In Search Of. . . Written Words: Writing Prompt

In Search Of. . . Words: Writing Prompt

Your villain sneaks into your hero’s bedroom one night.

She lay there, full lips parted slightly, blonde curls covering her face. I lifted the sash to the window, wincing as it shrieked in protest. I stared at her, watching her stir. She must be exhausted; normally any sound would wake her instantly; that or she was completely at ease. She gave a snorting breath, but didn't wake.

I melted into the shadows of the room. Zariel Harcos slept soundly, unaware that I was in her room. It wasn't the first time, either. I’d been slipping into her room here by the ocean since she’d left the Haven. She’d come to visit her cousins on their holiday, or rather, guard her young cousin.

I kept my distance.

If I got to close, I’d find the end of her blade under her pillow lodged which ever fleshy part of my body was closest to her. I turned towards her vanity, trailing my fingers over the perfume bottle, brush, and little hand mirror. There was even a puff with powder to drain the color out of her face, in case she spent too long in the sun. It was too feminine for her, even if she was my Littlest Lion Princess.

They must have wanted her to blend in with the local color. Her taught muscles always made her stand out. She wasn't soft. Well, maybe except her lips. Those were soft and sometimes her eyes reminded me of a frightened doe. Normally, she hid it all behind a diamond exterior. I picked up her brush and inhaled the scent. It took me back to those early days. She’d stand in front of me waiting for me to teach her a lesson. Her hair had brushed the small of her back then. It almost did now, but it looked different somehow. Maybe it was the moon light that streamed into the room.

I wanted to touch that hair again. Hold it in my fingers, as I did when she was young and pliable to my plans. Now, she steeled herself against my most earnest entries. I stood at the foot of the bed, watching her chest drift up and down, almost not moving. I sauntered next to her face. I hovered over it.

I leaned down, careful not to touch the bed. My left hand rested above the one that would grab her blade nestled under her pillow. She had the other pinned under her face. My right hand brushed the curve of her neck.
I pressed my lips to hers.

She jerked awake; her hand immediately grasped for the blade. I dropped my weight on her hand that went for the blade. She struggled. I squeezed.