The 23rd is a marvellous day, isn’t it? On the 23rd a legend was born - in April, that is. ;) One that n-a-d-h-i-e begged me to write when it came around. But I refused - until now, hehe.
And there was another reason why the 23rd was great, wasn’t there? In May, this time. What was it again? Ah, yes.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY NADHIA!! -3-
This story is based on the legend of Saint Jordi, whose day is eagerly celebrated in Barcelona with books and roses. ;)
cut tightly into her wrists, and Lucy Heartfilia wiggled against the rough pole
she was tied to, trying to momentarily ease the pain.
Not like it
would last much longer.
the stares digging into her back, hundreds of eyes on her, a whole crowd ready
to watch as she was taken. Or killed. Eaten?
bloodcurdling roar sounded in the distance.
went through the crowd, one she could feel even though she stood with her back
to the people. It had reached her too, leaving her trembling despite her
the day she would die.
It was an
inescapable certainty not only because of her current predicament - but because
she had known this day would come for the last three days and nights. Nights
she had wept herself to sleep.
But now she
was convinced she could be strong. She would die for her people. Her mother
would have done the same. This was her responsibility.
had been drawn.
nothing she could have done, even if she had wanted to. Her father had stood
silently, with his face ashen, as her name had been read out loud. She
remembered it well. A brief flicker of shock, then panic, then pain. Then he
had went back to being the king.
It was only
princess would not save her now.
beast would be soothed by her sacrifice, then so be it. She could die a martyr.
There was no glory to be found in the act, though. She had realized that as the
guards had tied her up to the post with grief-stricken faces.
would not be a merciful one.
hungry and accepted no resistance.
princess shivered again, instinctively tugging at her restraints. They only cut
deeper into her wrists. The trembling wouldn’t stop.
time did she have left?
Not even a light breeze or a single cloud
relieved her off the sun burning onto her skin, and the princess felt her
vision blur from time to time. How long had she been standing here? Her whole
Left to die by her own people, her own father.
Bitterness welled up inside her, but she forced it down. She could forgive it.
The old traditions spoke of a sacrifice to appease a dragon, and the king, as
fair as he was strict, had chosen every woman’s name in the country should be
written down, and who would be drawn would have the honour of sacrificing their
life for the sake of their kingdom.
Unknowingly, he had sealed her fate. But he
could not have known, that in the first draw in centuries, the name would be
His decision was just. And irreversible.
The princess shifted her weight, hoping to
momentarily relieve her aching feet. Something was different. Probably had been
for a while, but she had been too preoccupied with her thoughts.
It was too quiet.
And not the kind of nervous quietness filled
with sorrow and even anticipation, no. This silence was curious, hopeful and
almost loud, as if it was waiting for
Funny, how perceptive one could become to
sounds, and the lack of them, when hearing was the only sense one could rely
Something had happened in the crowd, and now
she could hear low murmurs, voices rising. She thought she could hear her
matter how she tried to crane her head, she could not see anything.
carried a new voice over to her, and she was certain she had never heard it
before. It would have stuck. It was voluminous as it echoed through the air,
and he spoke with an accent the likes of which she had never heard. The letters
rolled off his tongue, almost melodious had they not sounded so rough.
come to slay the dragon!”