I'm surrounded by my fellow sister-warriors, quivering at the thought of glorious death. We are the battle-harem of King Leonidas, a company known only to him and Queen Gorgo. But Leonidas is dead and Gorgo is at Salamis, we're leaderless outside of ourselves.
Our captain has ordered us to avenge the 300, to slaughter Persians wherever they're found, and our scouts have discovered a small force setting up camp nearby. We psych ourselves as we march, boast of the kills we'll make.
As the Persian camp's lights grow brighter we discard our armour and spears, break formation. We don't fight as an orderly group as our men do. Our loping strides make the ground vibrate, there's movement ahead, and we accelerate to a sprint, burst into the Persian camp.
My sword finds a home in a soldier's chest, I ride him down and keep moving. I see an officer, run at him and lunge. I don't see the soldier who steps from the shadows, the spear he's carrying. The metal pierces my flesh, erupts from my back in a spray of blood.
I slide along the shaft, extend my neck as the officer lifts his sword to behead me. Glorious.
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