MiyuraWindsong

         Three nights. Three, long, sleepless, pain filled, frustrating nights. That's how long it took you to reach your breaking point. As prideful as you were, you couldn't just go ask someone else to help you out, but you couldn't even pretend to act meek or respectful enough for Marth to help you either. At this point, however, you were willing to do whatever needed to be done if it meant you'd get even the slightest bit of relief from this constant, paralyzing pain in your shoulder. You'd already shown up for morning drills on time, offered to help clean up the mess tent after breakfast and reorganized the supply tent. Though it may not

      “Why is it so quiet? It's too early for everyone to have left.” Still tired and sore from the long journey home, you were finding it almost impossible to leave your bed. Even as uncomfortable as it was. You looked up at the stone ceiling of the castle and sighed. “Better get up.”  After rolling over, you pushed yourself out of bed and stretched, bringing the blood back to your extremities. “I'm starving, I hope it's time to eat.” Quickly dressing, you walked out into the hall, it was empty. “Whoa, maybe everyone did leave.” “Not everyone, but just about.” Walking up beside you

Swiveling on the barstool you had taken residence on, you raised your glass of champagne in a toast to the newly wed couple. You laugh as the groom, Alfred, grabs the microphone his best man is using to give a speech. He knocks over his chair in a scramble to jump on the table (much to the horror of his bride), “Time to partaaay dude and dudettes!,” his loud voice rings through the banquet hall, he snaps his fingers in the direction of the DJ who starts up the music. You shake your head, watching in amusement as his wife tries to coax him down from the table. You smirk from behind your glass. Poor girl is going to have her hand