Page 53 of The Ballad of a Bard

No mother to wipe her tears away and kiss her head when aday turned bad. No mother to tuck her into bed and make sure her belly was full each and every meal. No father to provide for her, to take care of the family as Heartache should have. And so that left her. Left her to grow up faster than she should have. For her to put aside the role of sister and become a mother, a provider, everything within the last eight years.

His own heart ached for her, his waterlines burned and his chest felt tighter than a noose around a sentenced neck. He hated this world, hated how mean and cruel and savage it had been to her. Wished he had found her earlier, taken them both in sooner.

“Who were you?” West asked hoarsely.

“I wasRed Lyric.I was a hero to all, a champion that peoplewanted.That theyneeded.”Crimson huffed out a sob disguised as an exhale. “I could be whatIneeded. Regardless of what I am.”

She wiped at her eyes, flicking wetness off.

“Crimson-” He started but she merely lifted her hand and cut him off.

“I’m not telling you this for the pity you’re showing. I’m telling you this so you can better understand why Ihatemy father. So that when we find him, you can do whatever you need to do with him. But once we locate him, once we stand in front of him, I’m done. I don’t want him in our life, I don’t need him. Cobalt and I have been alone for the last eight years and we’re perfectly fine. We’ve been fighting together, because that’s what we are. Fighters.”

“One look at either of you, and it’s as clear as day.” He admitted with an ounce of respect and admiration for the girl that had a raging fire burning bright inside of her.

It was the very light of her soul, the reason she glowed to the point that she could have been the brightest star in the midnight sky. And he realised thatthatwas what made her stand out to him.Thatthatwas what called his very core, his very existence to her.

Of course he’d been drawn to her.

He was the Northern Star, and she was the most lucent, radiant thing around.

West swallowed, trying to soothe his racing heart.

The one that pittered and pattered uncontrollably, as if he were a sandglass that counted down the time until the very end. As if once the beats stop, the sands halted, something would be over and something new would begin.

Of what, he didn’t know.

And he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

Crimson looked up towards the high ceiling of the map room, finding interest in the way that the painters had created a massive map of Hisaith all along the borders, rimming the room in a splendid recreation of the continent.

“Thank you.”

The girl dropped her gaze back down to him in a second. “For what?”

He stood, pushing the chair back in and walking around the table to her. His knee met the ground as he knelt before her, tenderly taking her hands in his and held them to her heart, pushing his own against it.

“For sharing this delicate, vulnerable part of yourself with me. It’s an honour to see it, along with whatever other sides you wish to show me. I can’t imagine that it’s easy for you to put your trust, your faith in anyone. The people you’ve loved have let you down, and the very last thing I want to do is become another one on your list of enemies.”

She smiled, and he could see the gentle reaction inside of it. “Oh, West. I couldnevermake you my enemy. You’re too good for that. Tooright, to ever do something to put you on the list.”

“Please don’t hold me up that high.” He tugged his hands out from under hers. “I’m a Saint. I’m immortal. I’ve been alive forhundredsof years. There are things that I’ve done in those years, things that would turn your blood to ice if you knew about them.”

Crimson curled her fingers inwards, as if she missed the heat of them, of him. He tried his damnedest to ignore it, to douse the little flicker of emotion away.

He shouldn’t care about things like that.

Not from her, not from a half Saint.

She would die and he wouldn’t.

West reminded himself over and over.

The tiny ember sizzled and hissed out

“We’ve all done bad things. It’s inevitable. But it doesn’t mean that we’rebad people.Regardless of if we have immortal blood running through our veins or not.”

“I am not a good person, Crimson.” He declared. “I’ve never once thought myself to be one, either. I’m not black, I’m not white. I’m grey, if that makes any sense.”

---