The Lady's first Fall

If there was a wind, it would whistle against the trees-making them rustle like living things, but there was no wind, and the trees were as lifeless and dead as the bodies buried beneath them. The day was hot and dry, the sun painted the forest a burnt yellow, and beads of sweat rolled down Mary's forehead, and dripped to the perennial visage of the man she just killed. He lay in a ditch 10 feet deep, with his body sprawled onto the ground disorderly. With a shovel gripped tightly in her hands, she heaves a couple of pounds of dirt from the forest floor, and swipes it into the ditch. As the dirt speckled on him, Mary thought it of rain, and so she looked toward the sky, hand over head, as if doing so will make rain magically appear and kiss her dry mouth, quenching her thirst, and taking her away from the emblazoned prison they damned her too.

Why they have me doing such...I am a lady after all. Damn them to Hell!

Yes, she is a lady. Or at least she was. No, I still am dammit!

She believes she's still a lady, but knows that to be false. Her father's kingdom was sacked two days before, and with a knife in his groin, and a sword to his throat, his nemesis-the usurper Shito-won the perilous game of thrones and now rests with an entire world leaning on his shoulders. As for Mary, she...she...well, let's just say she isn't exactly royalty anymore. The exact opposite. Dirt, freakin' poor. And must now fend for herself, and she was quite successful on her own. That is, until the wildlings threatened to rape her. And on that day, it wasn't bright, and the sun didn't dance around the sky, smiling upon all people that roamed outside. No, the rain poured mercilessly, and tortured her soul. It made her sneeze and beg for warm air. And rain found a home deep in her cleavage. As if the rain Gods specifically pin-pointed their genitles to piss on her chest.

Oh how I wish I was back home. She thought that day.

Thankfully, she was able to snatch a bed-sheet before her escape. It didn't exactly bring her the best of comfort, but in this weather, she wasn't complaining. Use what you got. The lace of a quiver was strapped around her shoulder. She took it off, and rested it beside her, arrows nearly spilling out of it, but she paid no mind to this. She wrapped the blanket around her, and shut her eyes. And soon, the sound of the rain shut as well.

Several hours later though, the wind did whistle against the trees-which rustled like living things. And this is what awoke her. She opened her eyes to the sun crawling its way through a maze of leaves in the trees, and her hair soaked by the damp forest floor. Twigs snapped like bones, followed by more rustling. She sat up quickly, her heart drumming from the sounds.

"Who the hell is there? Show yourself knave!" No response, just silence. She wobbled up, with her head still weighing a ton, and begging to sleep. She picked up her bow, and snatched an arrow from the wet floor, grass-blades sliding against her bronze skin. She knocked it to her bowstring-ready to pierce the heart of the first knave she saw. Scoping around the area, shadows of leaves pranced around her head, and the only sounds came from her feet crunching against dead leaves, and birds singing in the trees. Then she heard a grunt from behind. Almost sounding like that of a moan, as if the person it belonged to was just struck by a sharp object on the forest floor.

Won’t be the only one either.

“Damn all Hell!”

She released her arrow, and it whistled through the air, and into the bushes.

“OW! Damn!”

“You fool! Now she knows our presence! I was looking forward to screwing  her!”

Hearing this, the lady ran the opposite way. Dusting up leaves, killing bugs, and crunching more twigs. A sloped hill with twisted tree branches curling the ground like snakes, lead a path down to a flowing river. The sound of the water lapped, and lapped in her mind, and besides the times when she bathed, she hated water. She hated how it made her skin feel as soggy as an old woman’s teat, and how her hair became drenched much like how it is now.

And how it makes my breasts visible.

Hell, especially that. There was a time when her brother (who she never confirmed to be dead) threw her into the pool, and she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. When she labored out, the water not only made her clothes feel as if weights were attached, but it made her nightgown cling to her breasts, with the cool water chilling her nipples, and making them as sharp as the tip on her father’s great-sword.

But this was no time to worry about strangers seeing her naked. This was about survival. If she doesn’t want some wildlings dirty genitles up her arse, better to avoid that, and better to risk death.

Damn, what if there’s rocks jutting-

Their footsteps rocked the floor like cannons.

Screw it

She ran down the hill, and immediately slipped onto a patch of wet moss. The world revolved around her as her body rolled over like a barrel, hitting tangled branches, more moss, and sludge on her way down.

You stupid bitch, you stupid bitch, YOU STUPID BITCH! She thought.

Hammers rammed against her head, weights slammed into her stomach, and her breasts felt swollen. The entire world was a merry go round. A ride that wouldn't stop until she died.

And that merry go round did stop. Though she wasn't dead.

Thank the Gods she thought.

Her face had splashed into water. She knew this from the wet liquid coating her face like a mask, and dripping down her nose bridge, her lips, and chin. The Wildling men were able to march their way down after her. Their bodies flailing, and rocking back and forth as they skipped over moss, and tangles on the way down. No surprise, given they must live in the forest. And even though The Lady wished to leave, her feet were numb, and her hands looked as if they've been run over by a horse carriage. She couldn't feel a thing.

So this is the end. Two men are going to rape, and kill me. Gods, will my days get anymore worse?

She also wanted to pray to her Gods, but then had the sudden realization, that none must exist. But she didn't want to believe that.  The notion of Gods created from man are ludicrous. The Gods are real, and they do answer prayers. Maybe she had been too mischevious of a princess to have her prayers answered. If her hands weren't crippled she'd fold them together in prayer, but alas, her hands are crippled. As she lay on her back, with the sun blinding her eyes, two sillouettes like shadows hang over her, and obscure the sun.

"Well, ain't it our fair lady Jonathon?"

"I'd say it is Mr. Loug."

"Would you like to have the first go at her?"

"I quite would."

Please, if the Gods are real...let these disgusting creatures die the most horrible death.

Johnathon...whoever he was,(because in her state, she couldn't tell who's voice belonged to who and who's sillouette belonged to whom) bent down. His breeches ruffled and his breaths grew heavier. The Lady shut her eyes, and splotches of violet,green and pink danced around in the darkness of her mind. She prepared for the worst. Though, she still tried to scrunch the door between her legs shut...even if she couldn't feel a thing. Tht's how determined she was.

But a few minutes passed, and instead of hearing the grunts of a man forcing his genitles in her, she heard the grunts of men dying, and men murdering. Finally, she felt the murder on her face. Warm liquid dripped onto her forehead, and at first she thought it of the man's seed. But when she opened her eyes, a red stain blotted her brown cloak, and the two men's bodies lay crumpled, and lifeless with their eyes wide open. And then she recognized that those eyes, connected to a head, weren't connected to any bodies. Blood is splattered across her forehead like a cross, and a sword swipes into her view, with blood dripping down its tip. Its hilt was encrusted with sapphires, and rubies. The thin blade glared in the sunlights' grin. The Lady could see half her face in it's reflection. It took all of one second to recognize the colors of her House.

Sapphires and Rubies...a knight has saved me. A knight of my father's kingsguard.

She turned her head, and with the sun's rays no longer torturing her eyes, a man stood before her with a chiseled jaw, blue eyes that she swore she could see her soul through, and flowing blonde hair that fluttered in the slight wind.

"Tha...thank you very much...you handsome knight." She felt like kissing him, but still couldn't get up.

"Who said I was a knight?" His grin was malicious, and his voice cold.

Dread overwhelmed her, hammering away at her head, and refusing to stop.

And that's how she became enslaved.

To be continued?

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I admit, this isn't very good at all. This was just something I wrote fast one day. I intended to continue this, but I don't think I will. I would just like some critique on what I should improve. This was written and intended as a Fantasy parody. So if there's any cheesy description or personification, it was intentional. Though, I'd love to get some advice on how to get better at those few things. Above all else, I hope you enjoyed it. Whoever reads this.