He was my knight in shining armour; I was his damsel in distress. I was glad that he saved me… but I was never really in love with him; I was in love with the idea of him.
A knight. Noble.
Or maybe not. Knights take what they want. He took it from me. He raped women in noble conquests and battles.
He was no knight in shining armour; I was his victim as much as his indebted. I had to juggle my doubts with my admiration.
In the end, it just wasn’t worth it. I took his sword from the main room, wandered through the dark.
He was asleep, snoring quietly. I straddled his body, lifting the sword up.
I plunged it down. He convulsed, struggling like a bull under me. I had to grip my thighs to him to remain upright, but he was strong, even strong enough to throw me off.
Blood seeped through his shirt, creeping down. Soon my legs were soaked. Sticky, disgusting, I tensed my throat, as if I might gag from what I was doing.
I closed my eyes, narrowing my legs tighter. Soon it would all be over.
His body slowed down, soon only rocking me. He wasn’t the only one who takes what he wants. But unlike him, I’d have to flee into a forest.
I wasn’t a knight.
A fairytale prompt using the word for this week’s Trifecta.