hi.

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"One upon a time there lived a beautiful princess who was somewhat less beautiful than Princess Faith but still very beautiful to say the least. If she had any children, they'd seriously be hot. Like, really hot. Anyways, this princess' name was Phoebe, the mother of Alexandru. This was well before Phoebe had a son, and well before her husband, Malphas....became....a well, a demon. Some of the most powerful and evil of demon's were once human as he was.

Phoebe had a head of thick golden curls that hung like silky spirals down to her back, and a smile that was as warm as sunshine. Her mother, Vitalia, was a black witch, currently the most powerful black witch to ever exist, her father a human. Regardless of the wicked nature of black power wielder, the mother had a good soul, and loved her human husband very much, and he loved and accepted her for who she was. The beautiful princess therefore had a good life with much wealth. But her happy life, like many other happy lives, would change drastically by one tragic event.

            One day, Vitalia found out that her husband had been cheating on her. That made the princess' mother very, very angry, because the woman that he had...kissed...was the her sister. Vitalia was so upset with her sister and her husband that she cursed herself to never love another so passionately as she had loved her husband. Phoebe's mother had no experience with curses of the heart, she only knew that they were known to turn the hair black and were difficult to undo. When Vitalia casted the spell, the magic backfired against the goodness of her soul, and her heart began to rot uncontrollably, until she no longer had an ounce of love for herself, for others, or love for anything in general.

             Pheobe was told as a child that her father had died in battle, but as she grew into a young adult and more powerful than her mother, Vitalia admitted to the princess that she had killed her own husband and her own sister. She did not tell her daughter that it had been the spell backfiring, that it had not been her fault, knowing that her daughter would never use magic again. Vitalia wept, pleading that her daughter would forgive her. That she loved her, even when she could no longer physically display the emotion. Regardless of what the woman said, all that Phoebe could see in her mother was a corrupted soul and a corrupted heart.

                        Phoebe would never know that her mother could not love her or anyone else because of magic, nor that magic had killed her father and aunt, until it was too late. She simply thought that her mother was born evil and had senselessly murdered them She did not know the consequences of wielded dark magic on another's heart for love. All she knew for sure was that Vitalia was enormously possessive over her throughout her childhood, fearing that the girl would make the same mistake that she had with a man, a human, and trust him as she had trusted her husband. Fearing that she would cast a similar spell that she had years before. Vitalia had made Phoebe afraid of men, and now her daughter believed that she was an unforgiving, spineless killer.

            Phoebe cut a dagger into her hand as she cried for her father and aunt, drawing blood from her own flesh right then and there, vowing to her mother and to her black magic to always stay true to good. That even though she was a black witch, and most black witches were known for being wicked, she would not fall for any evil temptation. She then fled from their home the very next day with only a small sac of clothes on her back. She would start her life over and forget her past, forget her mother.

            Phoebe was more intelligent than most women, and since she was isolated most of her life and had no friends, she had surrounded herself with education. Everything except war, that is, because she did not like war. Therefore, she was as educated as any noble man, witty, and quick to put men in her place. But never had she been taught to fend for herself alone, helpless, without shelter, food, or the comfort of money. All Phoebe really had was her black magic. And she was refusing to use it, because whenever she did, it reminded her of her mother and she cried.

            Phoebe began to feel foolish as she stood beside a dirt road, waiting for someone to ride by and take her in. As if anyone would take her in unless they were to take advantage of her. She lived a cruel world. She was alone. Not only that, she was a young witch in an overpowered world of human thieves, sin, plague, witch hunters, and other forms of dark danger lurking around every corner.

            Phoebe swayed on her feet as she walked, exhausted. Her shoes had been discarded, they were torn up by the rocks and hard ground along the way, and so her feet were swollen, cut up, and painful to walk on. It was an exceptionally hot day and she had been wondered aimlessly, sometimes along the dirt path, sometimes through passing towns for days without food or water. Through many times, she resorted to begging, and not once did someone lend her money or food. Her stomach howled at her painfully, her head throbbing. She tried to swallow and she couldn't from severe dehydration.

            She knew she had to steal. This was the more well-off side of town. If Phoebe was caught stealing here, surely she would be killed by the king. What was she to do when she was practically unable to stand? When she was too loving for living creatures to kill an animal in the forest herself?

            Phoebe was leaning heavily against a venders wooden cart, with a piece of worn out, dirty cloth she had found on her travels curled around the lower portions of her face and around her hair. It concealed her identity, but in truth, she had been too isolated for anyone to know who she was, especially so far away from home, so she wore the cloth simply because it was too hot and she was too sunburned to not wear it.

            The vender was an old woman who was tending a costumer. Phoebe's eye was on a fresh loaf of bread. Her mouth watered. Hesitantly, she started to reach for the loaf of bread with a shaky hand.

            Suddenly, she heard the ear-splitting caw of a raven directly in front of her right ear. Phoebe threw herself back from the cart, away from the wild bird, with a scream, smashing into the hard chest of a man who caught her fragile body before she fell feebly to the ground. He held her easily with a single strong hand.

            Phoebe tore her gaze upwards, immediately stunned by the man's beauty. His eyes were such a light blue that they were almost entirely white, and his skin held an olive tan. His hair was the color of golden honey, and was short, cropped neatly behind his ears with care. She guessed, by the slight youthful glint in his eyes, that he was only a few years older than her, perhaps twenty-two. He wore the attire of a man in battle, with glistening armor and a helmet underneath one arm and a red cloak fastened around his neck. He held his chin high and his shoulders back with strength and power. Behind him stood a group of other armored men clinking cups of wine and laughing by a vendor with obscenely large breasts.

            "Are you alright?" the warrior asked her with his rough, sandpaper voice. He nonchalantly whistled at the wild bird, tapping his shoulder once. The raven cawed in return and flew loyally onto the man's shoulder.

             Phoebe flinched at the close proximity of the creature, but it didn't seem to want to bother her.

            "I sincerely apologize, he won't hurt you. He is tame, I nursed him to health when he was a baby. Fell from his nest," the warrior said, bringing Pheobe's attention back to his perfectly structured face. It was then she realized that her cloth had unraveled around her face. She felt self conscious of her sunburn and sweat around such a handsome man.  "I feel inclined to tell you that Acacius, although a bird, does enjoy the sight of a..." His eyes lingered over her features, paying extra, shameless attention to her breasts, "...very striking woman." As if he had unlatched the window to her soul, he then added, "Ah, you seem very lonely. What troubles you so?"

            "How I feel is not yours nor Acacius' concern." Phoebe was outraged that the man was eyeing her up and invading her privacy. A man who was perchance out of battle and looking for a young woman to lay for the night. She decided to explain herself further -- she even was considering telling him that she was married, but was thrown into a fit of dry coughs. Her throat was too dry, too deprived of water for her to destroy his clearly large ego.

            At first, the warrior's chiseled features fell into a slow grin and he looked prideful. Perhaps he thought she was unable to speak to him because he was so attractive. Ha! But once he realized she was coughing because of thirst, his smile dropped as quickly as his helmet, and he retrieved a large canteen from his leather belt. She drank heavily from the canteen, thankful that she had not heaved from drinking too much in such a short amount of time.

            "I do not speak to those who seek war and expose their deadly wands to other men," Phoebe retorted once she had drank her fill and could speak. Her voice sounded much more sultry and throaty than she liked because of the coughing. Trying to act like the warrior's charm had no effect on her, then flipped her golden locks behind her and pushed away from the warrior with his canteen clutched firmly in his hand. When the warrior looked down at her utterly confused, she nodded down to his sword. "Your deadly wand, sir."

            "Oh." The warrior chuckled. The velvety sound made Phoebe shiver. "My sword? Do not blame the sword," he replied, still chuckling down at her. "A sword is never a killer, it is a tool in a killer's hand..."

            He then held out her hand to her and she froze. Then her cheeks burned and an odd sensation fluttered in her stomach. Did he want to hold her hand?

            "My canteen?" the warrior reminded her, then winked.

            Phoebe  blushed. "You looked at my breasts before," she blurted.

            Now he was blushing. "I was not looking at your breasts..."

            "Indeed you were."

            "You are delusional then. Drink more water, I insist."

            "You were looking at my breasts!"

            "I was not!" They briefly sounded like children.

            Phoebe's stomach growled and she briefly eyed the bread behind her.

            The warrior caught on. "Are you hungry?"

            "No," she said swiftly. Then much quieter admitted, "Yes, but I have no money."

            "Then you were going to steal the bread?"

            With all of her inhuman strength, pushed the massive warrior back away from the vendor, putting a finger to her lips. He had said that so loudly, surely someone else had heard. "I was not going to steal," she whispered harshly, glaring up at him.

            The warrior moved his mouth to her ear. He was looming over her like a giant golden shadow of masculinity. Goosebumps flooded her arms and she felt nervous."Then why are we whispering?" he wondered softly, his lips a breath away from caressing her ear.

            "Because your voice is very loud and rough and my ears are sensitive," Phoebe said crossly.

            Without a word, the warrior leaned back and crossed his bulky arms over his chest, narrowing his light blue eyes. His pet raven looked at her and cawed, fluffing up its wings until he looked like a ball off fluff. Phoebe now thought he was adorable, but as for his owner, the warriors grin was wolfish and cocky and made her snort.

            "Do not smile at me," she sneered, then shifted awkwardly when he grinned wider. He liked to make her uncomfortable.

            "I did see your hand reaching for that bread...." he said. Was he teasing her? All she had to do was turn and walk away. But no, she had to prove to him that she wasn't a thief. Which technically, she wasn't. "Are you a virgin?" he asked.

            Phoebe's eyes widened. Now her cheeks were on fire with rage. How dare he demand something so personal from her! "Perhaps you should find another gullible female who enjoys your invasive, impolite charm. I am walking away now."

            "Wait." He gripped her by the arm. It wasn't a tight grip, but it was enough to make her turn back around. His skin did odd things to hers, as if he was a chemical and she was a chemical, and together they reacted. The warrior appeared to feel the same way because he quickly brought his hand back. "I am a gentleman, I promise. I very much enjoy your company. I have never met a woman like you, you are simply...wonderful," he said a bit breathlessly, then looked as if he had shocked himself by saying it.

            They stared at one another for the longest time. For some reason, Phoebe felt like crying right then and there. "Goodbye." She was the first to break away, turning her back to him again, fighting every instinct she had to turn back around and run towards him.

            "Please, at least tell me your name," he said, following her close behind. It wasn't demanding the way he said it. In fact, he had dropped his cocky act entirely. He didn't want her to leave. "Just your name," he said much softer, then reached into his pocket and pulled out golden coins. "I will give you money for food, I will give you anything if you tell me your name."

            "Anything?"

            "Anything."

            "Who are you?"

            He arched an eyebrow at her, teasing again. "I am a Decurion, commander of this squadron of calvrymen." He motioned behind him at the sweaty, dirty, exhausted looking men drinking wine and talking to women.

            "I did not ask what rank you are, warrior. I asked for your name. As for the coins, I knew you were wealthy by the hair on your head and the whiteness of your teeth. You can not impress me with money."

            Once again, he looked taken aback by the tiny woman's valor. "My name is Malphas. I was not trying to impress--"

            "Yes you were. Now I am walking away, as in walking away from you," Phoebe said. "I have eyes, and I can see that you do this to women often. I would bet my left leg that you told your bird to come to me and scare me so that I would be your damsel. I am not your next conquest."

            The warrior looked taken aback, not saying anything for a while. "We are set to go to war in two days time," he whispered. "This could be the last time that you see me..."

            "Oh, how will I live Malphas?" Phoebe rolled her eyes, then smacked the large man's his breast plate hard enough that he slightly lost his footing. "You say that as if you will die, Decurion. I will not bare myself naked to you because you will be in battle in three days." She then reached into his pocket and took a handful of gold coins. She could feel the heat of his skin underneath his clothes as her fingers dug deep into his pocket, and she quite skillfully held back her reaction to him being so near. "However, I will take these because you looked at my breasts."

            His jaw flexed at that last part. "I told you my name, yet you will not tell me yours? I will have you know that I am good friends with the king, and you are stealing from me..." The warrior watched her silently count the coins, his light blue eyes slightly wide, honey brown eyebrows slowly forming together. His raven fluffed up again on Malphas' shoulder as Phoebe cautiously handed it a sunflower seed that had been mixed with the coins. The bird had been intently watching the small, golden haired beauty with interest and ate its seed happily.

             "Ah, but you have not heard the rest of what I wanted to say," she said, looking up at him from underneath her lashes. "If you come back from your battle and find me, perhaps I will give you another kiss and tell you my name. Surely, you would not tell the king of such a generous exchange?" Now she was the one to smile cockily.

            The corners of his lips quirked up. "I suppose I will not say anything."

            "Well then." She put her hands on her hips. "Let us hope that what you have seen of me so far will give you much luck."

            Suddenly, Malphas frowned. "You said you would give me another kiss. That implies there has been a--"

            "First," Phoebe finished. Patting the soldier's breast plate again, she slid her hand dangerously up to the warriors face. She cradled his cheek until he slightly leaned into the caress, stepping closer to her, eyes in a daze, entranced by her. Phoebe gripped Malphas by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely, her tongue licking at the inside of his hot mouth in a swirl of fire until he moaned. They kissed each other as if they were supposed to all along. They kissed as if they were lovers. They kissed each other as if they weren't strangers. It was as if they had been familiar with one another for years.

            Malphas was watching Phoebe so fixedly, that it was as if he was trying to see all the way through her. It was a look that a man got when he was fascinated with every blink and breath that a woman took. "You just let me have your first kiss," Malphas concluded. 

            "Yes," Phoebe said breathlessly.

            His nostrils flared with masculine pride. "Again." He kissed her again until her head spun then forced himself to pull back, panting. "What is your name?" he asked her once more. He was clutching her tightly, mouth toxically close to hers. His raven looked as if it was trying to transfer from the warrior's shoulder to Phoebe's shoulder, then gave up and fluffed up instead.

            Phoebe stared up at those light blue eyes, open her mouth to speak, then started to cough. She pulled away from him, desperately needing water. This time, as she drank out of his canteen, she knew that her coughing wasn't from dehydration.

            "I do not remember," she said honestly. "I have to go now. I...have to... use the bathroom."  As Phoebe turned away from him, her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she thought Malphas could hear it, and an odd feeling settled in her gut.

            The princess then walked away from the only human who had ever made her forget her name..."

            At the end of the bedtime story, Death leaned his hooded head against the pink bed headboard, unable to move a muscle because there was a little girl with black hair sprawled entirely on his chest, with her small hands wrapped all the way around his neck. "Uh, I guess we'll just end it there before it gets crazy. Plus you're finally out like a light," Death said. "The struggle shall be trying to get out from under you. I am totes not in the mood for a part four."

            Little Me appeared to be sleeping, when suddenly, there was a soft little voice that whispered sleepily, "Blanky, what's a virgin?"

            I was thrown from the dream by a harsh, cold splash of water.

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