a smile made from glass and eyes made from throne. When she grinned, a faux and malicious act, it never quite reached where it should, but instead the participant would be too intrigued in her rosy-red lips to notice that the words she said, the fake promises she never kept, were all connected by deceit and unlawful blood she carelessly drew from her enemies.

Prince Caspian the Tenth was one of these enemies.

She hissed his name, the words leaving a bitter and metallic taste in her mouth as she became more and more hungry for blood and freedom, something she had denied to others. Caspian knew this.

'This isn't what I wanted!' He cried out, his voice making him appear like a little boy, frightfully similar to how he used to sound when he could cry on the nights prior to his parents' deaths, when his younger sister would be forced from her bed, risen by the sounds of flooding tears seeping through the stone walls and plaguing her mind.

He thought of her now, the younger girl he once resented, but grew to love. He loves her, he loves her, he loved her. Now, his heart belongs to another.

The White Witch grinned with a powerful charm and Caspian's heart flipped. He struggled to fight her persuasive techniques, a newfound war igniting within him. With another smile, his defences weakened and he felt himself slipping.

This time, his cries were not loud enough for Catherine to hear. He was alone.

'One drop of Adam or Eve's blood and you free me.' Jadis hummed, a flowing rhythm that made it's way through his bones and corrupted his heart. It began to beat slower, slower, slower. Afterall, why would he be scared? He cant be terrified of a woman he loves, can he?

'I am yours, my king.'

King.

The world flooded his senses, trapping them in a whirlpool below his darkest, deepest desires and switching them around, jumbling them up with reality and fiction.

King.

Caspian convinced himself that he had never wanted any power. Not before, not now. He had feared he wasn't good enough, a constant war that raged inside his mind. He would never be as good as his father.

But the Witch had told him that he was. And so, therefore, he believed her.

King.

It sounded nice in his throat. It sounded nice coming from hers, an extra drawl that proved to him that he was deserving, that she meant it. Why would she lie to him? Witches had nothing to lie about. She loved him.

At the sudden realization that she was right there, asking him for help, knowing that she would help him, because she loved him. She would help him win the war, kill his uncle, save his sister-

His sister.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What would Catherine think about this new deal? About his love for the Witch? He shook his head. She would have to accept it. Wouldn't she? What if she didn't? Would he have to choose between love and blood?

The Witch wouldn't like that.

The Witch didn't like that.

His hand faltered slightly in the air and she winced, pushing herself further from the ice as she worked her compulsion deeper into his brain. Pushing herself towards him, plaguing his thoughts and corrupting all of his decisions with ice.

There was so much ice.

Caspian let his mind open, and he stopped resisting.

'Stop-!'

The Witch looked up, urgently startled as five figures ran desperately, into the room. The Witch groaned. The group drew their swords, the Witches servants crawling towards them, growling and snarling threateningly as they separated.

The werewolf crawled over the stone table like a spider, snarling towards Catherine, who growls back. It lunges towards her, and she ducks, making the dog yelp and fall over her, cracking his head on one of the stones, it's paws flailing recklessly. It growled, lowly and righted itself, making Catherine grip her sword and grit her teeth, ready to fight.

She grinned and tilted her head, expectantly. 'Come on then, you ugly brute.'

Nikabrik and Trumpkin turn to each other, their weapons raised with an unceasing vigour as they faced against the other, both of their hearts growling in protest. They were friends.

Trumpkin lunged first with an uncharacteristic growl that was unfamiliar to Nikabrik's ears, as he watched him take the beginning swing. Nikabrik followed in suit.

The Hag knocks the sword from Peters hand, making him swing at the air defenceless. He swooped down, kicking her and throwing her into a pillar. She lands with a loud crack and falls with a loud cry, angering the Werewolf who runs towards Catherine. She manages to dodge from it's direction, protected by a sword that clashed against it's teeth; a sword not her own.

Edmund growls, matching the Werewolves stance, and Catherine stands up once more, swinging in it's direction. The Wolf snaps forwards, gripping the cold air in it's teeth with an unmatched aggression and Edmund runs a little forwards before jumping on a large stone, flinging his sword into the air and spinning around to slice the Werewolf. It howls out in pain, before falling to the ground.

Edmund pants from the work, licking his lips as he watched the Werewolf stop moving, his nerves fading into the death that began to cloud it's system. He smirked, triumphantly and Catherine went to stand beside him, reducing her racing heartbeat.

By the corner, Nikabrik stands over Trumpkin with a troubled expression. He closes his eyes, as if suffering from a great pain, and lowers his defences, his sword hitting the stone floor with a metallic clang. A dagger appears at his throat and Trumpkin begins to panic.

'Lucy, no-!'

Nikabrik easily reaches back, grabbing Lucy's arm. He twists it, painfully and throws her onto the floor, making her scream out. At the sound, Edmund spins around and begins to run towards her, but the Werewolf spurs upwards with a jolt and snaps it's teeth towards him. Catherine turns towards Caspian, who is still stuck in a trance. She can feel the magic radiating from his skin, the Witches compulsion parading itself through his bones, singing and chanting. She clenched her jaw and ground her teeth as she watched it desperately move towards him.

Lucy gasps as Nikabrik stands over her, his knife ready and a snarl at his lips. Suddenly, another blade is run through him, making him gasp and collapse, revealing Trumpkin as he falls, a grief-stricken expression appearing on his face.

The White Witch sucked in a deep breath, eager and hastily reached out through the ice to reach her Prince.

'Come on, come on! My Prince-'

'-Get away from him!'

Surprised, The White Witch instantly retracts her hand, her smile disappearing as Caspian is pushed to the floor by a hard force, Catherine pointing her sword towards the Witch. She grit her teeth. 'He is not yours.'

Suddenly, The Witch regained her posture and Catherine shifted, suddenly feeling inferior to the monster that stood, begging and pleading her to come closer. The witch seeped into her mind, poisoning her blood and freezing the cells that tried to prevent the disease that creeped slowly towards her brain.

Catherine had never felt as loved as she did in that moment.

'Catherine, dear.' The Witch cooed, resembling a caring mother. A mother that she knew Catherine craved. 'I've heard so much about you. Come, my darling, just one drop.'

Catherine began to lower her sword as the Witch extended her hand, reaching towards her. Catherine's lips parted. She wanted to be loved like that forever.

'You know you can't do this alone.'

There it was.

Within the sentence, Catherine heard a valet of promises, a fountain of chance and love that she felt herself begin to get wrapped in, like a fly in a spider's web – a comforting, warm hug. Catherine was alright with whatever happened next.

She was alright with anything, really.

She dropped her sword. She couldn't dare fight a woman who promised everything she ever wanted in life.

Miraz's death. Victory. Caspian. She wanted them to all be saved. Edmund, Lucy, Susan, Peter (Although she was alright if he escaped with a few cuts and bruises, but generally alright.)

Then, Catherine's thoughts were plagued with something completely disastrous.

A blade was drawn through the Witches stomach, and the ice wall started to shatter. Along with the cracks, so did the malicious compulsion, and Catherine started to blink back to herself, the warmth radiating within her and the human hatred coasting through her veins. Hatred to the bitch that tried to manipulate her brother.

However, there was nothing to do with aforenoted hatred, as the White Witch was already beginning to scream, the ice falling forwards in a threatening avalanche.

Catherine crouched to her knees, covering her head with her hand, attempting to avoid the fragments of ice that shot towards her. Peter slid down beside her, covering her body with his, protectively.

Edmund scowled, his sword still drawn and the pair stood up, Caspian rushed towards his sister, holding her face as he checked for injuries. Peter clicked his jaw in sympathy, directing his gaze to Edmund, who stared back solemnly.

'I know.' He grumbled. 'You had it sorted.'