❝ The future was yet to be written, uncertain in every way except one: there will be fire.
When the dawn closed her eyes, she awoke in flames-a hellfire inferno burning as leaves on briar-thicket trees. A forest of thorns alight. A vision of the fut...
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the dragon's call
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MANY YEARS AGO, WHEN there seemed to be an actual human soul beneath the pompous exterior, a friendship between the heir of a kingdom and the niece of a retired knight bloomed like Eden. It was one Aurora Tyndale believed would last forevermore, but instead she was left to learn from him that friendship was a double-edged sword; to care about someone so deeply was both a godsend and a scourge. It was a feeling that wreathed around one's heart like a vine, sprouting blossoms of comfort, promise and love that were believed to survive the toils and snares life might cruelly bring, but she feared they'd eventually become much too powerful to overcome.
Change was the wellspring to her thoughts, for nature and nurture alike took turns molding him from a carefree young boy who saw no consequence in differences of estate or title, to a young man who allowed his own title to swell his ego to the moon. Kindness became arrogance, sincerity became condescension and Arthur Pendragon was slowly becoming a stranger in her eyes. While he still treated her with respect and regarded her as a friend would, she paid more mind to how he treated those around him in the public eye. All she'd seen thus far was nothing short of devastating and she knew his past self would share her feelings tenfold. She couldn't fathom why he thought it necessary to stoop to such lows in order to force an affinity with the nobility when he was so far beyond their league on so many levels—the heart being that of the utmost importance.
She loved him dearly, but more often than not, she wished she could punch him in the face. Repeatedly.
An arrow whistled through the air as she released, watching as it lodged into the middle of the target just shy of perfection, taking its place near the rest she'd fired before. In times of anxiety, anger or when she was simply in the need of distraction, Aurora often found herself with either a book or a bow in her hands. In most cases, she found it to be a consistent way of letting off some steam when the need arose, but that consistency now seemed to fail her when she desired it most. Each arrow, each mark didn't make a difference this time around and yet she didn't stop.
