A figure in a dark black hooded cloak sprinted away from the towering stone castle. The night hid The Figure within the shadows. Even with the full moon shining brightly in the sky, it was as if The Figure was only a shadow against the trees. It disappeared within the stables, where the hundreds of palace horses were kept. Some woke from their slumber, and whinnied at the intruder.
Working swiftly but silently, The Figure mounted a large, dark, strong horse. Leaving the saddles and harnesses on the tack wall, (for they would be inconvenient and just get in the way) The Figure grasped the horses' mane tightly and they galloped into the dense, dark forest.
The Figure lowered its head down onto the horses' sturdy neck to avoid the branches' efforts to tear it off of its steed. But even so, they reached out with strong fingers and tore the hood back, revealing a sobbing female.
She had bright sky-blue eyes, twinkling in the moonlight like they were a part of the starry night themselves. The rims of her eyes were as red as the fiery depths of a volcano, and made her eyes glow brighter than before. But it was not the sadness you could see in her eyes at first glance, it was the anger.
The branches, with their nimble fingers, tore at her exposed face. Her straight, Raven-wing colored hair was being ripped, torn and tangled. The scratches bled, causing blood to mix with her tears as they ran in steady, red rivulets down her pale, fair face. The tears stung her scratches, but there was nothing she could do.
There was no going back. She would not be welcome at the palace she was leaving behind any longer. There would be no "wanted" signs either. She was alone. Alone in her own country.