Late evening, holed up in the training arena as I practice sword fighting on the same beaten dummies, straw and hay spilling at the ripped seams. I couldn’t deny, I’m loaded to my own seams with an unspoken tension.

Loathing.

You, your stupid grin, your indescribably infuriating laugh, your aggravating talent for archery… and worst, your sickeningly attractive face.

Every part, I simply loathe — so as I stab my sword directly into the chest of the dummy with an animalistic grunt, I’m left utterly maddened at the sound of your voice.