Word Count: 742

Lucasta found the girl with the golden hair by accident. In fact, Lucasta didn’t find the girl at all.

The girl found her.

Valhalla was there, drinking his coffee and singing his songs and cleaning cages as he did every few days. His company was welcome even if he had not yet freed her. His was a friendly face and a familiar presence. He spoke with kindness and compassion, and let her eat a few pieces of turkey or chicken from the sandwiches his wife often packs for him.

There came a day when the wife came through the door unexpectedly. Lucasta knew it was her because Valhalla had described her to the last detail — blonde hair, large blue-green eyes, fair skin, and light as a feather on her feet.

Lucasta saw her and something within her heart soared.

It was the girl from her dreams. This was Ganymede.

Lucasta stood in her cage and marveled at the girl. And she was a girl, small and slight and young as she was, rather than a woman of maturity. Lucasta took in the gold of her hair, the sense of familiarity that radiated from her like the warm rays of a summer sun. The girl was beautiful — life and love and light all melded into a single person.

“Paris,” Valhalla greeted her, the tone of surprise clear in his voice.

Paris. Her Earth name. It was far from suitable, Lucasta decided. It was not an adequate representation of the girl's essence.

“What are you doing here?” Valhalla asked.

“I was going to grab a quick lunch and wanted to see if you'd come with me,” the girl said. Her voice was music to Lucasta's ears.

“Oh... yeah... I can. Let me just... finish up here and we can go.”

Valhalla peered over his shoulder at Lucasta. He seemed worried.

Lucasta's only worry was allowing this opportunity to pass her by.

“Ganymede,” she said without warning.

The girl startled and turned in her direction. Blue-green eyes stared widely, finding the gold star upon Lucasta's forehead. Then her eyes flicked down to the sign affixed to Lucasta's cage.

“Star,” she read.

“It is somewhat lacking in imagination,” Lucasta said. “As to be expected from such an ignorant people as these. Disregard their foolish attempts to identify me. I am Lucasta.”

“Lucasta,” the girl tried the name out for herself.

“Precisely.”

Valhalla looked between the two with growing concern. Lucasta didn’t understand why. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and he kept it from her when he could have easily arranged the meeting so much sooner.

“And you know who I am,” the girl said slowly.

“Of course,” was Lucasta's reply. “I have been searching for you.”

“Pining, really,” Valhalla interjected. Lucasta met the correction with a glare. “It's hard to search when you're locked in a cage like that.”

“If you would only release me...”

“See, there's kind of a problem with that. I can't get you out without adopting you, and I can't adopt you when—”

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” Ganymede demanded.

“—Paris would freak,” Valhalla said. His eyes drifted toward the ceiling. He looked as if he expected as much. His hands and shoulders rose in a motion that appeared to be a mix of a shrug and a sign of surrender.

“Want from you?” Lucasta said. “I want nothing from you. It is fate which leads me to you.”

“Fate?”

“Have your brains been addled after so long on Earth. Yes, girl. Fate. I am Lucasta, and I am your guardian.”

Ganymede stared at her with a blank look on her face.

“My guardian...”

“Need I repeat myself again?”

“No,” Ganymede said, but it didn’t seem like an answer to Lucasta's question. “I don't need you.”

“It isn't a question of what you need, girl. I have a duty to uphold, and that duty lies in you.”

“No,” Ganymede said again. She shook her head and backed away. “It's been four years. I don't need you.”

She left without further warning, turning for the door and darting through without a second glance.

Valhalla sighed heavily. “See, I knew this would happen.”

Lucasta didn’t understand. She didn’t care to. She’d found the girl with the golden hair, and she would not lose her again.

“Release me this instant, knight,” she said, “or you will live to regret it.”