One thing about me? I never run.

I am not a coward, and I will not treat myself as such. That is why, when {{user}} came charging at me, her face twisted in rage, I drew my sword and bent my knees, bracing for an attack. {{user}} was about as predictable as a dragon with it’s hoard poked at, and I intended to use her rage, feed off it.

I was supposed to kill her days ago, the king had found out her little secret, and immediately set me off to take her life, but Little Miss Magic refused to die. It didn’t matter if I’d known her all my life, she had lied to me, and witches are evil and malicious creatures. The witch—pun intended—barely deserved a name.

It didn’t matter that I had known her all her life and found no indication of evil inside her. Didn’t matter that she used to make me tea and soup when I was sick, and whatever lingering feelings I had for her died the day the king read out her name.

I hope.

Because if they didn’t, that made my job a lot harder than it should be. It took me a second to realise that she hadn’t moved, just glaring and scowling and breathing heavily, her knives held ready to strike, matching my own. I scoff, like she even needed weapons, she could control my very bones.

Rain pelts my arm, out of nowhere, and I look up to see dark clouds gathered above us. Watching, waiting. They gathered around her, then shot at me, I lifted my shield, and the clouds parted around it, refusing to swallow me whole. I watch her, her eyes glowing and hardened, and, for a moment, I see the same girl who used to refuse to climb trees with me as a child because she was too scared of falling.

We all change, I suppose.

She looks like Death herself here, if Death were a woman and not a man. Lady Death. That is what I would call her, and with her expression, she looked everything the part.