xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxStasha, Hero Of Us All
She walked through the halls, the murky smell running through her nostrils. She had become accustomed to the stench, the sudden change from the outside to the dusty castle. The walls, a blood red, used to run chills down her spine. Stasha was one for darkness now. She was not an infant, she knew.
The girl would have preferred to stay in the previous setting. The Garden of Heroes was surely her favorite place among the castle’s walls. After many trainings, she dreamed of sleep and rest. Her hair was still dripping wet from the swimming exercises. For most girls they would have become tired easily, the early mornings and late nights, but she was different of course. Not like most girls Tez, her teacher, had called her. Was it because she could control all that happened in the world of dreams?
Her father now forgotten, she had been adopted by the king. Morpheus, lord of the dreams, had given her the power to control all in fantasies. And with such a power, many royalties demanded for her abilities on their side of the war. At the age of seven she had to stop a war by creating dreams. The age of seven was when she decided she desired peace. Grief had washed over her, unable to make her think properly. But soon she figured what a fool she had become, and rushed off to Alia, the kingdom of the sky. That was where she found fight, creating a far better war for the world to fuss about. No peace.
According to the servant, she was needed in the king’s office. Alia was not like fairy tales, no. Everything was business, fighting or no fighting. Alia was where most battles took place. Some gold came from the deaths. Stasha made sure they continued to work, the constant war. Many times a day she would send off nightmares to generals about loosing. Useless for them, she supposed.
Knocking on the door, she imagined what the king would be doing. Probably behind his desk, sorting out papers or staring at the door awaiting for her arrival. The tips of his fingers glued together, he’d stand tall. Not waiting for the door to open by a servant, she walked into the king’s office. As she had imagined, the man stood exactly how she thought.
Dark chocolate hair under a small tiara of a crown, his hair cropped short. His tacky tuxedo fit the colors of the walls, a soapy yellow. His eyes were like falcons, piercing down on his prey. Stasha was the prey, for if she slipped up once… Downfall for Alia.
Conclusions, conclusions, she thought. Stasha was still grieving, though lesser and lesser each day. She supposed the royal man would begin with a quote from the Leaders, the guardians of downfall.
“Dearest Stasha. Good this fine morning?” He asked, smiling a warm smile at her. Did he think she was a pitiful sort, like that pathetic queen?
“Delighted now, that I may see such a heroic figure as yourself, strong king Lucifer.” Stasha said, bowing her head. She did not do the bow like the servants. She was a princess after all, adopted to take over.
“‘The young hero falls before he may rise. He must train before he may succeed.’” He recited. She wished to part the room and vomit, that man was so expected.
“3:12, the Book of Leaders.” She remembered, forced to read every book fifteen times. “ ‘All are not the greatest unless thy falls for guilt.’”
The quote reminded her of that sheepish king. He had won the royalty because he had to kill a boar. How stupid of him, to believe that that was such a terrific achievement. Stasha, in secrecy, had killed the offspring faster and with more technique. She crept as it slept, forced in a small dream, and killed it. A bow and arrow was not for kings to be.
“Yes, Stasha. I find you like that citation, for you repeat it whenever you must.” Lucifer replied to her. Without looking she knew that the awful man was counting behind his back. She wanted to sigh, but did not want to be banished out to the real world, forced to eat dirt.
“I do suppose, because it reminds me of my brother, my king.” How she despised saying ‘my king’, all to be a pitiful sort. She humped inside her brain. She was far stronger than that idiot, that hard to read leader. No one could read his mind, his thoughts. Not even the dreams he had showed anything but dreams of gold and riches.
He made a tsking noise, and looked directly in her eyes. She shivered slightly, he as King received powers. He could see past, and could see exactly what she had done the past few hours. She looked away, breaking the connection. Something the king seemed disappointed about.
“Well, my dear. Have you been thinking of him, Prêt, lately?” the man asked, rearranging some papers. She smiled a smile of guilt. Oh, being a good father, caring about me are you?
“A tad, King Lucifer. He is hard not to eliminate from my mind. It has not been long since he died.” Prêt, died four years ago. He was counting once more. A habit, Stasha guessed.
