As my axe swings down, so heavy I can barely lift it with my flower-stem arms, I heave a sigh. It’s late morning, and I’m already exhausted. I console myself by knowing that the axe, so carefully carved, belonged to my father, the last thing he made before he was murdered in front of me by the elf prince Corvidin. When he died, he left me, the youngest of seventeen sisters, to care for my family. Each of my sisters is scared of killing, so I am left to hunt for the food that feeds my family and pray I don’t meet an elf.
I push my black hair out of my face, my hand brushing over dewy heart-shaped lips as I do. My hair is the color of onyx, my eyes are the color of earth under the fresh rain. I know I’m ugly. All stone-colored, dainty, nothing like the strong muscular elves, with their perfect white-blond hair and ice-like eyes. They’re all angles and sharp edges, nothing like me. They’re beautiful.
Placing down my axe, I collect a hunting knife and head for the woods. I’m heading out to look for squirrels, berries and really anything that will keep me alive, when I hear a branch snap behind me. I whip around my hunting knife in hand and shake as I hold it towards the chest of a towering figure. It’s an elf, dressed in the royal-blue of elf royalty that radiates toxic masculine power and aggressive misogyny. I feel my heart flutter as he meets my gaze, eyes cold and radiating rage and mommy issues. He gives me a smirk, and with one lone, white finger, he pushes the knife away from him. I can’t fathom how he’s gotten over the border, but with a jolt, I recognise his raven insignia. I bare my teeth, trying not to look afraid as realization dawns.
“Corvidin,” I breathe, my two inch eyelashes fluttering menacingly. His grin widens until it shows all of his teeth, and his nose scrunches in a totally not one hundred percent cute way, because I am not into him.
“That’s quite right, and who might you be?” His voice is tinged with the air of bad ideas, and a mother who died in his infancy leaving him alone with his father, who has weighed generations of toxic masculinity upon his back. I try not to notice as his finely chiseled jaw, sharpened by many years of impulsiveness and a rakish life, ticks.
“Lilliania,” I mutter back, teeth clenched. I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in the history of ever, and I hate him even more than that when he reaches out and pulls me towards him, his nimble hand wrapping all the way around my waist, as I conveniently ignore the toxicity of this entire situation. Then from behind him appears a second elf, equally beautiful, with pale skin, his hair cropped close unlike his brother’s long locks. I recognize him as Jayran, the youngest prince. His dark blue eyes meet mine, and I almost forget how ugly I am when I see him.
“I—I love you, Lilliania,” Corvidin whispers, his breath smelling of lavender and morning dew. Then, out of nowhere, Jayran leaps at his brother and yells, eyes narrowed, with the rage of a lion.
“No, brother, she will be mine!” He rips his brother to the ground and begins hitting him with balled fists.
“No! No, don’t fight. I’m to ugly to fight over!” I shriek, my voice dainty and my lips puckering as I rush to pull them away. But my girl run, complete with flailing arms, slows me down and my arms are far too weak to do much good. “Please stop!” I wail again, and they jump apart.
“Anything for you,” they say in unison, softened by my gentle disposition.
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