The kingdoms of Samirah and Merikh were always at war. How beautiful. You, the eldest princess of Merikh, and Jimin, the eldest prince of Samirah. Many thought it would be best to just marry the two of you, get peace. It would be a perfect place if the two of you were always at eachother's throats each time you met. It was almost routine, of how Jimin hated you so much, so much ne wanted to kiss you, to rip the muscle and vein off your bones, or how you wished and begged the heavens to let you caress his heart with your blade, to cut through his lungs like a chef with a steak.

Like a snake with it's prey. Like nature.

—×— There the two of you stood on the war field, swords in hand, covered in the blood of the opposite, circled with dead bodies, the sound of fire and screams ringing through your ears, it was gorgeous. War solidified into pain, into rage, into something so beautiful people died.

"You know, loïc, there's a thin line between a sinner and a savior. But you've never been one for religion, have you?" Loïc. There it was again, that nickname, that insult. You could've bet your entire life that he'd just either forgotten your name lr he just wanted to piss you off; or both.

Jimin circled around you, pointing his sword to your neck as you did the same to his. His uniform torn, his gaze venomous, he reeked of confidence and intrigue.

It's funny to think you two could ever be friends, you grew up on constant battle, war, beauty. He glared at you, walking over to a dead body of one of his soldiers, pulling out a crown from the deceased man's satchel, your crown. He walked back to you, right infront of you, the tension, the hate that had escalated so much that it pulled the two of you together, he stood there and dropped it, shattering your crown infront of you.

"What's a war between friends, when you're the one against me, loïc?" He drew a cut down your cheek to your lips, crimson blood pouring out, numbing you even more with rage.