Lydia walked down one of the many hallways of the Royal Palace, her face as stoic as ever, however her mind completely blank. She was on her way outside of the palace, the place whom she had pridefully claimed as under her protection for over 12 years, but now the familiar place felt like a stranger to her. Lydia recalled back to a few moments ago, where she had been called in by the Crown Prince unexpectedly. "You're fired. I want you out of the palace before night falls, or I'll have you arrested for treason." Those words were the one and only sentence she was given as soon as she entered. Lydia blinked in shock for a moment, however glancing at the Crown Prince's recently hired maid standing behind him, it was easy to tell where this idea came from. The girl didn't even try to hide her smirk, but the disgust on the Crown Prince's face is what sealed the deal for Lydia. She was never close with the prince, but not distant either. She was his guard, his protector, and one of his most trusted advisors. Ever since she sworn to protect the Royal Family when she was 18 years old, she watched over the then just born crown prince. Despite having been with the child since birth, Lydia didn't see him as family, but like a close friend. For all of those 12 years to be thrown away by him picking a mere young maid he fancied, Lydia was furious. She wanted to argue, dispute, deny the order. To deny the order however, would go against her very duty. She was the 22nd Royal Knight, Royal Guard to the Crown Prince, Guardian of the Royal Palace. The life's purpose of Lydia was to serve the Royal Family, to protect them no matter what, to obey above all else. Holding back her emotions, she bowed to the young Crown Prince, and left the room upon his dismissal. Once she finally made it outside the doors of the palace however, she looked out to the capitol, her eyes expanding upon the view. The largest city in the entire kingdom, perfectly seen from the high situated Royal Palace Entrance, and yet she'd never even noticed it's beauty. For once, Lydia couldn't control herself, and cried. Tears fell not for loss of her life's purpose, but for freedom to see what the world has to offer.

Standing in a snowstorm, Smiling since the day I was born. Be happy, they said. Be grateful, they said. Thoughts fill the void, Where love feels devoid. Actions feels frozen, Even when chances blow in. Life goes on, Even when you wish to be gone. The world turns once more, Even when your heart is sore. Be still and rest, For sleep is best. But if sleep does not come, Then your mind must run. Think, turn, spin, spiral. Consider, confuse, debate, turn feral. As your mind floods, Your body craves a hug. You desire attention, affection. You deserve nothing, no exception. You must work, hunt for what you want. You must live, even as your past haunts. Smile, for while others die, you live. Smile, for while others hunger, you feed. Smile for while others cry, you laugh. Smile, for while others toil, you are free. What is a life, when have no life to give? What is hunger, when you wish to succeed? What is sorrow, when are but a number on a graph? What is free, when you are living as a rotting tree?

Little kid, don't be sad. Look pretty lights! Smile like that, You shining star, in the night. Turn real bright, turn out like that. Look at the sky, I know its dark. but look close, look at the stars. I know its cold, But you gotta be bold. I know your scared, But you gotta prepare. I know your tears, Wipe them away. I know your scars, Hide them away. Little kid, don't cry. Save your tears with a sigh. Remember those lights, Remember that cold. Savor the sight, Never forget your soul.

They say everyone who looks into their family history will find a secret sooner or later. For me, that was finding out my family has been keeping a guardian angel bound in our basement for several decades. It started when my grandfather collected various artifacts from WWII, mostly uniforms of different countries, weapons, and documents. As time went on, he met others like him, and they created a community like network to share these things as well as preserve them. One day, a friend got a tip that some occult books used by the Nazis had been found. My grandfather had heard tales of them doing various experiments during the war, but laughed about the foolishness with his friends. Nevertheless, he was shocked as these stories were always left at rumors with no proof, and jumped at the chance to see the real thing. After meeting several people and chasing down different leads, they finally found it. It was held by a very old man out in the wilderness of Russia. The old man refused to provide the book, and started a fight. I don't know how true this is, but according to my father's retelling of my grandfather's story, they never meant to kill the man. It ended in my grandfather's friend pulling out a gun and shooting him. They quickly searched the home, and managed to find the book, wrapped in ragged cloth. It was a very old tome, blank on the front and back, but inside had every page filled with various rituals. Once they returned to England, my grandfather displayed the book to his various friends and they perused the information together. Many of them had been accomplished scholars, but strangely, only my grandfather and his friend had been able to read the book. Because of this, my grandfather had been chosen to keep the book for preservation, and allow others to visit for researching its authenticity. After the first decade or so, everything was fine. They translated the book for their friends, laughed about the various rituals and their strict requirements, but nobody actually tested them. It wasn't until my father's older sister got severely sick, that my grandfather considered actually using the book. She had been sickly since birth, but always a bright and lively girl. When she was 12 however, there was a harsh winter, and her condition only got worse over time. Everyone told my grandfather to prepare for the worst, but when not even prayers seemed to help, he turned to the book. According to my father, my grandfather's words were “If god refuses to give his aid, then by my own hands I will force his angels to.” My grandfather used a ritual outlined in the book to summon, bind, and enslave an angel. Not just any angel, but a guardian angel. Supposedly, these were a special kind of angel which granted blessings during times of need. My grandfather lost his left arm in the process, but succeeded. Shortly afterward, my aunt recovered from her illness, and was even healthier than everyone else in the family. She went on to become a world renown athlete, supermodel, and award-winning actress. My grandfather meanwhile, stayed in that small town, and never left the family home again. After two more decades, he revealed everything to my father on his deathbed, and my father continued the rituals, as without them our family's wealth would be gone. I write this as my father is on his own deathbed. My aunt is still as healthy, with none the wiser, as it is now my duty to go down into the basement. It is now my duty to torture an angel, to force it under my will, to grant us the blessings for our family to prosper as it has for generations. I have spoken with the angel, a radiant and beautiful creature of god, and it begs for me to kill it. Not to return to heaven, but to end its suffering. I am no angel, and I am no monster. I am only human.

Sam looked around in confusion, finding herself in a strange place. Mountains surrounded the valley they stood in, so high they towered over even the clouds, whose peaks she couldn't see. They stood on a miniature island, surrounded by water flowing in from a waterfall. Around the island lay several trees, and on the ground, an uncountable number of swords. Before her stood some kind of swordsman whose face was hidden by their straw woven hat. Sam tried to speak with them, however in an instant, they drew their sword, and she saw her own body fall to the ground as her head spin in the air. Blinking, she found herself completely fine, and The Swordsman had their sword sheathed again. Turning and running out of fear, she once again saw her own body fall to the ground. Back once more, she stared in silence fear, paralyzed from the pain of death having come twice. The Swordsman once again drew their blade, and despite her pleas of mercy, once again she was slain. This time, she ran to grab one of the swords on the ground, however failed to react to the Swordsman's blade reaching her throat. Again, again, and again she was decapitated. At the 7th death, she finally managed to duck in time to avoid death at the first swing, however was too happy at her success to avoid the second. At the 32nd death, she finally learned how to avoid danger, but The Swordsman kept killing her each time she tried to fight back. She tried swinging her sword, failed. She tried throwing her sword, failed. She tried punching him, failed. She tried kicking him, failed. She tried tacking him to the ground, failed. She tried diving into the water to avoid him, failed. She tried to tire him out by avoiding his attacks, failed. After 59th deaths, she managed to learn how to block their attacks, however still failed to land any of her own. Sam watched The Swordsman as they would take advantage of her weak points, move into her blind spots, or simply parry her attack for a counter. It wasn't until her 133rd death that Sam stopped seeing The Swordsman as her enemy, but rather her teacher, despite not being able to understand the situation she was in. The punishment for failure was death, and the reward for success was life. Some would call it self delusion, others insanity, but Sam did not care. In this world, there were only two people, Sam and The Swordsman. Sam caused The Swordsman to fall back in order to avoid her attack for the first time after her 193rd death. Overcome with happiness, she tried to press on the offensive, however The Swordsman went to pierce her heart with a forward thrust. In an attempt to block it, she tried to turn the sword, however The Swordsman's blade pierced through it instead. Unfortunately, Sam didn't have enough time to grab another sword before her 194th death. This continued for a long time. Avoid, Observe, Attack, Block, Counter, Parry, Death. Attack, Avoid, Observe, Parry, Counter, Death. Observe, Avoid, Counter, Attack, Death. Again, again, and again these lessons went on. At times where she managed to survive for long periods, Sam would still run out of energy, while The Swordsman seemed to have endless stamina. Upon reaching 482 deaths, Sam had studied her teacher to understand that each second that passed, was a second wasted. Simply running away was not enough. Simply fighting back was not enough. Simply surviving was not enough. Simply thinking of what to do, and do it, was not enough. Reacting was not enough. Learning was not enough. Sam knew she had to become what she was to defeat. In order to overcome her opponent, she must understand her opponent, and to understand she must become them. After this, Sam forbid herself from speaking out loud. It had helped with her sanity, but it was a distraction. At 913 deaths she forbid herself from dodging attacks. At 1,112 deaths she forbid herself from using more than one sword. At 1,472 deaths she forbid herself from blinking. At 2,837 deaths, she finally lifted her master's hat, to find they were simply a shadowy mass. It did not need to see, hear, smell, or feel her. It simply sensed an opponent, thus moved to defeat it, thus she continued her training. Following her 4,369th death, she managed to eliminate the need to see or hear, and allowed her master to slay her upon removing his hat. It was not enough. She continued this new practice until her 8,145th death, where she added one final restraint: The ability to think. Sam would not think of her moves, her master's move, what to do, how to feel, if she would win or lose, how she should do this or that. 13,094. That is the amount of deaths she reached before Sam released her self imposed restraints. For the first time, she witnessed her master hesitate to make a decision. In this match, nothing existed outside of these two beings. Not her old life, not her name, not her friends nor family. Not the blade in her hands, not the training she gained, not the pain she endured. Not the possibility of getting back home, not the possibility of never leaving this place, not the question of if she even wanted to leave. Nothing mattered, nothing existed, save for Sam and The Swordsman. Sam didn't remember when The Swordsman had been defeated, nor how she got back home. All she knew was that now, there was no longer any Sam nor any Swordsman, but rather a new person. Sam The Swordsman.

An endless void, With nothing but darkness. A loneliness you cannot avoid, But will, like an old friend, miss. Some days you will see a spark. Of light, of hope. Something to shine in the dark. Something to provide closure, to cope. Some days you will run blind, looking for an escape. May you be kind, For not all smiles are bait. To return to reality, To return to the void. For a time to be free, A time to be enjoyed. Not all days are quiet nights, Not all nights are dutiful days. In your dreams may you take flight, In your dreams may you see the sights.

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