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They took her. That's the last thing that burns in my mind, at least the most important thing that can come to mind. Everyone knew her, she was a sacred gem to the royals, her name was Tori LightningFlame. A dutchess soon to be married to Prince Spectre. That's how we all knew her, not how she used to roam through the walls of the city without permission (although I'm sure I only remember that), not how she would dance around the ballroom in her father's shoes with her friends until dawn. Everyone simply thought of her as a kind and generous person who would someday be our queen.
But one day, Spectre thought differently, all I saw was when she was binded and screaming for help on the back of a horse driven carriage, guards yelling at her to quiet down or she would be burned. There was much talk arising in the lands after that day, some say she was taken and burned to her death miserably, others who speak the truth in our quaint town say she was taken away and cursed upon, making her a monster and could only thrive in her own world. Then we only believed that she was out of our lives and it was against the written laws to speak of her unless given permission. Even today, no one has spoken of her to me. And no one ever will. Possibly.
When I was younger I heard most of the talk about Tori and Spectre being a stable boy, but it wasn't enough for me, I wanted a better job, I wanted to hear more about them, I wanted to be important there. So everyday for the past five years I've begged. And begged. And begged my father to let me at least attempt to become a squire. Ever since my tenth birthday I had hoped and wished for the day he would finally accept my plead. Every beck and call of mine was given in every form possible. Until one day he finally agreed. The day of my fifteenth birthday. It was an extraordinary day, one I could never forget.