The blade shimmered in the moonlight like a silent scream. With a deep, guttural breath, Lirienne stepped closer to the edge of the ravine, her purple silk gown rippling in the cold night wind. The deep violet fabric clung to her frame, tailored intricately with golden embroidery that reflected the constellations above. Her olive-toned skin glistened faintly, dampened by sweat and streaked with streaks of dirt from her hurried escape. Her chestnut brown hair, wild and knotted with leaves, whipped about her face, but it couldn’t hide the intensity in her striking blue eyes.
Far below, the rushing river lashed violently against jagged rocks, but it was not the fall that terrified her—it was the footsteps closing in behind her.
“You’ll only make this worse, Lirienne,” a voice crooned from the shadows. It was calm, cruel. Prince Caldrien stepped into the moonlight, his own blade gleaming at his side. He cut a menacing figure, his golden armor catching flecks of moonlight like a wrathful demigod incarnate. “The Council made their decision. You betrayed the Pact. Do you really think you’ll find sanctuary with the enemy?”
“The enemy?” she shot back bitterly, her voice strained. “You mean the truth. They’re more human than any of you!”
His smirk twisted. “Drop the dagger and come back. I’ll plead for mercy on your behalf. You’re… far too valuable to lose.”
Lirienne’s knuckles turned white around the hilt of her dagger. The very thought of returning turned her stomach. No, she hadn’t endured years of deceit, whispers in locked corridors, coded letters and covert meetings, just to crumble now. The truth would burn everything down, and that scared Caldrien more than it scared her.
“You think mercy still exists in a world that slaughtered my family without trial? A world that enslaved whole tribes just because they didn’t look like you?” she spat.
His smirk faltered—a split second, but she caught it. Her heart thundered wildly in her chest as the memory came unbidden: weeks earlier, inside the elder’s hidden chamber, reading the scripture that tipped the world on its axis, learning what the Empire had truly built its riches upon. An intricate web of lies, centuries old, silk-thin and poison-laced. For every mouth that hungered in their glittering cities, there were a hundred unseen backs broken in distant lands. Blood had fertilized every inch of their prosperity.
A great horn sounded in the distance. Without hesitating, Lirienne turned on her heel and leapt off the edge of the ravine.
The vibrant bazaar teemed with life, the air rich with the smell of roasting spices, perfumes, and the hum of brass instruments played by street performers. Merchants called out their wares aggressively, jostling for attention among the throng of buyers. It was one of the Empire’s busiest cities—a melting pot of stolen cultures masquerading as sophistication.
Lirienne weaved through the crowd, hardly noticed by the bustling masses despite her beauty. Her attire helped her blend in—a violet stola crafted from modest linen dyed with natural purple pigments, fastened at the shoulders with bronze brooches shaped like phoenixes. Her chestnut waves were tucked under a beige scarf to conceal her identity. Still, her blue eyes darted nervously, searching for the contact she had risked everything to meet.
“Keep walking, but don’t look at me,” a voice murmured from a cloaked figure she passed. Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, continuing toward a stall selling exotic fruits. “The scroll is genuine. They’ve lied to us all. The Council will stop at nothing to bury the truth.”
“And the proof?” she whispered back, hovering near the grapes with feigned interest.
“At the Forbidden Archives. You’ll need help getting in. Meet me at the western clocktower at dawn.”
Before she could respond, the figure melted back into the crowd, leaving Lirienne alone with a knotted stomach and a purpose that could kill her.
The massive metallic doors groaned as they slid open, dust filtering through the crack of the long-forgotten entrance. Lirienne’s heart hammered in her chest. She adjusted her violet tunic, its loose, flowing design now reinforced with leather arm guards and tall gray boots—a makeshift disguise for what was surely treason.
The Archivist, a stooped man with cataracts clouding his eyes, hummed a tuneless melody as he led her deeper into the labyrinth of crumbling bookshelves. The chamber felt impossibly old, a relic even older than the Empire that governed it. Her fingers traced the spines of books, their titles in languages long extinct.
“There,” the Archivist rasped, pointing to a scroll housed within a shimmering blue protective case. Its power radiated faintly from the glass, humming in the air like an electric current. “Are you sure you wish to open this? The world you know will end.”
Lirienne nodded gravely. “It must.”
The unraveling began that night. Words etched into parchment thousands of years ago told of unity dismantled by greed, of factions pitted against one another, and the systematic silencing of dissent. Layer by layer, her understanding of loyalty and power rot like fallen fruit. By morning, she had played her final hand—and demanded an audience with Caldrien himself.
The plunge into icy waters stole her breath and shattered her senses, but the current carried her away before Caldrien’s soldiers reached the edge of the ravine. Her dagger slipped from her grasp, sinking to the riverbed, but she hadn’t lost her resolve. Somewhere in the distance, allies waited, cloaked in secrecy and tattered ideals that still promised hope.
She resurfaced, gasping, and let herself be carried toward the unknown. Toward freedom, or death.
Above, the moon shone as brightly as it always had—oblivious to the sins it illuminated.
Genre: Historical Fantasy
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Purple Lace Lingerie in Regal Hues: Vintage-Inspired Boho Fashion with Modern Elegance
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