Dreams of the Scarlet Swordswoman

 A swordswoman with red hair held a demonic blade in her hand–a monster, a work of evil. She buried it in the dirt, broke it, and threw it away. Still, the fiend would not leave. She ran from the weapon, hearing the spiteful laughter of the sword claw at her soul. Half her body bore sores and scars, the other half as fair and bright as sunlight. The blue folds of her armored skirt rattled as she moved, a reminder of the truth she fought to protect.    Destroyed taverns and churches fell behind her, with misshapen demons and soldiers behind. Royal princes atop ogres taunted her, slicing through the air with tentacles for spears. She came to a cliff side and gazed into the blood-curdled sky. She cried out an unsaid name on parched lips and lifted her hands. Horrors closed around her–at their front a dark twin of the girl, shrouded in nightmare. The doppelganger carried an ancient blade likened to a dragon tooth, its length vibrating with power and tearing at space like a vacuum. The sinister double raised the weapon to strike. The smoldering sword stopped inches before, and the villain gave an angry growl, her shape twisting and deforming before the appearance of a newcomer.    The girl saw her father cleave through the shadows with a gust of wind. He was a tall, handsome, and youthful man with a red ponytail like hers. He shone with the radiance of a thousand stars, his stance brave and stern. The man held the divine blade of storms in his muscular arms, and his toned body glowed with the sword’s jade embodiment of strength over his blue jacket. The nostalgic aroma of hay entered the girl’s nostrils and wet her tongue. Reaching out his hand, the girl hastily grabbed it, her fear forgotten, replaced by a smile of elation. He handed her the ancient armament. She held it high and howled triumphantly, banishing the darkness. The girl woke.