A Mind in Motion

     I remember the first time I saw her, truly saw her--raven locks billowing in the wind as she sat astride a horse she had stolen from a solider who lay dead at her feet. Her dark hazel eyes burned with a multitude of emotions--anger, pain, regret, devotion and revenge. Her slight build was encased in mere riding leathers, no protection from the arrows whistling in the air our way, but she stood fierce in defiance nonetheless.      She was glorious, and terrifying all at once.      When word reached our village that the young Queen had finally been freed from the cavernous prison the King had placed her in, we quickly grabbed whatever weapons we could and met her small traveling party on its way to the castle.       She needed us.      And we needed her.      The chaos that had consumed our kingdom since she first appeared on our Lord's arm a decade ago had torn at the fragile edges of...

     She stared at the shimmering pool before her, a faint reflection of herself curiously staring back as she took in the glittering stars in a void of darkness. It was unsettling to see the night sky before her instead of above, especially in a cavern on the edge of the world. She had heard stories from fellow Knights and old Mages that their Kingdom bordered oblivion, that the ancients of past had wielded the power of the universe and torn the fabric of existence around them. She had passed them off as fables of feeble minds. Now though, she felt herself ignorant of all she had known.      She drew in a deep steady breath, her toned frame flexing under her dark leather cuirass. The palm of her tanned left hand rested on the golden pommel of her short sword, while her right finally brought the unusual amulet she had been carrying, up between her and the barrier. She stared at the glowing orbs that levitated with a white aura mere inches above her open...

     It was everything she never wanted.       Rain pounded down upon the land, muddying the fields and sucking the fallen bodies into temporary graves. Blood continued to stain the sea-foam grass to rust as weapons crashed--flesh tore and bones shattered. There were cries echoing around the cacophony of Battle that chilled your spine like Widowers picking souls free from their corpses.      Her breath billowed like smoke, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession under her soiled gown. Her hands trembled. Her eyes watered. Her knees quaked.       This was the weight of the Crown .       The dying and the orphaned.       The wasted homelands.      The stained soils.      The Broken .      She had promised them freedom--vowed to protect them at all cost.      And they had repaid with their lives. ...