Slowly, and oh so carefully, Peter slipped his chest guard for hockey over his shoulders, and let his fleshy wings slip through the carefully cut slits in the back. He then pulled thick black gloves with the fingertips cut out over his milky-white hands. A thin blond girl who looked no older than Peter walked into the icy sanctuary as he shoved his feet into a pair of worn-down black sneakers with a thick layer of metal laid into the soles.
"Are you ready my Prince?"She asked gently, stopping before him. Peter turned to her with a smile, but had never been more afraid in all of his short life.
"Since when do you call me Prince, Caddy?" She smiled back and moved closer, the sense of worry clinging to her every step.
"Since you realized who you are," Caddy told him cheerfully, attempting to bottle her every thought as she stared into his piercing brown eyes.
"I've always known who I was, I've just been in denial." No longer able to contain herself, Caddy threw her arms around Peter, (paying careful attention to his wings), and began to cry.
"It's not fair. You shouldn't have to fight . . . . Not when you have so much to live for." Peter held Caddy in his arms for a few moments more, and then gently moved her aside to fetch his sword from its resting place. He then motioned for her to follow him out of the palace, (which proved a bit difficult because of the metal in his shoes), and so she did. They stood on the stone steps together, gazing out at all that was at stake.
"It's not my destiny to die, so I won't." He drew his sword and held it out before him, took a deep breath, and projected to anyone that was willing to listen: "So, if it must be, then let this masquerade begin!"