“I trust you,” she says as his knife points to her throat. Her next words silenced by the gulp she swallowed. “….and trusted you,” she continued. You couldn’t smell her fear, but you could see how perfectly it reflected in the polish dried tip she could feel digging into her skin.

Her face flickered when a sharp pain came a second later, blood soaked up the tears that had previously been welling up in her eyes. She blinked them away to recover even half of the regret. That she ever gave a cent of her love to a man who bethrowned his own bloodline.

“It was for you…everything I did was for you,” he yelled. Blood was convulsing from his lips from biting down too hard. A brother who had been born into anger, and had left his bloodline to perish in it.

A mother, a child and a father’s last days lost in battle to a heart struck, ego-witted half-royal. I died long before this moment, when my loved ones breath ran cold. I could feel their lifeless expression in the pit of my photographic memory. Their eyes having a staring contest with my soul.

My heartbeat danced along to the wind. The wind paced left and right sending rain to mix with a tear strained face. The faster the wind roared, the more I questioned that a slow death, was the best death.

And when the sun did finally rise, did I come to terms with it.