The mont the music stopped I didn’t even wait for a proper ending, I quickly let go of his hands like they had personally offended .
"Now we forget that happened."
"Of course," he said smoothly. "I always honor my promises."
I turned to leave only for my hand to get caught again.
"..."
I slowly looked at our hands intertwined then back at him.
"...Do you have anything more to say?" I asked, already losing patience.
For the first ti since I t him, he looked... startled and confused.
"I—uhm—" he cleared his throat, composure cracking for a split second. "Do you want to stay with our table for a while?"
"No. My friend is probably already waiting for ," I said, attempting to pull my hand away.
He didn’t let go.
"Then I can go with you instead!"
"No."
"But—"
"Can you please let go of my hand now?"
He blinked, clearly not used to being rejected this efficiently.
"...Maybe I can take you there?" he tried again.
He was still holding my hand, smiling, and clearly not getting the point.
I smiled sweetly. "Oh look," I said suddenly pointing behind him. "Vivienne is coming our way!"
"Viv?" he turned around.
The mont his attention shifted, I yanked my hand free and bolted.
No grace.
No elegance.
Just pure survival instinct.
I ran through the crowd like my life depended on it, weaving past students, dodging conversations, and ignoring confused looks.
"Blanca—!"
I picked up my pace, heart racing, praying that he won’t chase . I finally spotted Gawain sitting comfortably at one of the tables, already eating without .
"..."
’This greedy man.’
I marched straight towards him and grabbed his arm. "We need to leave. NOW."
He blinked mid-bite, chewing slowly like he was processing not just the food, but my entire existence.
"...That fast?"
"Yes."
"...Did you commit a cri?"
"Not yet."
"...Should I be concerned?"
"Always."
He stared at for a second then nodded. "...Alright. Let’s go."
"Wait," I said, suddenly grabbing my plate piled high with food.
He froze. "My Lady...?"
"I’m hungry," I said with complete seriousness. "And I’m not leaving without tasting all these."
He looked at the plate like he was calculating whether this was a food situation or a life decision.
Finally, he sighed—the kind of sigh that carried years of regret. "Let hold that for you, My Lady."
I imdiately handed it over.
"Should we fill another plate?" I asked hopefully, already scanning the tables like a hunter eyeing new prey.
"...Please stop, My Lady," he said, voice firm, like he was talking to a child on the verge of making a terrible mistake. "You probably can’t even eat all of this."
"Fine."
We started moving towards the exit again, blending into the crowd as I allowed myself one quick glance behind just to make sure no one’s chasing us.
Big Mistake.
Ravian was still standing where I left him, looking directly at while smiling.
’...Why is he smiling?’
I imdiately turned back around.
"Nope."
"What?" Gawain asked.
"Nothing."
"...That doesn’t sound like nothing."
"It’s nothing I want to deal with."
He frowned slightly but didn’t push.
Good because I had already reached my social interaction limit for the night.
"Faster," I muttered, dragging Gawain with .
"...I knew we shouldn’t have co here," he sighed.
"You’re right."
"...That’s new."
"But the food was worth it."
"...You’re unbelievable."
"I know."
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
We ended up at a quiet gazebo, tucked away from the noise, fairy lights draped above us like tiny stars.
The pond in front of us reflected everything—lights, shadows, and my current life choices.
I groaned as I slipped off my sandals, flexing my feet like they had just survived a battlefield.
"It’s been a long ti since I wore one of these," I muttered as I glanced down and imdiately regretted it.
My right heel was bleeding.
Gawain noticed it almost instantly. He crouched down in front of without a word, already pulling out his handkerchief.
"You’re bleeding," he said unnecessarily, gently wiping the spot.
"I noticed."
"You kept walking anyway."
"I was prioritizing survival."
He didn’t argue with that. Instead, he carefully tied the handkerchief around my heel, his movents precise and gentle.
"Please wait here for a while, My Lady," he said as he straightened up.
I frowned slightly. "Where are you going?"
"I’ll find sothing to treat your wound," he replied. "So please don’t do anything."
I sat up straighter. "But I’m always behaved."
He slowly looked at . "...Really?"
I nodded. "I promise not to go anywhere."
"...That doesn’t sound reassuring," he muttered.
"It should be."
"It’s not."
"It is."
He sighed, rubbing his temple like he was already regretting leaving alone.
"I’ll be back quickly," he said finally, pointing at like I was a suspicious object. "Stay. Here."
"I will."
"Don’t wander."
"I won’t."
"Don’t talk to strangers."
"I already t them."
"That’s exactly the problem."
I waved him off. "Just go."
He hesitated for a second longer then left.
I watched him disappear down the path and the mont he was gone, silence settled.
I leaned back slightly against the cool wood of the gazebo, tilting my head up to watch the fairy lights glow softly above .
"...Finally," I muttered under my breath.
For the first ti tonight, there was no noise, no tension, dragging , threatening , or blackmailing into dancing.
It was just and the quiet night.
I let my gaze wander.
The surroundings were peaceful—almost too peaceful—like a scene painted just to calm the mind.
The garden stretched softly around , illuminated by the moonlight that shimred faintly over the pond.
The air felt cool against my skin, crickets chirped sowhere in the distance, blending with the gentle sound of water lapping against the edge.
I exhaled slowly.
"I think this is the best ti," I murmured.
I stood up and stretched slightly, rolling my shoulders, cracking my neck as I stepped out barefoot, the grass feeling soft and cool.
"...I said I wouldn’t go anywhere," I added thoughtfully. "...But dancing doesn’t count."
Ballet wasn’t sothing I learned for survival nor it was sothing forced into .
It had always been mine. It was sothing I never shared, never showed, or never let anyone see.
So I let everything else go.
The noise.
The people.
The expectations.
I let my mind clear until there was nothing left but the rhythm of my own breathing and the quiet pulse of the night around .
I began to move slowly, carefully recalling each step. At first, my movents were a bit clumsy and awkward but the more I let my body take over, the more natural it beca.
Gradually, I was turning, spinning lightly across the grass.
Just when I thought I had finally achieved inner peace—quiet night, gentle breeze, emotionally stable for once—my brain decided it was the perfect ti to reopen the archives of questionable childhood decisions.
Pieces of mory started knocking, then barging in, then outright kicking the door down like they paid rent in my head.
I exhaled slowly.
"...No," I muttered, as if that would sohow stop it.
It did not and since I clearly cannot suffer alone, I looked at the sky.
’Yes, you. Whoever you are.’
The one watching my suffering right now.
Congratulations.
You’re coming with .
Don’t look behind you, there’s no escape route as I already checked it.
If I have to relive this, then so do you.
[Yes, I am breaking the fourth wall. No, you can’t stop . This is my coping chanism.]
Anyway, back to my sweet nightmare of a childhood.
A beautiful ti filled with love, warmth... and absolutely unhinged life-threatening experiences.
The mont I got cured from my strange illness, my family celebrated like I had just co back from the dead—which, to be fair, I practically did.
There were feasts, gifts, and enough attention to make anyone think I had finally earned a peaceful life.
And then they imdiately handed my real gift.
Training.
Not the "learn how to defend yourself just in case" kind.
No, no.
I’m talking about intense, borderline military-level, "if you don’t dodge this you might actually die" kind of training.
Apparently, surviving multiple near-death experience wasn’t enough for them. They wanted to make sure I could survive all future ones too.
Looking back, it really said a lot about our family dynamics.
I appreciated it. I really did. It was hard—brutal, even—but I knew it ca from a place of concern.
Love, in my family, just happened to co with weapons, combat drills, and a very concerning number of near-death experiences.
But even that wasn’t enough for . Sowhere along the way, I thought, ’you know what would make this even better?’
Poison.
Now, to be fair, no one told to do that. That was entirely my idea. Which, in hindsight, explains a lot about as a person.
Every ti I got poisoned—whether by "training accidents" or actual assassination attempts—I hated the aftermath more than the pain itself.
My parents and grandfather would hover over , their expressions tight with worry, watching as I struggled to breathe like I had personally decided oxygen was optional that day.
Sotis blood would co out of places it definitely shouldn’t—eyes, mouth, you na it.
’Very dramatic and very inconvenient by the way.’
There were even tis where my heart just stopped beating.
’Which, honestly, felt a bit excessive.’
And every single ti, they looked at like I might disappear.
I hated that look. So I did what any rational person would do.
I started drinking every poison that could literally kill little by little, building resistance like a completely sane and rational person.
At first, it was terrible.
Then slightly less terrible.
Then tolerable.
And eventually, I feel nothing anymore.
By the ti my family realized the assassins’ thods had stopped working, I was already far ahead of them.
Which, I think, really tied the whole experience together nicely.
...In a completely normal way.
Honestly, looking back on it now, I probably should have been more concerned about my life choices.
I exhaled softly, shaking my head as the mory finally faded.
’Oh, you’re still here?
...Huh.’
I paused mid-step, one brow lifting slightly as if I could actually see you lingering sowhere beyond the edges of my very questionable life choices.
"Well," I muttered under my breath, a faint smile tugging at my lips, "thank you for sticking around."
Not many would willingly sit through a childhood that sounded like a training manual for survival mixed with accidental self-destruction.
Honestly, if I were you, I might’ve left the mont poison beca a casual habit.
But since you’re still here...
Congratulations.
You’ve earned front-row seats to sothing significantly less traumatic.
"I’ll try not to rember my past next ti," I added thoughtfully, though there was a small pause after that, like even I didn’t quite believe myself. "...No promises though."
User Comments
0 comments from readers