know how he would go on without his Wife to manage their daughter.

The next morning, Blythe snuck back into the sick room. Feeling bad that she had not taken her mother’s hand the day prior. She drew closer to the bed, going to grab her sleeping mother’s hand. “Mama, I wanted to apologize.” Blythe took her mother’s hand, which was cold and stiff, her arm not moving. “Mama?” 

She was young, but she was bright enough to know your chest is supposed to rise and fall when you’re asleep. She also know you’re not supposed to be this cold. Panic overtook her, in the stark light of the winter morning, Blythe screamed. She was calling for her Father, that something was wrong, to come help.

Though, she found no comfort in her father. The man busted into the room, screaming at his daughter. “I told you to get OUT! I told you to stay away from her!”

Blythe, terrified of her yelling father ran from the room. Tears making their way down her face. This was her first true interaction with death, yet no one to explain just how permanent it was or to comfort her through her grief.

–

“You’ll get out of my house right now!” Her father roared at her. Chasing the now adult Blythe around the home, “You’re no daughter of mine! Your mother would be ashamed! Settin’ houses on fire, talkin’ about ghosts- creatures that don’t exist!” He was chasing her around the house, Blythe begging. “You’ve driven me from one village, I won’t let you drive me from another!”

“No, Papa! I don’t have anywhere to go. Please- please let me stay!” She dodged his attempt at hitting her. Now an adult, she’d become rather good at defending herself when she needed. Though, she hit a breaking point she knew she couldn’t come back from.

“You can’t speak to anyone here! You’re nothin’ but a swine! Can’t talk to people right, always askin’ weird questions! Then, alls you do is smile! That’s off putting. You can’t be my daughter- your mother would be so ashamed.” Blythe’s father reached for a vase, throwing it towards, the girl. “NOW I SAID GET OUT!” his voice raised. He lumbered after his daughter.

Blythe was close to the front door now, only a small bag with her. She managed to get the door open, ducking out of the house. She would have said her home, but it had not been home in the ten years since her mother’s passing. Her joyful father, now lifeless. Alls he seemed to be filled with was anger, doing nothing but drinking.

An unfortunate habit that Blythe had also picked up. Though, she found she was quiet- almost demure when she drank. Though, she still smiled. But this version of her, was a version of her that her father could tolerate the presence of. Eventually it became habitual. She had tried to stop, but found herself extremely ill if she went too long. She would be shaky, anxious- worried she was being watched. Not to mention sweating like she was breaking a fever. So, she continued- unable to will herself to stop. Yet, she hated every moment of it.

As she made it out of the house, the door slammed forcefully behind her. Catching her skirts, Blythe tugged, before freeing herself. She tumbled down the steps. Unable to stop her momentum from freeing herself. She laid in the dirt for a moment. She brought herself back up, turning back towards the house.

Hysterical, she was screaming, “I’ll show you!! I’ll show you that I am a good person! That people love me!” The village, if it had been asleep, looked out their windows. Nosy gossips, as they always were. Watching the Brennan household fight.

Sobbing, Blythe turned away from the only place she had been able to call home. She began to stumble along. Aimlessly searching for a place to call home.

–

All of this had led Blythe to where she was now. Hungover, sleeping in the locked dressing room of hotspring. She had come to the reach where maybe her oddities would be found as intriguing. To find a place to call home, to find people who would want to study with her. Yet, there she laid alone on the ground. Scraped up from falling down the steps as she stumbled to a safe place.

And there she would stay. Waiting still, to find a place to truly call home.

Death was something that Blythe had experienced once before today. The first time, her mother’s. Who had died from an illness, which in a way, was kinder. Even if she did not understand what was happening, she knew her mother looked like she was sleeping. Yet, today was different. 

She sat shocked, hiding in the dressing room of the hot springs once more. The shakes had set in slightly and she began to sweat. But, she could not move. She did not know the person who had died, only having met them a few hours prior. Falliren had invited her to watch their chess match, and she was so excited too. Yet, a new voice rang out into the Full Cask, most voices to her were new. But this one seemed to incite fear into the heart of the young man who sat to her right.

She had quietly asked if it was him who was being called for. He looked nervous. She offered to try to hide him. He declined. She had hoped it was nothing, so she started her own game of chess with Falliren while the man went to confront the perfect stranger. A family feud. Maybe, she knew something about them. Though, maybe she did not know anything. As this feud endeded with the death of the youngman.

It was an honorable duel. She knew nothing of honor, of codes. So, she followed- hoping that maybe, just maybe. Someone might yield. Yet, there was no yielding. Eventually, their only laid a young boy in the flowers. Covered in his own blood. It was a dreadfully beautiful scene, peace covering the youth’s face, surrounded by those who cared for him. She felt hollow, unable to do anything. Powerless. Yet, even if she had the strength to do something, she might have died. 

She had said a quiet prayer to whoever existed above, may this soul move on peacefully. She stayed away, not wanting to get in the way. She did not know them, it was not right to get close. She was worried for her new friend, Falliren, that maybe he might blame himself. She had heard him mention chivalry, code- things she did not understand. Yet, she also listened to the anger in their voice. She approached slowly where the body had laid before it was moved, unsure of what to say. She said nothing. Only collecting flowers that were not stained with blood, laying them down where the young man had died. Then, she turned to return to the city.

Now, she sat in silence. Tears ran down her face, knowing this might be a memory that stuck with her forever. She felt ill, unsure of what to do. So, instead, she laid against the warm wall and she wept. Weeping for her mother and for the stranger who had died.

Death was something that Blythe had experienced once before today. The first time, her mother’s. Who had died from an illness, which in a way, was kinder. Even if she did not understand what was happening, she knew her mother looked like she was sleeping. Yet, today was different. 

She sat shocked, hiding in the dressing room of the hot springs once more. The shakes had set in slightly and she began to sweat. But, she could not move. She did not know the person who had died, only having met them a few hours prior. Falliren had invited her to watch their chess match, and she was so excited too. Yet, a new voice rang out into the Full Cask, most voices to her were new. But this one seemed to incite fear into the heart of the young man who sat to her right.

She had quietly asked if it was him who was being called for. He looked nervous. She offered to try to hide him. He declined. She had hoped it was nothing, so she started her own game of chess with Falliren while the man went to confront the perfect stranger. A family feud. Maybe, she knew something about them. Though, maybe she did not know anything. As this feud endeded with the death of the youngman.

It was an honorable duel. She knew nothing of honor, of codes. So, she followed- hoping that maybe, just maybe. Someone might yield. Yet, there was no yielding. Eventually, their only laid a young boy in the flowers. Covered in his own blood. It was a dreadfully beautiful scene, peace covering the youth’s face, surrounded by those who cared for him. She felt hollow, unable to do anything. Powerless. Yet, even if she had the strength to do something, she might have died. 

She had said a quiet prayer to whoever existed above, may this soul move on peacefully. She stayed away, not wanting to get in the way. She did not know them, it was not right to get close. She was worried for her new friend, Falliren, that maybe he might blame himself. She had heard him mention chivalry, code- things she did not understand. Yet, she also listened to the anger in their voice. She approached slowly where the body had laid before it was moved, unsure of what to say. She said nothing. Only collecting flowers that were not stained with blood, laying them down where the young man had died. Then, she turned to return to the city.

Now, she sat in silence. Tears ran down her face, knowing this might be a memory that stuck with her forever. She felt ill, unsure of what to do. So, instead, she laid against the warm wall and she wept. Weeping for her mother and for the stranger who had died.

Blythe stood on the roof of the Phoniqus estate, watching the people below crawl by. The din of the voices at the tea party melted away into a silence as she entered her world. This world brought back a memory, similar to how she was now. She remembered standing there- how old was she? She couldn’t fully remember maybe she was 14? Standing in mud mud-covered green dress, blood trickling from under her eye. Burning with the tears she cried. She could hear voices: her father's and another voice.

She remembered the day that first kicked this all off. The village had their annual festival for the harvest coming up, it was a day for everyone. Kids didn’t have to attend the schools as they were harvesting, and parents tended to be more lenient post-harvest. Oh, and the night time dancing. Blythe had been less than enthused for the festival this year, knowing her Father would just spend the night drinking again. Her as well, but to a lesser extent. She knew if she was silent, he wouldn’t shout at her.

In the cool autumn breeze, she sat underneath a tree. The leaves in the canopy above her vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. One fell as she was reading her book and it matched the color of her hair. Her book was about fantasies and fables, creatures that might lurk around dark corners. She paused her reading for a moment, picking up the leaf. Delicately, she twirled it around holding it towards the sun. Eventually, the sun was blotted out by a shadow. She gently lowered the leaf, looking up at the person who had caused it to vanish. The wind now blowing a little colder.

Blocking her sun stood a boy about Blythe’s age. In his right hand was a single flower, his left hand behind his back, “Hello, Blythe.” It only took a moment or so to recognize him, it was Rickard. He was the son of one of the town councilors. Known for being kind to others around him, aspiring to be a knight, and most importantly- handsome. 

Blythe knew of him, but did not know him well. Of the other kids their age, he tended to leave her alone the most. Not partaking in the verbal jabs and teasing. Blythe closed her book, “Hello, Rickard, can I help you?” Her tone was friendly, though slightly confused.

“Well-” The boy’s face went red, “This is for you.” He shoved the flower towards her.

This, if anything. Confused Blythe more. She stood, going to gingerly take the flower, “Oh? What for?”

The boy wouldn’t meet her eyes, still holding out the flower, “I just- I wanted to invite you to the festival dance… As my partner?” It came off more as a question, but he continued to look away, the tips of his ears red.

Blythe’s hand reached for the flower but paused at his question. It didn’t throw up any suspicion at the moment, “I- the dance?” Her confusion now evident in her voice, “Are you sure? People might look at you weird.”

Rickard’s blue eyes drifted back towards Blythe, “Of course. You seem kind, it would be nice to get to know you more. So… Will you?” He rocked on his heels nervously, awaiting her answer.

After a few moments of silence, Blythe nodded her head, “Of course! I would love to go. It would be fun.”

“Really?” The boy perked up, his expression giddy, “That’s amazing, Blythe! I’ll collect you day of, around dusk, just before the dance starts.”

“Alright, I’ll be ready and waiting then.” Blythe held the flower. A slow, happy smile slowly made its way across her face. She couldn’t believe it! Somebody liked her! And they liked her enough to ask her to the dance? She felt her heart jumpy briefly into her throat.

“Thanks, Blythe.” The boy leaned in, giving her a peck on the cheek. It completely took her by surprise, her face turning as red as her hair. By the time she had opened her mouth to say something, Rickard was taking off. Waving as he ran.

“I’ll see you next Saturday, Blythe!” He called, taking off over the hill.

Blythe stood there for a moment, in absolute awe and shock. After a few moments of being frozen, she reached down to hurriedly scoop up her notes and books. Before she took off, running home giddily. She made it home, throwing open the front door in excitement. She realized she forgot to slip in silently.

“Th’ fuck are you so giddy about?” Her father called out, spotting her run into the house. It was still early enough in the day he hadn’t started to drink yet.

Blythe slowed, looking at her Father, “I got asked to the harvest dance.”

“You. You? You got asked to the harvest dance?” Her father’s expression looked surprised, “Huh.” He didn’t seem to know how to respond, “Maybe you are normal after all.” But he didn’t say much else to his daughter. He began to rummage about the kitchen, muttering to himself.

Blythe was surprised at the interaction. It was probably the most normal interaction they had in the nearly three years since her mother passed. Though, she was hopeful that this was things looking up for her- it just needed some time.

A full week had passed and the next Saturday came. The morning started with a gentle rainfall, which turned into a storm throughout the day. Blythe looked out the window worried, worried that the dance would be canceled. Though, word was sent around by the town’s council that the dance would continue on. One of the local farmers being kind enough to lend out an open barn for everyone to mingle in.

As dusk drew near, Blythe readied herself to leave the house. She had on one of the nicest dresses that she had been able to make. A lovely green cotton, embroidered with different sorts of flowers. On top of it, her mother’s shawl to keep off the chill of the autumn. She’d even taken time to try and tame her hair, which was weaved into a plait and then put neatly into a bun, flowers throughout it. She was as ready as she could ever be, so, she went to sit by the door and wait.

A little while later, there was a knock on the front door. Blythe hurried to answer it and when she did, there stood Rickard. Dressed in a nice pair of pants and a nice shirt. Her smile widened, knowing she hadn’t been forgotten, “You look well!” Her face going slightly red, she stepped from the house, closing the door behind her.

“Thank you, as do you” The boy gave a bow of his head, his expression distant. “Shall we go?” He offered his arm out to Blythe, who was oblivious to the distance he held. Yet, with glee, she took it.

“I have been looking forward to this all week!” She babbled on, “It made helping everyone with the harvesting tasks more exciting. Knowing everyone and their hard work went into the evening.”

The steel blue eyes glared at her from the side, “Mmmhm, making it all worthwhile.” He agreed, slowing as they approached the barn. The sounds of fiddles and other string instruments could be heard. Along with the clapping of people and the stomping of feet as they danced. 

The pair entered the barn, heads turning slightly. Yet, everyone was far too intrigued by the dancing to pay them any mind. Occasionally, Blythe would find the odd person staring at her. Usually, it was someone had to stop her from doing something stupid when she had an idea. Though the gazes did not last long, as the music progressed through the night in square dancing, line dances, and sometimes slow.

Rickard, at one point, had vanished. After a few minutes of waiting for him, Blythe went searching. She had noticed it had started to rain again, but she asked around. A few people indicated they had seen him go outside. Worried, especially with the rain that he might get ill, Blythe went out searching.

After a few minutes of wandering around, she had turned a corner. There, Rickard stood with his back to her. Talking to a small group of others they went to school with, “Oh! Here you are.”

As they noticed her presence, the whispering stopped, before Rickard turned around, “Why did you come out here?” There was a certain venom to his voice that had not been there prior, “Alls you’ve done is follow me around.”

She paused, her expression growing confused, rain pattering away. She pulled the shawl tighter around her, “Follow- we came here together?” Her eyes drifting now towards her classmates, who looked as equally as annoyed.

“No, we didn’t. You were following me around, you even begged me to come with you!” The formerly kind eyes seemed to grow hard. All of the other children chimed in, voices in agreement with Rickard.

The rain seemed to grow louder, drowning out their agreement. Her face paled, lips slowly turning blue with the cold. She was freezing, jeers being thrown at her. She felt tears prick in her eyes. But suddenly, she was jerked out of it as something cold and wet hit her in the back of the head.

Her hand came up to the back of her head and she pulled it away, it was mud. Which slowly began to slide its way down her neck. Over her mother’s shaw and onto her dress. She turned to look behind her, finding another classmate who had approached. 

“I think- what we need to do is teach you a lesson about following people around, you bitch.” There was another splat, this time at the side of her face. She turned, looking in horror at Rickard who now had a hand covered in mud. His words biting out at her with anger.

What happened next was only moments, but felt like hours. Blythe was grabbed, thrown harshly on the ground by the boy who was behind her. The right side of her face connected with a rock that just barely missed her eye. Followed by a sharp pain in her ribs as a boot of one of the other connected to it. One of the girls, grabbed her hair, taunting and teasing her.

Each thing is meant to be a lesson. But a lesson for what? Blythe did not know. It only lasted moments before a torch lit up followed by a shout. One of the adults had realized the kids were missing, and Blythe lay on the ground balled up to protect herself.

“What are you kids doin’?!” Came the shout of a farmer, “Fucks sake.”

“We were defendin’ ourselves! She came at us! Accusing Rickard of being a liar- she even had a knife!” Her gaze trailed, catching a glint right next to her. She wanted to speak up, say it wasn’t hers. But she hurt too much, physically and mentally. She wasn’t quite sure of what to say at that moment, so she just began to cry.

Eventually, she was dragged up by one of the farmers who had shouted. The rest of the evening blurred around her. And that is how she ended up, sitting outside. Listening to the voices of adults. After they raised their voices, they silenced for a moment. 

Heavy footsteps receded to the door before it was thrown open. Blythe’s father grabbed her by the collar, “We’re going home. We’re packing and leaving in the morning. You stupid bitch, pulling a knife on the boy- what were you thinkin’? You know what, don’t answer it. You weren’t, you never do. Only ever thinkin’ about yourself and now you’ve gone and ruined it.”

She didn’t know what to say, she couldn’t say anything. Shocked into silence, a dull throbbing around her eye. Blythe began to try and walk home but ended up being dragged most of the way.

–

At the second call of tea, Blythe snapped out of it. Shaking her head, the voices around her started to take form again. She looked down at her stained dress, the cold getting to her. It was maybe time to call it a night. She wrapped her arms around herself to stay warm, and began to depart from the party.

"Thanks For Coming."

Walking down the street, she cut through an alley, past the dragon's shrine. Her fist ached, her back ached, her eyes ached, and her heart ached. She was heading towards the hospital to have her split knuckles looked at. Punching a bookcase it was not her smartest move. 

Rarely did she react in such a way. Rarely did the anger win. But tonight? It had. It was not just Lucian’s death, but that was the tipping point. Karim left her behind. Not a word was said as he was leaving. After all the sweet things he had told her? He just left. . 

Then, Viktoria had left her. Again, not a word was said, only a note put on her door. She had found it when she woke up the next morning. She hadn’t heard her come down the steps to post it. She would’ve said something, begged her to stay. Instead, she sat alone in the dark of her room and cried. 

Was it something she was doing? Was she so awful in a way that she didn’t realize that she was left behind? She had sat, rocking in that basement by herself, crying for ages. But she had to get up. So, she did. She tried going out, tried pretending it was normal. Yet, it was not. 

A visit to Falliren’s house. A stroll that would’ve done her well. It was doing her well. They ended up at the hospital, an expedition had gone wrong. Three bodies were lying at the steps. One she did not know, one she did, and another who was a mystery. Though Falliren knew. Knew who was inside that set of armor. There was back and forth, time moved slowly. She followed him in to support him in saying his goodbyes. 

Konrad opened the door. Red hair. Red hair like the forges of the fire that burned, still and unmoving. Not a single joking insult, a taunt, a jaunty laugh. A “Shut tha’ fuck up, mate”  There was nothing. Falliren was the first to break down, she tried to stay strong. She could feel herself crying, like she’d been shot 52 times with arrows at long range. Unable to block any of them as they took her down. She could feel herself crying, not sobbing violently. Just the silent tears you feel roll down your face, unable to stop them. 

“You can stop joking now, Lucian.” She reached out, touching his hand. It was cold, so cold. Not like the hand that had decked her across the face in the tavern. Not like the hands that would surely be warmed by the fires in the forge. Everything was cold, just like how she was feeling. The rest of that time in the room flew by, cold and unfeeling. Blythe didn’t know what to do, so she stepped away. 

She let Falliren have his time, she waited outside. Chatting to a fey-touched she had seen a few times in passing. She learned of shithead, the history of Lucian’s scarf. His mother’s. Better to make sure it was not burned with his body, then. She agreed with Falliren, burning it would be better. But first, she wanted to see if anyone was his next of kin. 

The rest of the night flew by in a blur. Breaking into Lucian’s home. Finding his will, find the drawing of all of them. Holding onto the fox, finding some semblance of a will. Trying to calm the other girl down, the sharp pain in her back from where she had gripped. Trying to talk some sense into Falliren- being snapped at. She just… Snapped. She remembers getting angry- not shouting, but angry. Her hand reached out to grab Falliren’s ear. “You are not the only one who lost someone.” She could feel the tears burning in the back of her eyes, “You do not get to act as if we have not lost someone as well.. What are you going to do? Challenge Lady Helara to a duel? Get yourself killed as well?”  She wasn’t done yet. “You do not get to place blame when you do not know where blame lies.” She needed to hit something. She was not going to hit the Arsa before her. He was hurting, she was hurting, the other girl was hurting. The closest thing was the bookshelf.

She had sent her fist into it, knocking books and trinkets alike over. The pain shocked her back to reality, and both the other woman and Falliren were trying to tell her that it was a mistake. But she didn’t know what else to do. Sad green eyes looked at both of them, “I can’t be here.” So, she left. She left Lucian’s home, only stopping to relight the forge. It shouldn’t remain cold or dark- it should be lit. She would return often to make sure it was tended to, but for now, she needed to be alone. 

She began to make her way towards the hospital, stopping before she got to the entrance. Her knuckles were cracked, bleeding. Her back ached from the scratches. She couldn’t flex her hand open, but she couldn’t move. She stared at the hospital from a distance, turning her back to it. She needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but here.

A while later, she found herself in the cask. Sitting in the undertavern, where not many traversed. There she could be alone, unbothered. She lost count of how many mugs of mead she had ordered, falling into what felt like a catatonic silence. Just the faintest memory of Marteen asking her if she was alright- but he didn’t get a response, only crowns in return.

She stopped off at a shop, buying whatever she could get her hands on. Then, the rest of the night passed in a blur. It had to have been the longest day of Blythe’s life in a very, very long time. She would not remember-no, no, could not remember-what she had done that night. The only thing she knew was that she’d wake up in the sand, among the rocks of the beach. Wishing that the tide would sweep her away instead of having to deal with these feelings for another day.

"Gone, I'm Gone"

The last week had moved in a blur for Blythe and she did not feel like she was truly alive. Lucian was dead, then he was alive. Falliren was injured- critically wounded but she had not been able to see him. Panic overtook her, what if he died? Karim had left. Fiora had left. Viktoria… She had also left. Yes, she had found others, but she felt alone. People had reached out, but she could not know their intentions. Maybe, they were truly kind? Maybe, there was something behind them. She did not know, she did not want to know. She did know one thing, Viktoria had been seen at the shrine, she had to talk to her.. She had to, to know she hadn’t done something wrong. To know her best friend didn’t hate her.

“Here, I’m giving you this, I’ll be back to the house a little later.” She didn’t know Avina’s name, at this point- she was too afraid to ask. She had hoped someone would say it aloud, but they had yet to do so. She handed over her house key, a half smile on her face. Her eyes were distant, she was smiling, but it wasn’t fully there. She went off then, not another word left the redhead.

She crossed down, heading towards the shrine. Her green eyes scanning, over and over there was no sign of Viktoria, “Vik?” She called, her voice worried. She stepped up to the shrine, giving a small bow before entering. There was no one; the pale face of her friend was not in sight. She continued to look around, “Viktoria?!” Her voice now nearly begging, yet there was only silence that met her. Her legs buckled, a feeling of dread overtaking her, she wasn’t here. Blythe could feel herself starting to cry, her hands rooting through her bag for a piece of paper and a quill. Words scratched out, some parts of the page ripped where tears had fallen.

Viktoria,

I came to look for you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what happened- I didn’t realize you were arrested. Are you okay? I saw your note, please come home. I miss you. I want to sit on the couch and read or bake together- please. Pleas-

The note cut off, traces of tears marked the page.

The handwriting was all too familiar; Viktoria would’ve seen it before. It was left unsigned, but it was Blythe’s. She left it sitting on the steps, under a rock, so it wouldn’t blow away. She didn’t know what to do- but she knew, she couldn’t be here right now. So, she did what she knew how to do best- wander.

She stopped, only grabbing what she would need. She left the spire, her cloak pulled over her head. She had planned to go for a walk, she planned to return that night. But one hour turned into two, then two into four. The sun was rising, she’d realized she’d gone a distance. So, she continued, wandering around in circles for days on end. One day turned to five, but one thing was certain.

Blythe had given Avina the key to her home, saying she would return. Yet, it wasn’t a promise. Blythe didn’t return that night or for a week.

The quiet murmuring and thrum of the hospital lulled Blythe into a decent sleep. A sleep that she had felt she had not had in a long while. At first, it was a dark floating sleep. Only to be met by intermittent pain when the medicine she had been given wore off. Her eyes shot open, the dark room around her. Instantly, drifting to the corner, feeling uneasy. She was safe here, what was the likelihood that someone would break into the hospital room? After all, it was a misunderstanding. This place was busy, she didn’t have to worry if it was busy. They were looking for an empty house- but that house was not empty.

She thought back to her destroyed bedroom, she had started to pick it up. Intermittently doing so, she cried. Her bedroom is- well was- her safe space. No one entered without permission, let alone destroyed it. Her desk was still flipped over, she had intended to fix it up after returning home from the full cask- though she never did. 

She had met Lucian there, only recognizing him by his armor. It was weird, she had thought to herself. Seeing him, sitting there alone… Especially in his armor. Though, he explained the ongoings, how he was feeling- it made sense. Everyone had their armor, some physical, some literal.

“I went to fight some wolves to blow off steam.”

Ah, yes. That was how he blew off steam. Wasn’t it? Suddenly, an idea overcame her. A bad idea.

“How about we go for a fight on the beach? We can even use live weapons?”

The worst idea. The fight was over in seconds- though, not before she was struck by what felt like a personal storm. Bleeding, burned, and crying. 

“I’m sorry.” He’d managed to get up first, she took a moment. Trying to come to her senses, but that was hard.

“No- this was my idea. It’s my fault.” She shook her head, the pole of her halberd was slicked in blood- her own. From trying to keep herself together, to pulling herself up. 

More words were conversed, before she managed to drag herself to the hospital. No none had been around when she arrived and the rest of the evening dragged by in a blur of confusion, pain, and uncertainty. She knew Avina was there, and one thing they agreed on? 

“We don’t tell Falli.” 

After a while, she was settled. Avina had gone; she would try to sleep. Only to keep being woken. Plagued by nightmares. The person who had broken into her home and threatened her, the fey who had threatened her. Finally, the fight with Lucian went horribly wrong. Either way, they all ended in someone dying. Usually, it was her.

Though there was one sound that never left, even in all of them. The sound of splintering wood and a single word in a cold voice, “Coward.”