A Farmgirl and Her Knight

[zuziee 4004]

 

 

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Circa. 2028

“FUCKK!” Philippa’s scream tore through the howling snowdrifts, a ragged, guttural cry swallowed only partially by the wind. For the first time in living memory, she couldn’t contain the fury. There was no vessel for it, no quiet project, no secret task to siphon it away. She reached instinctively for her belt, yanking it loose with trembling fingers. Knives, vials, and pouches clattered to the ground, the contents tumbling into the snow. One glass bottle shattered, leaking purple fluid that seeped like blood into the frozen bank.   Next, her bow, her companion through countless battles, was stripped from her back. Without pause, she snapped it in half across her knee and hurled the pieces into the wind.

“Ughhh,” The breath left her like a wound. She collapsed, knees striking the snow, her grief now naked and pitiful beneath the darkening sky. Then came the ringing, piercing, and relentless. Her world spun, but all she could focus on was the rhythm of her breath: up, down, up, down. She was alive. Primrose wasn’t.  That truth alone made her nauseous. Life had been cruel to her before, but this… this was beyond the pale.

 

They had started as a Princess and a Margravine, their futures gilded and bright. They were children in silk and starlight. Philippa had met her on a visit to Aunt Guinevere, wandering into the New Valdev Tavern and stumbling headfirst into fate. She remembered the exact curve of her smile, the way her eyes seemed to hold an entire world inside them. They shared a hot chocolate that day and spoke of dreams and talents. The Princess had a gift for joy, a radiant, defiant joy that refused to be dimmed. From that moment on, Philippa chased the light too, always trying to see the sun behind the clouds. That certainty, that faith in joy, became the very cornerstone of her world.

 

But war carved a chasm between them. Years passed. Titles changed. The Princess remained behind high red walls. Philippa became her Knight, roving across kingdoms and bloodied lands. She learned to fight, to kill, to survive. But no matter how far she wandered, her thoughts never strayed long from her Princess. In a thousand foreign places, it was her voice, gentle and steady, that called Philippa home. Whenever the world felt cruel or cold or cursed, she ran back to her. She always ran back.

 

Then came the windmill. Then came the fire and the bandits and the choice. That was when the Princess became the Farmgirl, no longer ivory and unreachable, but flesh and blood and bruised. Philippa saved her life that night, but not without loss. There had been a third, and the third had fallen. It haunted Philippa still, not for the injured, but for what it signaled: the end of innocence.

 

Their final chapter had been meant for peace. A Knight and her Farmgirl, far from war, far from courts and crowns. But the damage was done. Primrose had never thrived away from the beating heart of Jerovitz, and Philippa… Philippa could not survive without the beating heart of Primrose.

 

She screamed again, louder this time. A flock of crows burst from the nearby tree, black shapes against a gray sky. Her hands plunged into the snow, searing hot, melting it on contact. She grabbed fistfuls of it anyway, the icy sting on her blistering skin grounding her in the moment. It hurt. It reminded her she was human. Her breath hitched. Only then did she realize she was crying.

 

The darkness of Karoslund crept in slowly. Hours passed. Inside, she could faintly hear Hana’s voice, a child’s cry: Mama, come back. But Philippa remained hidden behind the cabin, unmoving. She had lost something irreplaceable, and it hollowed her out like rot. When her parents died, she kissed them goodbye. She had been there. She had grieved and healed.

 

This was different. There had been no goodbye.

 

Only hours earlier, she had confided in Varon, told him how terrified she was, how the world looked monstrous and unfamiliar without Primrose by her side. And now? Now she was left with nothing but oaths. Oaths to the gods. Oaths to the dead. Oaths that couldn’t keep her warm at night.

 

She pounded her fists into the snow, then into her chest, sobbing as if she could break something free inside. After everything she had survived, how could she still be this cowardly? She hadn’t said goodbye. She hadn’t said goodbye.   How could she ever forgive herself?   Her only true love. Her Princess.

 

Spoiler

I'll miss Primrose forever... love u luxy... 
RP story! Do not meta