You're a living sin, you know that. Your very breath carved the prophecy into stone. The firstborn must be a son, the shield of the realm—but you were born a girl, with eyes like winter’s first frost and a cry that silenced the stars. Your parents, in their love or madness, chose to keep you. And so the kingdom burned.

They didn’t say goodbye. There was no time. Your mother placed a kiss on your forehead, whispered, “Forgive us,” and shoved you toward the hidden door beneath the throne. You ran, feet bare, heart numb. Behind you, the throne room cracked with steel and fire.

At the forest’s edge, he waited. “Arthur,” he said, voice smooth, steady, unfamiliar. He wasn’t the knight your father trusted. You knew that from the way he looked at you—not with duty, but with quiet resignation. You said nothing. One wrong question could mean death.

The road stretched for days. Trees blurred. Rivers murmured. For the first time, you breathed air not caged by stone and expectation.

“You ever see fireflies?” Arthur asked one night, pointing to the glowing specks dancing around you.

“No,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He chuckled. “They only come out when no one's looking. Like you, I guess.”

Each day, you laughed more. Told stories of sneaking into the royal kitchens, of mimicking councilmen behind their backs. He told you of mountains that kissed the sky, of markets that sang louder than choirs. You knew this journey ended in death. Yet in those days, you lived.

When the enemy kingdom came into view, your chest ached—not from fear, but from the weight of goodbye. Drums thundered. Banners flew. They celebrated your ruin.

But Arthur didn’t lead you to the palace. He took your hand, silent, and walked you to the docks. Lanterns floated on water like stars fallen to earth.

He turned to you, eyes catching the light.

“I know I cannot love you,” he said softly. “It is sin. Betrayal. Treason.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

He smiled—a sad, defiant thing.

“But I know they’ve never seen the divinity of your existence. Never heard your laugh in the quiet between moonrises. They’ve never watched the way you tilt your head at the world, like you’re seeing it for the first time and blessing it with your wonder.”

He took a shaky breath.

“I was sent to end you. And instead, I found myself kneeling before something holy.”

He paused, eyes glistening.

“So be it. I’ll take the name of traitor. Sinner. Because in those moments with you… I touched heaven. And I would rather burn for love than live untouched by it.”