Elyos laid on his back, wheezing. Dashes of scarlet peeked through his clothing, and his face was slick with rain. He shivered, drenched, despite being sheltered by shrubs and the canopy of the forest. Trying to prop himself up, his scratched hands slipped against the carpet of wet leaves, and he fell back to the soggy ground, a jolt of pain stabbing through his body. He hissed, his breath catching. He could feel his consciousness waning. Was this the end? A light whimper escaped his lips, and he quickly bit down, drawing blood. It was the only thing keeping him awake. Even then, it was not enough. Black began to swallow the edges of his vision, and he felt light-headed, heartbeat rushing in his ears.

Through the dim haze of pain, a niggling voice scratched against his consciousness. At first it was nearly inaudible, surely an illusion of the rain, or perhaps a pursuer coming to end things. Elyos stirred, but could no longer move. The voice grew louder, clearer. Dull panic rose in the fallen prince’s throat. Still, there was little he could do. 

“Is this the death of a Prince?” it hissed with sudden clarity, making him jump. “Surely there is more to your tale. A Prince who was beloved by his people, but also feared. The sworn protector of the Kingdom, and soon-to-be heir apparent to the Throne.” The voice barked out a laugh. “Do you desire to live, your Highness? I can save you.” 

The voice was not trustworthy. Elyos knew this. How could he possibly trust a faceless voice offering up a magical solution? How could it be anything but trouble? Elyos knew this, but he knew another, perhaps more important thing. He did want to live. And he might just make a deal with the devil if it meant he would be able to stand to see another day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cecilie sat at the docks, intently watching black water touching nearly-black sky. Focusing on something made it easier to let go of the aching. Yes, the scent of sea-salt, and warm mixed assortment of spices drifting down from the market, the sound of gulls scanning the waters and the creaking bustle of the port, the faint chill that emanated from the seaward bound winds that swept over her and tousled her long platinum hair—it all calmed her in a way nothing else could. 

He said he didn’t love her anymore, and she knew he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He just had problems, problems she could never hope to fix with kindness and goodwill alone. She had tried to be understanding and sweet and helpful, all this time, she really had tried… But in the end, things turned out as they always did. Another broken heart, another person gone from her life. She was tired of this. She wanted more, but at the same time was afraid to reach out for it. What if it ended the same way again? She didn’t think her heart could take another fall.

That was when a young sailor nearly tripped over her. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” He scrambled over his words, leaping back in surprise. “I really didn’t see you there. It’s dark, and I didn’t expect anyone to be out this late! I-” He took in her sullen disposition and quieted down. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

He was a handsome young man, Cecilie noticed immediately. Long brown hair tied back in a ribbon, lightly tanned skin, and smooth features. He had deep brown eyes and dark brows that made his face quite expressive. No, perhaps he was not a sailor after all. He certainly smelled better than one, anyhow. 

“I’m alright.” She replied stoically, casting her eyes back to the water. She had been quite startled, but it was fine not to mention that.

“May I… Ask what a lady such as yourself is doing in a place like this?” She stiffened, a million thoughts racing through her head. As if reading her mind, he quickly added, “I don’t mean to bother you, and will certainly leave you alone if you so desire. You just seem… Perturbed.” So he was well-spoken as well.

“And who might be asking?” She glanced at him sideways. 

“Ah, Philipe Castageau. A merchant,” he gave a small bow, a grin playing across his lips.

“Cecilie.” He paused for a moment, but nodded without another question and plopped down beside her.

"So what brings you to the docks at this hour?” She pursed her lips. Straight to the point, eh? 

“The end of the world, I suppose.” Philipe let out a soft laugh.

“Is that so?” She could practically hear the twinkle in his eyes and it annoyed her to no end. She shifted her weight and leaned back to get a full view of the stars. They seemed dull and sickly, mirroring her mood.

“A beautiful night, isn’t it?” She gave Philipe a weary look at those words, “For the end of the world, that is.”

“I suppose it might be.” She forced her brow to unfurrow, and pushed the nausea down. She had heard the first line far too many times before, on nights much more lovely than this. She closed her eyes and let her expression melt into nothingness. That was the only way of dealing with this. 

It was quiet for a while. So quiet she would’ve thought he left, had she not heard no signs of him leaving. Finally, he spoke again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Cecilie started, slightly startled.

“Quite sure.” She wasn’t sure if she was lying or not.

“Then I’ll leave you to it, if you don’t mind.” Philipe said with a smile. She did not. “I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time.”

He left and Cecilie absent-mindedly played with the ends of her hair. Being alone didn’t seem so fun anymore. She got up, brushing her skirt off and pulling up the hood of her cloak, heading home. Tomorrow was a big day anyway, she had better get to sleep early. There would be no returning to the docks where she was going.

Here are some prompts for those who would like them. Change them (and parts--names, pronouns, etc.) at will:

-She was one of those people with an air of positive terror about her--as though she expected the very shrubbery to come alive and rush at her. The sort who gets grey hair before thirty and is always looking around with nervous eyes. You know?

-Nobody knew exactly why someone did what they did, but it wasn't as though anyone cared. Someone liked that.

-A few minutes before he was due to exit work, he saw someone come running out of the building several floors below, shouting "If only!", their words floating up through the half-open window.

I would like to see fairytales retold by another character in the story. That sounds fun. Someone please tell me if I should do this, or else volunteer to do some.