Late 20s tgirl. Elf ear pervert. Some say hemipenis girl. Writing mostly original F/F. Stories will frequently be horny so if you're under 18 you're getting blocked.



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The Knight is stuffed into Her Majesty's closet.

Not in the metaphorical sense, nor in whatever innuendo the Fool would likely come up with. She's literally in the closet. She barely fits in there- the Fool would say something to that, too. She didn't use to think these things, and now they just pop into her head unprompted. Worse, they almost make her laugh- but this is really the only attempt at stealth she can make.

She is wedged in with the Queen's clothes, in full armor, because someone is going to try and kill her tonight. And she has to let them try. She has to hide, and not sit by her lady's side and soothe her, and let a killer get close enough to her that there's no doubt what's happening.

The Queen writhes in her bed.

It's a bad one, she can tell; as if Her Majesty wasn't already in enough danger. There's a healer assigned to come check on her every hour, so as to leave a wide gap for someone to sneak in, and it simply isn't enough.

Her body is killing itself, cooking her from within. And the entire plan hinges on her not doing anything about it.

She has to just watch her die.

The door creaks open, and in the dim light the Knight watches one of her lady's aunts enter the room. She closes the door behind her, and slowly moves to the Queen's side.

Not yet.

She sits beside her on the bed, and wipes the sweat from her forehead. The Queen groans and squirms at the touch, and her aunt shushes her.

"It's okay." She whispers. "You're okay. You'll feel better soon."

Not yet.

She sighs, brushing the Queen's sweat-slicked hair out of her face. "You poor, poor girl." She says, as she takes a pillow out from under her head. "It's all going to be okay now."

NOW.

The Queen struggles weakly as her aunt begins to smother her, and the Knight crashes out of her hiding place, on a fucking warpath.

"You-! I-!"

The aunt's words are cut off as her head swiftly and brutally collides with Her Majesty's nightstand. She crumples to the floor like a rag doll, and tries to scramble away on her hands and knees. The Knight stomps on her back, pinning her to the ground before shackling her.

And then, heart racing, she stops.

She takes a moment to check on the Queen, to wipe her down with cool water. To watch her relax, momentarily relieved from her suffering. The tempest in her heart slowly dissipates, reassured that the Queen will be fine. She'll throw the murderous snake into the deepest, darkest dungeon they have, and then she'll sit at her lady's side where she belongs.

It's done. It's over.

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