» the trees. they whispered things to her, mocking her as she past from their stoic perches. The feeling was driving her mad, the feeling of being watched, judged for all the things that were her fault and out of her control. How could she have saved them? She couldn't have, she knew she couldn't have. They had been far too small a herd, the opponents too many, too filled with hatred and malice to be matched. It was not a fair fight - but then again, when had the darks ever fought fair? It was not in their nature to pity, nor to have honor. Blythe spat, the motion sending a sharp pain through her cheek that made her wince, she was beginning to think that the honorable did not often win.
» she was quite ruined, they made sure of that. They had left the vestiges of her innocence intact, thank god, but they had ripped the skin from the right side of her face, leaving it a mass of oozing sores and raw flesh. She would no longer be the perfect princess, or even be considered pretty in the state she was left. The healing process left it itching, scratching it had left it open, and infection had begun to set in. It pained her more with every passing day, making it hard to sleep at night. Sleeplessness had brought on paranoia, and the whispering trees. How she hated the secrets those trees kept! Her own lands were an open valley with the freedom of sky and wind, not the suffocation of dark branches and leafy overgrowth. It made her want to scream, but she was too well-bred for such outbursts, and suffered in silence. Her path was wandering, aiming for a break, any break, in the trees, searching for the open sky. A slight breeze ruffled her silver mane, brushing it back from her face and displaying the prominent scarring. She would not give them the satisfaction of hiding her face, even though they were far behind her and would not see the display. The scar was a mark on her pride, but she would wear it as a battle scar.
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