Sir Serené: Cliché

"Isabelle!" Sir Serené knelt before the tower, his hands held high as the beautiful face of Princess Isabelle came to the window.

"Oh my, what are you doing?" she shouted down.

"I wish to serenade you from your tower!"  he looked around him. Nobody was here, perfect, "before I spoke as a child does, stumbling and vulnerable-"

"But I like you like that, I like the truth rather than a fabricated mask," Sir Serené frowned a little, but persevered.

"When I look upon you I see that you do not hold all your father's ideals, that in there is an independant woman who wants to make up her own mind-"

"Much of a serenade this is," she chuckled.

"I do not come to make your mind up for you, rather I wonder if I have a chance to win your heart the way you have won mine!"

"Oh you are so cliché!" she taunted, turning around, her face disappeared.

"Please miss, then bid me entrance into your chambers and I shall show you otherwise." No answer.

The knight clambered up the ivory, using the thick branches and cracks in the stonework to find his way up to the window.

"Ow, curse it, infernal vines, have at ye!" he sliced at a thorned branch and continued up.

Once at the window, he stood crouched, his large stature blocking the light casting a long shadow across the beautiful room.

"Oh if my father knew you were here!" she smiled happily though and walked towards him.

"I would care not, I would challenge him in fact, if that is what it took to win you over-" she placed a finger on his lips and shushed him.

"Words mean little my lyrical friend."

"Words are all I have," his face fell into a saddened mask.

"No, 'tis not true, you have heart, and much of it," she walked back to her bed and picked up a book.

"Do you wish me to leave madame, though I should like to stay and play for you, what genre of book do you read? it may influence what I play,"

The Princess looked up at him, her expression giving nothing away.

The End

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