I suppose it was a fantasy that started the way all fantasies start.

A castle.

An open field.

A princess to save.

If only the land was not a beautiful as it was. If only the grass wasn’t as green or the trees less red. Maybe then the inevitable danger the castle presented would be more obvious. Maybe then I would have known what I was getting myself into.

The milky white birds urged me forward, like whispers from my conscience. My feet crunched gently along the grass. My sword felt even heavier in my palms.

The castle was so close, so close. If only I could walk faster, run maybe, sprint to her aid.

That gentle breeze was deceiving.