To those gathered it seemed a golden blur shot from where Paul had been standing to where Mirrsola prepared to plunge the knife into her heart. A few startled people screamed and the rest were left wide-eyed and staring at the frozen tableau before them.
Paul held Mirrsola’s wrist in an iron grip, keeping the dagger from moving any closer to her body. She looked up with fearful, tear-stained eyes into his brightly burning ones. Once more she felt herself slipping into those pools of strength and untapped fury.
“Enough.” He said quietly. “If keeping you around will stop you from killing yourself, then I guess you can come along for the ride. But you aren’t a slave.” He added forcefully. “You are a friend that’s coming along for the ride. You can leave at any time, you make your own decisions, and I can ask that you follow mine, got it?”
Mirrsola had no idea what the last words meant, but she nodded, relieved that he had restored her honor to her. She would follow him in even the smallest thing, she vowed. Always. “I will.” She promised.
Paul grabbed the dagger from her limp hand and placed it in his belt. Then he stood up and offered her his hand. Dusting himself off, he looked around and sighed.
“All right. First order of Helping Paul out of his Present Plight.” Looking into her curious eyes, he smiled.
“Where the hell am I?
Written by Snore23 on 11 July 2017
The end (for now)