Destiny is all stinking shit!
Susan ran wildly with her skirt up while murmuring to herself to curse this damn fate.
Who would have thought that? One month ago, she was sitting in a café, listening to blues, looking through the window at the heavy traffic, trying to find a spark of fashion design inspiration between the noise and tranquility. Now, her soul had shifted into the body of a skinny girl, in an alternate world reminiscent of the Middle Ages, and furthermore, being chased by soldiers like a desperate rabbit.
Susan didn't know how long she had been running, when she was again run into a side street, she collapsed against a wall, panting and shaking. She thought her lungs must have burst. Otherwise, she wouldn't have tasted blood in her mouth and the chest pain almost killed her.
No more running, she told herself, the gallows or exile, whatever, anybody asks her to keep running has to kill her first.
She dropped her head, her sweat ticking down on the cobbled road, gasping like the wind from a bellows in her ear, and a vague thought jumped into her mind:
Maybe being hanged is not a bad thing. Perhaps the soul will travel back to her own body after death. She will still be the brilliant fashion designer, drinking coffee, listening to blues, and full of genius ideas, rather than in this damn world, going to the palace as damn tailors.
As the soldiers' footsteps and cries approached, Susan closed her eyes in despair and prayed: Whatever the gods, please bless Ella has escaped back to the Frame Street.
Suddenly, the door in the wall beside her opened, and a strong male hand grabbed her, dragging her in quick like lightning. The hand covered Susan's mouth so tight and also silent her screaming.
A sudden dropping from the sunlight street into a dark room, Susan saw nothing but darkness. As she stumbled, she caught a glimpse of the end of the room, where a fireplace was glowing orange.
Then her back slammed into the man's arms, and she struggled in horror, but the man locked her waist with his arm and refused to let go.
The strong scents of the man enveloped Susan immediately: leather, sweat, iron, and a somber scent reminiscent of the dark forest. His grip was as hard as steel, and the arms around her waist felt like they were trying to break her bones.
Then, the man bent his head and whispered in her ear like a lover: "who are you?"
But his voice was as cold as ice. Susan felt he would snap her neck without hesitation if her answer didn't satisfy him.
Susan's heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She struggled desperately, her hand beating at the man's hand covering her mouth, but it felt like hitting at a rock.
The sound of soldiers' chaotic footsteps on the street came from outside the door.
Susan froze and listened intently.
The officer was shouting orders. The soldiers began to knock on the doors of the houses on both sides of the street.
It's only a matter of time before they find her.
Susan flustered and trembled.
At time moment, the man behind her loosened his hand and moved away from her mouth. As if he was so sure she wouldn't scream. But the arms around her waist, but tighter.
The man pushed her to himself, her body fitting closely into his lines, her hips pressed against his body. She could feel the heat of his body clearly, passing through their clothes.
"They're after you? Such a little girl? What did you do? Assassinate the queen?" The man said in a low voice, his voice still cold, his hand that had covered her mouth now caressing her neck, like a killer picking a vulnerable part to strike."
Fear made Susan almost forget to breathe. The soldiers outside intended to send her to the gallows. The man behind her was more like a cold-blooded killer. She didn't know which was more dangerous.
"Speak!" The man snapped suddenly.
Susan shivered. Her trembled voice barely made a sentence.
"I, I didn't do anything. Please, Please, let me go."
The man put a finger under her chin, making Susan had to tilt her head back, chest out, like a fragile swan. She felt the man's fingers caressing her throat, stimulating her delicate skin.
She shivered uncontrollably. She struggled to speak, but the pressure on her throat made her only can make a hoarse voice: "I... Really, please let me go."
"Go?" The man sneered as if he had heard a joke.
Suddenly, his hand was still clamped around her neck but lifted slightly. Susan coughed in pain and had to follow on tiptoe.
The hand that had been around her waist was released. Now the hand ran it along her spine, upward.