As my blood touched the grass, the ground stirred.
From my two drops of blood, two vines sprouted. Thin at first, then thicker, breaking through the soil.
They slithered across the ground like snakes, alive, thirsty for their blood.
In a blink they reached the guards' boots, curling around their ankles, climbing fast, pulling up through their legs, coiling higher toward their stomachs.
I stood still, amused by watching them.
How dumbfounded they looked. How their eyes went wide, how their mouths opened but no sound came out at first.
They looked so small in that moment, so helpless, so powerless.
And I loved it.
Ahh, it excited me. It gave me chills. I could feel it run through my chest, down my arms, to the tips of my fingers.
The way their fear showed on their faces, the way they trembled, the way their bravado cracked — it was perfect.
They had mocked me only a moment ago. Laughed at me. Spat on me with their words.
But now? Now the tables had turned, and I was the one laughing inside.
I didn't have time to enjoy their pity.
Before anyone could hear a sound, I told the vines to shut their mouths.
I wanted to hear the scream. I wanted it bad. But I stopped myself.
They tried. They opened their mouths, but nothing came out. Vines held their mouth shut.
Their faces were perfect with fear. Their eyes went wide, and ah, I could see the tears gathering, shining at the corners. It was glowing, beautiful, too beautiful.
I wanted to reach out, to pluck those eyes right from their sockets, to feel them in my palm.
I grabbed my other hand and pushed it towards my chest and pushed the thought away.
It was not the right place to do so. I sighed.
The thorns sank in and began to drink.
Their blood was warm, and I felt it moving inside me, filling my veins as my body absorbed their mana.
My blood mixed with theirs. I felt stronger. I could feel it — the vines were stronger too, reacting quickly, answering my thoughts the moment I had them.
They grabbed tighter now and moved faster and were alive under my will.
I smiled. A wide grin spread slowly on my face.
I licked my lips, cleaning the blood from the corner of my mouth with my tongue.
It was time to end the show of their pity. Time to let them sleep in an eternal dream.
When they were gone, maybe people would finally start to notice. Maybe they would whisper. Maybe they would begin to fear.
Yes… that was what I wanted — fear among men. Not laughter. Not pity. Fear.
I could already hear it in my head. The story of how someone met the princess and then simply vanished, like smoke fading into air.
The way their voices would drop when they said my name. The way their eyes would flick to the corners of the room, just in case I was there.
I couldn't wait to hear the rumours. I loved the thought of it. Who doesn't love a rumour about themselves when it's full of spice — when it changes you from a doll to a shadow in the dark?
I slit my thumb again. A drop fell.
The ground split, and a new vine came up — a vine with a sharp mouth. It rose, opened wide.
Their breath faded, and so did their bodies. Gone. Nothing left.
The surge of power ran through me again. I wanted to open my mind-space to see how much the single petal had turned crimson. But it could wait.
Right now, I had to move. I turned toward the war tower. I had to reach my father. I had to tell him. I had to join the monster hunt.
I opened the gate with both hands; damn, it was heavy. Who had made it so tight? I cursed under my breath as it gave way.
Inside, I saw my father standing at the centre, his red cloak heavy with gold, tied across his shoulders, his voice calm and steady as he gave orders.
He looked like a wall, a king, but even then I saw it — the heaviness on his shoulders.
"Father!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise.
Their heads all turned at once, as if a cute little bird had flown into the room.
"Let me join the army. Let me fight."
The hall fell silent.
Silent, not with respect, but with disbelief. Like I had told them their wives had died, or their sons had been buried.
But then, all of a sudden, the silence was cut apart by their laughter.
It burst out of them in waves, sharp and cruel.
"The princess? Holding a sword?" Someone barked from the corner; I didn't even look to see who he was.
"Will she ride into battle with a ribbon in her hair?" Another snorted.
"Maybe she'll charm the monsters with her smile."
"Or fight them with her embroidery needles."
"If she wants a battle, we'll stage a tea party and call it war."
"No, no — save her strength. Prince Mordred's bed will need it more than the battlefield."
"She thinks war is like arranging flowers in the garden! Let her stay with her roses!"
"Stay with your dolls, princess. Leave men to bleed on real ground."
Their laughter struck me deep in the chest, like an arrow driven through my heart.
I could see their teeth, white and bright. Their eyes shone with that cruel glee as they stared at me like I was a clown on a stage — nothing but a cheap circus act for their fun.
Their laughter boiled my blood. Fuck, I hated it. I wanted to rip their tongues out so they could never laugh again. I wanted to tear the sound from their throats and feed it to the earth.
I stood at the edge of the gate. My father stood in the centre, silent. He didn't say a word.
I watched him, and the silence between us felt heavy and painful. I didn't know why he stayed quiet.