It was in the air again.

The devil smiled with an angel's face. The mocking glares of fire, filled with the venom that once had poured through her lips, shot across the empty space between them.

Her eyelashes had brushed death.


He had vowed to himself that he wouldn't give in to her games. Even if it was a game without no rules, no restrictions. Maybe the fruits of her hatred would one day bloom, but for now she just let out a dark smile, standing in the corner of the court.

You don't know the meaning of fear.

The once uncertain and passionate king's ward, who was too often overlooked and underestimated. Now she was a ticking time bomb, a fooling beauty covered with sugary smiles and innocent seductive comments. Yet she was deadly, ready to abuse and manipulate.

Even if there was a part of her that still ached.


Her heart banged with magic. It once had been part of her, like her very existence, warm and present, united to her compassion and good intentions.

But you know what they say about the road and good intentions. She paved it, he gave the nudge.


His magic was strong. It was his blood, his life, his soul. It was strong, strong like a mountain beside a small stone compared to her.

He could rip her apart with a blink of an fiery eye.

But she didn't know it.

This play. It continued.


She did something, he took the blame. Sarcasm and irony poured from their lips, curled into pitying smiles. Blades flashed in the light of the moon, red cloaks moved in the night air. Witches whispered in the night. Eyes turned gold.

Witchcraft was just to a vow to darkness now, it had nothing do with her mercy and forgiveness.

He had turned into a bloodhound, a hell hound, chasing after her in these seven stages of hatred and betrayal. Her blood scenting in his nostrils, inviting him in.

He might have looked at her in that way. He could have touched her, caressed her, made her forever his. Maybe he had desired it. The thought had crossed her mind, too.

But now, he was a hound with a pedigree she wasn't aware of.

Did he act like a fool?

He wasn't sure. His hands were tied. This frozen balance between them stayed; she didn't turn him in and he didn't turn her in. Maybe they both played with the thought that it would all change.

Her pride was her downfall.

She was too blind to see what was right in front of her. He would turn his cheeks to her strikes. She would keep on hitting.

She played her games, tried everything to bring his world down.

When she wasn't looking, he sighed.

Ask yourself just how lucky do you feel...

She looked at him, but never really saw. He looked at her, and he saw everything.

Burn witch, burn, they shouted.


He still waited for her to heal from this plague. That he had planted.

If looks could kill...She would flare him up in a blink.

Maybe she did try.

But in the end, all he needed was to turn his bruised cheek to receive another hit.

There it goes again.


Their positions would flip.

She would end up on her knees again, disbelieving, gasping, before him.

They always ended up there. There she was:

tears in her eyes,

betrayed,

running out of air to breathe,

kneeling on the floor as

he stood there in front of her, pitying her.

Her eyes burn holes into his soul.


She gave him something more than she had bargained for.

She lied.

He lied.

And so it went on again. One breeze to this house of cards, one wrong move, and the balance would shatter, only to end up here again.

Someone's got to pay. It shouldn't be her, but it always was.

She swore vengeance, and counted her blessings.

He sighed sadly as he started to chase again, a hell hound under the moon.

Ignorance was bliss they never had.

Faster, faster, faster, faster,

and faster they ran.

In conformity, the twisted merry-go-round continued.