the sun warms her features, her arm coming to cover her eyes as the princess slowly blinks awake. half lidded honey brown eyes adjust, the joints in her shoulder aching. the last thing clara remembers is the blast. the scream from enemy soldiers & the blast from the castle; sending her flying back. the sensations return, a light ivory dress under her, clara's back against cool grass β the soft wind. her vision settles on the tall trees around her, a clear blue sky. this is nothing like saint morhust, nothing like the warzone. it's erringly quiet as she rises, adorned in a dress she does not remember. confusion paints her features as a hand pulls her up, her gaze suddenly transfixed by his green eyes.
β you? β but, how? β
suddenly, her mind is back to the throne room, thrust to the floor with a dagger to her throat. the princess used as bait, the princess used to taunt her father. the gunshot. the blood. the death of a king. all before her eyes, all before here gaze. clara's breath catches, remembering who it was β remembering the ploy. the innocent boy, the injured soldier. it was you, wasn't it? it burns, sharply like a betrayal she cannot name. clara pulls back her hand, mistrustful. angry. confused. β ezra. where are we? what have you done? β
@pathslost : ezra & clara.
