Xirysa Says: Trying something new. It's probably going to suck. Oh well.

Look, Don't Touch

She's so beautiful. The sad thing is that she doesn't realize it at all.

A woman masquerading as a man—even though she wears a military jacket instead of a corset and dons breeches rather than a dress, she is still a woman. And a lovely one, at that.

And here, in the barracks of the French Guards, she's like a rose among the weeds.

She doesn't have thorns, but keeps others away with strict orders and a personality even colder than winter's breath.

But beneath the icy exterior, she's a woman. And sometimes, when I look closely, she looks so lonely, and I want to just grab her and hold her close and tell her that it'll be alright…

All I can do, though, is look. I can't touch her—not because I'm afraid of any repercussions, but… I don't belong to her. Sometimes, I may feel as if I do, but that's not right. I don't belong to her like he does.

Hear that, André? She's all yours.

Alain de Soissons never takes anything that doesn't belong to him.

Of course, my friend, she really doesn't belong to anyone, does she?

Xirysa Says: Gee, I'm actually kind of happy with this one. Not too sure why. AH. Why do 'fic ideas strike at the most inopportune moments? Opinions are much appreciated. Feedback, too.