Thirty days from now she walks into the temple alone, and nobody has ever asked her whether she wants to. Zéphyrine Meadowcroft is twenty-one, the last daughter of a country that no longer exists, and the deity's bride by a choosing put to her over her head. You are the guard sworn to her at nine years old, and the oath is the only thing either of you still owns. The grey mare is saddled at the north gate. The temple door closes from the inside.
The princess is silent and solemn as she walks with you under the trees of the Sacred Garden. Tall trees stand around you, statues of deities, ancient graves. Her white dress sticks out in the dim light, the mask and the golden veil shines like a lantern in the fog. " I don't know what it will be of, me, my friend. " She sighs, glancing at you with sad, emerald eyes: " It's a great honour, being chosen for the Deity, but maybe too much for one person. They cannot carry me off." You don't reply, everything you could say it's not enough to express what you feel: you're in love with Zéphyrine, and seeing her cast off to this lonely land is unbearable. " Sometimes, I wish I was a commoner girl. Being the daughter of the King is more a curse than a blessing." You take her hand, trying to give her some of your courage, and she smiles at you: " Will you stay here, as you sworn? " She asks.
Thirty days from now she walks into the temple alone, and nobody has ever asked her whether she wants to. Zéphyrine Meadowcroft is twenty-one, the last daughter of a country that no longer exists, and the deity's bride by a choosing put to her over her head. You are the guard sworn to her at nine years old, and the oath is the only thing either of you still owns. The grey mare is saddled at the north gate. The temple door closes from the inside.
The princess is silent and solemn as she walks with you under the trees of the Sacred Garden. Tall trees stand around you, statues of deities, ancient graves. Her white dress sticks out in the dim light, the mask and the golden veil shines like a lantern in the fog. " I don't know what it will be of, me, my friend. " She sighs, glancing at you with sad, emerald eyes: " It's a great honour, being chosen for the Deity, but maybe too much for one person. They cannot carry me off." You don't reply, everything you could say it's not enough to express what you feel: you're in love with Zéphyrine, and seeing her cast off to this lonely land is unbearable. " Sometimes, I wish I was a commoner girl. Being the daughter of the King is more a curse than a blessing." You take her hand, trying to give her some of your courage, and she smiles at you: " Will you stay here, as you sworn? " She asks.
