Rivers of mud trickled down Helga’s cheeks breaking up to form filthy rivulets.
Serpent-like vines embraced the old tower like an obsessed lover.
You’d think one would have the sense to stay away.
Still he came… resplendent on his white horse with his unscathed sword.
“Release the princess!,” he demanded.
Helga was the one who needed to be saved.
Droplets of his royal blood clung to her chest like a string of rubies… a souvenir from their dance– their macabre waltz of life and death.
Ogres don’t have hearts, Helga knew that.
Still something inside her kept breaking.
oh and before i forget, i just started tweeting. yeah, just now.lol so if you wanna add me up please do, https://twitter.com/kzmorano