No palm reader could have predicted how my life would find me here.

My hands are warm and they twitch as I watch the scene before me play out.

I inspect my fingernails against the milky white color of my skin. They are trimmed close to the skin and perfectly shaped. I naively wish for a moment that dirt would find residence under my nails, but that’s all it is: wishful thinking. The gold bands clipped around my wrists feel colder today than normal. They are meant to represent honor. All I see are shackles. They don’t fool me. I’m stuck.

The tension in the air rises making my fingers twitch once more so I curl them into fists.

The figures below me draw closer to one another, speaking in hushed tones.

My hand finds an arrow in the quiver strapped to my back. The gold tip glints dangerously in the moonlight. The bow fits perfectly against my callouses like they have for centuries. The hands of an archer aren’t soft. My hands pull taut as they draw back the bow. I aim.

The heart.

My fingers release and in matter of moments both targets have been hit squarely in the chest. Directly above the heart.

The tension breaks.

I loath this part so I turn away.

They kiss.

And confessions of love and passion spill from their lips.

My job finished,

I walk away.

Forever to be alone.