“You were named after your mother’s favorite flower. And you know what I wanted to name you?”

Violet bounces along her father’s side, braids swinging to and fro. It’s her eighth summer in the midst of childhood, if being raised for marriage is considered much of a youth. “What?”

“Beretta,” he says with a smirk.

“What’s that?”

“A type of gun the Elves has, since they’re on such good terms with the Gnomes.”

“But we don’t like the Elves.”

“Not yet, but I suspect things will change soon.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re in an era of change, my dear.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Stop!” he hisses. “See that?”

“It’s a bunny.”

“Yes, but more importantly, it’s dinner.”

Alaric has three children– two of them are twins. Valeria is a spitfire and Viktor is a mellow lad, bending over backwards for his sisters to be the best older brother he can be. He would be king one day, and Valeria would be a fierce queen of some other kingdom.

He wants this one for himself. He knows it’s selfish and impractical, and that teaching a girl these thing is taboo, but he wishes things were different. He hopes Viktor makes changes once he takes the throne, since he’s too much of a coward to make a move now, not in this political climate. Not when his heart feel fit to burst from his chest at the very notion of rocking the boat.

“Watch me closely,” he says, taking the safety off his pistol. (If his wife saw him now, showing her this, she’d have a conniption.)

“Are you going to kill it?” she asks, worry coating her voice.

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“Where do you think your beloved rabbit stew comes from?”

Alaric gives her a quick glance. Violet stares at him wide-eyed and quiet. He takes aim and pulls the trigger. The bunny is struck in the chest and killed instantly. Alaric isn’t the best shot, so is quite pleased with himself when he manages. Typically his hands tremble when holding a weapon, but with his daughter, his nerves lessen. His main responsibility he has with his children, in his opinion, is to love and be loved. It takes the burden of being king off his shoulders as all he has to be is “Dad”.

As he skins the rabbit, Violet is teary-eyed and silent. Once the meat is prepared and he reveals he’s making stew, though, she perks right up, suddenly happy as a clam.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks as he pours the stew.

“Of course,” she answers, as though the question is bizarre and the answer obvious. “I always have a good time when I’m with you.”

He teaches her how to pitch a tent, and tells her in the morning he’ll teach her to fire a gun.

Little do they know of the nightmare on the horizon, creeping in towards them at an alarming rate.

~~~~~

Alaric wakes up, thinking its in the middle of the night because of the lack of light outside. Across the tent, he presses his hand down where his daughter was to feel her sleeping body, wanting to make sure she’s inside and safe. When he feels nothing but flatness, he lights a lantern and steps outside.

“Violet?” No answer.

Then, he notices the sky. At first he’s confused, thinking he’s looking at some sort of lunar eclipse.

He checks his watch– it’s day.

Blood pumps through his veins at the realization. He shields his eyes as he rushes around the forest. "Violet!” He finally bumps into the smaller figure.

“Did you see—?”

“How long have you been looking at the sun?” he asks, grabbing her by the shoulder roughly.

“The sun?”

He pulls her by her lower arm, yanking her back into the tent.

“How do you feel?" he asks, panicked.

“What’s going on? That was the sun?” His panic is contagious as her blue eyes are wide with confusion and anxiety.

“Fuck, this is unexpected.”

Violet cringes. “Dad–”

“We need to wait this out. Then, we need to go right back to the castle. Damn it all…”

~~~~~

The pain begins much later, on horseback, and Violet never experienced a feeling of such intensity. When it started and they were almost home she cried, and before they brought a witch in to try a spell she screams, howling herself hoarse. The last color she ever sees is the white of her ceiling, and the last feeling before unconsciousness the roaring pain of her now useless eyes.