Breaking Down The Barriers

It has been two thousand years since I closed the borders, since I shut the witches away from us. Since I kept them all in isolation. It was an age of suspicion and fear, and I was the architect of our separation. In that time, my dominion grew vast and uncontested, my rule absolute. Yet now, the winds of change howl through the night, and I stand on the precipice of war.

I have returned to reclaim what is mine. Their isolation is no longer necessary, and their return is inevitable. I will shatter the barriers between us and subdue any creature that stands in my way.

The dawn breaks over the horizon as I command my troops. "Attack!" I bellow, my voice reverberating through the ranks. Arrows are loose, swords drawn from their scabbards with a deadly hiss, and the thunder of gunfire erupts around me. The village at the edge of the border is a tableau of chaos and destruction. Flames lick the sky, and the screams of the innocent fill the air. 

Pregnant women, children, and the aged fall before us, their lives snuffed out in an instant. This is no concern of mine. They chose this war; they called for it with their defiance. Now, I shall fulfill their wish with blood and fire.

I dismount from my horse, its breath steaming in the chill morning air. With calculated precision, I slit the throat of any who dare stand in my path. "Get the demon!" someone cries out, their voice tinged with desperation. I almost laugh at the audacity. They do not stand a chance. One glance into my eyes, and their heads are severed from their bodies before they can comprehend their fate. My soldiers know better than to meet my gaze; they understand the peril in such a simple act.

My steps are steady and unyielding as I head toward the castle in the heart of the village. With each step, her scent grows stronger. I can feel her presence, her fear, her rage. My purpose is clear, my resolve unshakable.

The doors of the castle swing open before me, and I am greeted by the sight of trembling guards. "Brace yourselves and shut your eyes!" someone commands from within, but their words are futile. Fear paralyzes them, and they are unable to act.

"How do we fight if we can't see him?" one guard asks, his voice quavering. Impatience courses through me. I make the first move, sidestepping arrows with ease and dispatching the guards with swift, deadly strokes of my sword.

"Herman!" I call out from the palace door, my voice echoing through the grand hall. "Release her, and I shall retreat my men and spare your people." It is not a plea but an ultimatum, a final offer of mercy.

"Over my dead body!" Herman's voice rings with defiance, and so be it. With a powerful push, I open the doors to the palace.

There she is. Her ginger hair cascades over her shoulders, her eyes wide with fear and anger. She is the angel I have waited decades for. But Herman steps between us, his sword drawn, his gaze fixed on my bloodied blade.

"You are not taking my daughter from me," he declares, his voice steady despite the terror in his eyes. I slide my sword back into its scabbard, a smile playing on my lips.

"You cannot hide my property forever, Herman," I state coldly. His grip tightens on his sword, and my heart aches at the sight of my angel struggling behind him. She is scared, but that will change.

"Angel, won't you come to me?" I call out softly, but she does not respond. She does not move from behind her father.

"Leave her alone," Herman's words are sharp, but I pay them no heed. "I can protect you and give you the life you deserve," I say, taking a step forward. Herman lunges at me, but a flick of my finger renders him immobile, his eyes bulging in fear.

"Father!" Her sweet voice, the voice I have longed to hear, breaks the tension. She falls to her knees, sobbing. My heart aches at the sight.

"Isabella," I whisper, barely audible. 

Isabella's voice breaks through the chaos, raw and trembling. Her sobs are deep and wrenching, as if each tear is pulled from the very core of her being. Her face is a blotchy, reddened canvas of grief and despair, eyes swollen and puffy from relentless crying. She looks at me with a mixture of fear and desperate pleading. "Why are you doing this to us?" she sobs, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. "I don't want to go with you. Leave us alone."

Her words pierce through the hardened shell of my resolve. For a moment, I am reminded of the angelic child she once was, the girl whose laughter once brought light into my dark world. "I never stopped thinking about you, angel," I mutter, my voice barely more than a whisper, as I take slow, deliberate steps towards her. Each step is heavy with the weight of our shared past and the inexorable pull of destiny.

Herman, her father, stands between us, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and defiance. He opens his mouth to say something, perhaps a plea or a curse, but his words are lost in the oppressive silence that falls over the room. "Don't look at him," Herman's voice trembles with a command born out of desperation and paternal love.

His words ignite a flood of memories, each one crashing over me like a tidal wave. I remember the nights spent plotting, the fear and hatred that drove me to close the borders and isolate the witches. My hand moves almost of its own accord, drawing my sword with a deadly whisper of steel.

"No! You can't kill him," Isabella's voice is a desperate cry, her body lurching forward as she crawls towards me. Her hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the force of her plea. Tears stream down her face, carving paths through the soot and grime. She looks up at me with eyes filled with a heartbreaking mix of terror and resolve. "I'll go with you. I'll let you have me," she chokes out, her voice breaking.

Her words are a balm to my dark heart, a salve to the festering wounds of loneliness and longing. I slide my sword back into its scabbard, the threat of violence dissipating into the air. Herman's screams of protest are drowned out by Isabella's unyielding resolve. She does not waver, does not look back. She is consumed by a singular purpose: to save her father.

I lower myself to one knee, bringing myself to her level, our faces inches apart. I can see every tear, every flicker of emotion in her eyes. "Just let my father go," she whispers, her voice trembling like a fragile leaf in a storm.

I lift her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes, though filled with fear, hold a spark of defiance that stirs something deep within me. "Then marry me," I say, my voice soft but unyielding.

"Marry me Isabella"