Kingdom is such a large word. It implies so much. A grand and populated portion of land, ruled and organized by a nobility that surely knew better than the average commoner.

What was any one person with a microscopic understanding of the world to do with any real power? They would probably use it for something meaningless should they be granted any strength at all. Unlike kings and nobles, who would surely know how to utilize power wisely.

They were just born better. The grace of a king could cure the sick and feed the poor.

A small village in some hellish and forgotten corner of a kingdom held no purpose at all in the grand scheme of things. A village was nothing to a kingdom.

From such humble beginnings, destiny was practically begging to creep up and raise up a hero. It was a narrative necessity and anyone with a decent understanding of how these sorts of stories went would surely grasp the narration at work. A sly person might even be able to weave the narration to meet their own desires.

The villagers weren’t important . Not like kings or heroes. They were a mere narrative device to be utilized as victims or villains.

Tragically, this story isn’t about heroes, villains, kings, or kingdoms. It would surely have a better ending if it was.

Astor Gopint sat at the edge of a pond and stared into her reflection. Twelve was a complicated age for any child. Old enough to understand one’s surroundings but young enough to lack the power to do anything about it.

She could spare energy on being angry but that would require a lot of effort and energy and really, it sounded like a pain in the ass. She poked a finger into her garbled reflection and frowned at the chill of the water. The last vestiges of autumn were abandoning the village and soon winter would coat the ground with icy death.

“...what bullshit.” Astor lied back and stared at the canopy of trees above.

She shouldn’t linger in the forest. The branches loomed over the village like a haunting fairytale and threatened to swallow it whole. Whatever wandered out from the forest was always troublesome as well. Whether it was a beast or a man, nothing good came from the twisted roots of the carnivorous forest.

If she had any proper sense of self preservation she wouldn’t have wandered inside to begin with. But self preservation was reserved for those with fucks left to give. Astor had absolutely none.

No, she had just one fuck left to give. It was to follow that damn rabbit. She hated that damn rabbit but she could never help but follow it.

She could swear the stupid thing was mocking her.

Astor had three unique aspects about her otherwise irrelevant existence. Being a born cynic was right atop that list. Her cynicism was precisely why she was neither interested nor surprised when she heard a growl bubble up from the depths of the pond she was lying down beside. She just hefted her tired body up and made a calm but swift departure from the muddy area surrounding the pond.

Her hair and clothes didn’t soon forget about their mud bed though, clinging to parts of it as though wishing to return. She ignored their pleas. With a sigh, she heard the creature crest the surface and the creepy gurgling sound it made as it crawled up the bank. An inexperienced coward might have turned to see what horrors stalked her footsteps.

Astor knew better. Looking only offered a grim premonition to the future. An ultimately useless thing when the future was so quickly approaching.

She spotted the rabbit up ahead and let out a ragged sigh. She didn’t feel like running but it didn’t look like she had a choice. Her legs moved without her consent, speeding along the path and after the hopping creature that raced through the bramble. Branches, bushes, thistles, thorns, none of those obstacles mattered to her legs. The rest of her body protested that a more sensible run was in order but her legs had a mind of their own.

She’d catch that fucking rabbit today if it was the last thing she did.

In all likelihood, it ought to be. The slime creature behind her was gleefully following the trail she made with just as much disregard for the surrounding terrain.

Perhaps she was its rabbit. That made sense, in a strange way, it didn’t have any malice or hatred towards her. It just saw the rabbit and couldn’t help but chase.

Her throat was raw and painful from running and her side was splitting from the overexertion when she finally cleared the trees and re-entered the village, her legs crumbling beneath her as the rabbit was now nowhere in sight.

What a fucking joke. All that running and nothing to show for it.

She ought to use this opportunity to cry for help or to crawl towards one of the many humble homes that littered the land that the villagers rested inside of. She ought to but she knew better. It would be useless.

Dusk was kissing the horizon in the romantic way it did every day, reminding the horizon of how deep and committed dusk was to their love affair. It was as consistent as the dawn’s gentle caress as it left for another day.

And their sickening display of public affection was all Astor needed to see to know that she was out of time.

No matter what she did, no matter how hard she struggled, this was the limit.

And the damn rabbit escaped again.

Her head came off cleanly as the swamp monster caught up, chewing thoughtfully on her skull and hugging her limp body against it for later consumption. Happy and fed, the creature retreated back to its pond, leaving only a trail of blood and mud in its wake.

Village is a small and meaningless word. It implies very little.

Nothing and no one of relevance lived within its confines. Narratively speaking, every single one of them was as irrelevant as Astor.

Although the fact that no one would mourn her death was its own little tragedy.