Short Stories

The Love Which Heroines Carry

You’re all going to hate me. That’s all I’m going to say. Snuff out the hope you have for these following 1000 words…

Dot, dot, dot 2 (Feb 27. 2020; May 3, 2020)

There is nothing that defiles the pureness of snow more than the shine of blood.

For blood both colors what was once pure and forces rivers of saltwater from eyes that should have smiled.

Yet tears can be balm to the soul, washing the pain of what caused them for perhaps a spell of a moment.

For the Enchantress, the tears helped her expel the pain from losing her family, her friends, and her village. She was left to mourn their loss alone, only to be eventually found and killed.

The sounds of her wracking sobs echoed against the walls of the large ballroom she had begged her father to make once upon a time. The place that had one time filled with cheer and companionship now housed solitary grief.

If only she had been smarter, stronger, quicker. She might have saved that last connection to another like her. She–she should have dragged him back to the island of their exile, where they may at least have had the ability to defend themselves and taken a last stand together!

But her brother was dead.

There was no one now who cared for her or loved her. So she was alone. More so than when her mother and brother had escaped the island to join the world outside again. More so than when her father had been assassinated in this very home. More so than when her friends and two sisters had joined the resistance against those without magic…

How many days or weeks or months had she mourned all this loss?

Somewhere in her perceptions, the feel of disturbed defenses of her magical garden alerted her to someone’s presence.
But she didn’t care. Why should she care that she was probably welcoming a murderer? She had nothing left to live for without those whom she loved. What kind of person would live for only themselves?

Her father’s gentle face flared in her mind, shoving aside the feel of intrusion and stinging the Enchantress with the remembrance of a dying smile.

“Remember, snow drop,” her father had pleaded with her, grasping her dark hands with his weak, pale ones. “Remember that even when the world is gone and you are alone, there will always be—be someone to live for. And when they hate you and revile you, there will still be love—the magic…that you can love even if they hate you—”

His words had been cut out by sheer exhaustion. And the Enchantress had watched over her father until he passed from this life.

The memory broke when her magical senses overtook them again.

Someone—the killer—was in her sister’s old bedroom in the topmost floor.

The Enchantress breathed, her magic threading around her arms and hands in a white shower of diamonds. Her eyes cleared as her head lightened, and she inhaled the sights of the bright lights bouncing off the colorful walls and the hanging sea glass.

She wanted to die, it was true. Die like her friends and neighbors had. Die like her parents and siblings had.

But unlike them, for she would not fight her killer.

Why should she fight something that she wanted?

The magic attached to her arms dissolved into the air in acceptance of death.

Smiling as she released the magic with all her pain and hopelessness, the Enchantress almost unconsciously wove a spell into the air, mingling all her joy from the memory of her father and her hope for a better life to come.

She expected nothing from the spell, having only crafted it as she waited for her murderer to come.

Thus, it took her by surprise when her magic burst into a lively, familiar melody–a melody one of her sisters had composed for them before the magic users had escaped their land of exile and safety.

It was a tune for dancing and of community.

Unbidden, the tears came again. But the Enchantress found the fragility of her peace solidify into a small smile. Her feet began to sway as the tune bounced and suddenly raced in lively abandon.

She was going to die. She would see the lost again. After today, she would never be alone again.

And though the tears still fell, they now sailed away from her like pearls from an ocean as her feet spun. Her billowing garments of white whirled and twirled around her as she danced, remembering….


The days of old…

There they were!

Her family, friends. The neighbors who had once chuckled good-naturedly at her father’s indulgence of a young lady’s desire for a ballroom.

They were dancing with her, praising her sister for the song as her other siblings twirled with their partners. And she herself was dancing alone, of course, yet surrounded by many who wished to dance with her but satisfied themselves with clapping for the enchantress in white.

Her eyes were darkened, but her mind dwelt on light.

It could not last for long, however, the Enchantress thought.

And indeed it couldn’t.

Her magic spied the intruder.

It told her he was readying a knife to throw at her—a knife made of alyssa, the magic detecting metal, though that was not its only property. Though whatever else it had was irrelevant, as she would not be able to control the blade.

She could move away. She could duck. She could even make a magic leap to the sky or teleport away on the opposite side of the island.

She could choose not to stain this ballroom awash with color, light, untainted memories, and love.


Her damp eyes opened in shock at the thought.

She spun.

The music ceased.

Heavy arms fell limp by the Enchantress’ side as they dragged the hanging fabric to a stop.

And she saw them.

Faded, dull, lifeless eyes of green.

She saw those eyes that had been starved of true love staring back at her own eyes of blue.

And they–those green eyes–hesitated.

So did she.

Only a moment.

But in that moment, the Enchantress found her will to live again.

The man behind those eyes and the white clothing brandished the knife again, for he had let it droop in the moment. His eyes of…unlife narrowed suddenly at the fragile smile that appeared.

“I will love you,” the Enchantress vowed, her mouth moving with the thought.

Then, the snow was stained with blood.

But the light did not turn away.

Dot, dot, dot 2 (Feb 27. 2020; May 3, 2020)

Please don’t kill me I promise the next story won’t be so ambiguous!!!!

But yeah…that’s the end. No more story parts of this particular tale forthcoming after that, sowwy. :)))))) This is exactly how the ending should be! Especially considering this is…well, just how things are!

And yes, I HAVE had this two parter (Part 1: What Heroes Are Chosen For) planned for the LONGEST time ever since I heard the “Assassin in White” and “The Enchantress White” looong ago. (And hey, you get some instalove in there too. Not reaaally but sort of?)

If you TRULY want to know what the history says…I won’t. You guys will hate me for it even more. Especially when I give the FULL story. So…choose your own ending of happiness and prosperity, yes? 😉 (I’ll give the less sad version in the comments if you heckle me enough, though…just because I’m not that nice to leave you alone.)

Yesssss, precious. That is very good.

Till next Thursday, minions!!

Lemon Duck (Jan 21, 2020)

©Lemon Duck, 2020. All rights reserved.

10 thoughts on “The Love Which Heroines Carry

  1. Thank you so much for that cheerful, happy, fluffy story, Lemon!
    Seriously though, it was really good. Just… so warm and happy and fluffy. xD

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I know! 😛 Just gives you nice warm feelings inside…let’s just hope they don’t get spilled out :PPP


  2. Wow, How did you fit such an immersive story and emotions into 1000 words– that also seem to stand on their own? o.O Super well done. Imma read up on “What Heroes Are Chosen For” =)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I love to drink in all this kindness! *sobs* You’re so kind, Sully! :))))). And XDD. If you do, I hope you enjoy it, then! 😀


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