Yamada Asaemon Fuchi

His mind was a frantic storm of contradictions, a cacophony of indignation clashing against a sudden, traitorous hunger. She wanted this tanned bitch to let go, she DEMANDED it with every fiber of her divine being. For centuries, Regalia had been the apex of existence, a creature whose mere presence commanded the atmosphere to bend and the strongest of men to kneel. SHE WAS USED TO THE WORLD REACTING TO HER LIKE A MIRROR, reflecting back the image of a goddess who was untouchable, untouchable and absolute. Yet here was Kagutsuchi, treating her not as a sovereign, but as a plaything. Why was she not afraid? Why did the woman’s heart beat with such steady, infuriating confidence against Regalia's own racing pulse?

IT WAS A SPATIAL HERESY; KAGUTSUCHI HAD OCCUPIED HER PERSONAL DOMAIN NOT BY FORCE, BUT BY A SHEER, STUBBORN REFUSAL TO BE INTIMIDATED.

“Unhand me you big oath!”

Her golden eyes flickered toward the horizon of her sanctuary, scanning the hundreds of sculpted men who remained suspended in a state of paralyzed devotion. They were statues of flesh and oil, their breaths held in a collective, TERRIFIED SUSPENSION. In all the centuries of her curated greed, she had never brought another woman into this inner sanctum; the presence of a female peer was an unprecedented anomaly, a glitch in the divine order she had constructed. HER HUSBANDS DID NOT MOVE BECAUSE THEY DID NOT KNOW THE PROTOCOL FOR A RIVAL; they feared that a single misplaced gesture, a splash of water or a misplaced glance, would invite the lethal precision of the Sin Archbishop’s wrath. They watched, wide-eyed and trembling, as their goddess was held fast by a woman who looked at the divine hierarchy and decided it was merely a suggestion.

“ARRRRRRRRGH!”

The internal roar of her pride was suddenly drowned out by a physical sensation that bypassed her intellect entirely. One moment, she was preparing a scathing decree of execution, and the next, the world narrowed down to THE PRECISE POINT WHERE KAGUTSUCHI’S HAND BREACHED THE SANCTUARY OF HER thighs. The sensation was an electric shock of contrast: the rough, weathered callouses of a warrior’s finger colliding with the hypersensitive, velvet heat of a body that had been pampered into an extreme fragility. As that middle finger delved deep into the folds of her sex, dragging with a slow, agonizing precision against her bundle of nerves, Regalia’s breath hitched into a jagged, broken sound.

UGH! AHHH! WHAT IS THIS TANNED BITCH DOING?!

As she opened her mouth to unleash a torrent of vitriol, to scream a command that would rend the very stone of her sanctuary asunder, but the words were murdered by a sudden, VIOLENT SURGE OF PLEASURE. The sound that escaped her was not a decree, but a broken, airy moan that vibrated through her throat, sounding far more like a plea than a protest. It was an invasive, overwhelming sweetness, a physical tide that swept away her dignity and left her gasping. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AN ETERNITY, the Sin Archbishop found herself speechless, her voice drowned out by the sheer, visceral quality of the sensation.

“St .. stop, husbands, get her!”

The world blurred into a haze of gold and steam. As Kagutsuchi’s finger maintained that rhythmic, agonizingly precise pressure, she felt the structural integrity of her resolve simply collapse. Her knees, once as rigid as the pillars of her temple, buckled beneath her. THERE WAS NO GRACE IN THE FALL, ONLY A DESPERATE, INSTINCTIVE SURRENDER. She felt herself sinking, her body becoming heavy and fluid, as if the bones of her legs had turned to warm wax. In a frantic, subconscious attempt to trap that exquisite friction, she squeezed her thighs together, PRESSING HERSELF TIGHTER AGAINST THE WARRIOR’S HAND, her breath hitching into a series of small, pathetic whimpers that betrayed every single thing she had tried to hide.

She was enjoying herself much more than she ought to be, but she just couldn’t help herself, not when the smaller woman fit against her body oh so perfectly, the slick curves and angles of their bodies fitting together as if they had been puzzle pieces crafted by the gods themselves. It was hard to tell if the tanned woman was incredibly stupid or brave, though it was likely both seeing as the stubborn thing refused to step down when commanded to by a sin archbishop of all people. Truth be told Kagutsuchi yearned to flirt with danger, it was part of the appeal, like sinking her teeth into a forbidden fruit without yet knowing what punishment awaited her.

The dark haired woman only let out a low, breathy chuckle against the curve of Regalia’s cheek, the warmth of her breath blooming across pale skin as the sharp angle of a nose nuzzled against the soft angle of a jawbone. “Look at them,” she practically purred like a feline satisfied with its hunt, “standing still as if they wish to watch you come undone for another woman…I suppose men will be men.” As she spoke her prying fingers continued in their conquest of the goddesses’s body, delving into the silken heat of her body, her own breath catching in her throat for a fleeting moment. The soft sounds she had managed to pull past the other woman’s bratty little lip was utterly delightful, instilling a flash of hunger in the warrior that could only be satiated by the sound of those sweet lips calling out her name with the prized dolls Regalia called her husband’s bearing witness.

The drag of her fingers was purposefully, torturously slow, she wished to savor this moment for a few seconds longer, to witness the white-haired woman’s resolve melt upon her fingers like cotton candy being subjected to water. Her free arm served to support the featherlight weight of the other woman as she slowly knelt, easing them both down upon the damp stone, her hand only ceasing its probing of her sex to adjust their position, guiding the smaller woman’s spine against the soft curve of her own belly, the darker woman’s knees prying the milky expanse of her better’s legs apart, putting the woman on display for her husbands.

“Good girl,” she cooed, “You’re doing so well for me.”

With the older woman spread and on display, she would snake her hand back between soft thighs, her fingers taking the opportunity to further explore the beckoning heat, the pads of her middle and ring finger’s parting her folds as if she were a florist readying a particularly lovely specimen. Lips whispered against the soft curve of her shoulder as the foolish little warrior added more pressure behind her touch, the very tips of her middle fingers sinking into the smaller of the pair, her thumb idly stroking the bud of nerves. “You talk big for one who’s practically drooling on my fingers,” she teased, allowing a low, sultry chuckle to spill past her lips, once again ignoring the protests thrown at her.

“What do you suppose your dear husbands think?” She hummed half heartedly, casting half lidded gaze towards the hoard of trophy husbands, a mischievous little grin plastered on her lips as if she were a child who had been given a treat while the others were left with nothing but longing for a taste of something sweet.

THE FURY IGNITED WITHIN HIM, NOT DIRECTED AT HER, BUT AT THE UNSEEN, MERCILESS FORCE THAT HAD ROBBED HER OF HER HANDS AND HER IDENTITY.

He shook his head fiercely, the motion distorting the military camp around them. He refused to let the word FATE settle between them like a heavy stone; he had dedicated his life to resisting the destinies others had written for him, and he would not permit her to succumb to a tragedy she had not even chosen. "No. Absolutely not!" He asserted, his voice regaining its vigor, now infused with a stubbornness that bordered on arrogance.

"You are not 'just a mare.' You are a person, Kagutsuchi. Somewhere, someone holds the key to this. There is always a way to break a seal, to untangle a knot, to turn back the tide!”

Fueled by an overwhelming wave of desperation and a love that transcended the limits of species, He made a completely irrational decision. He lunged forward, his hands gripping the solid bridge of her muzzle with a fierce, trembling intensity. To him, she was not just a beast of burden or a prized creature; SHE WAS THE GIRL WHO HAD ANCHORED HIS SPIRIT THROUGH THE COLDEST NIGHTS OF HIS YOUTH. With his eyes shut tight, he pressed his lips against the damp, velvety warmth of her snout in a clumsy yet passionate kiss. This act was born from a sudden, blinding conviction, the kind of reckless hope that only the young and desperate possess, that perhaps the sheer force of a human heart, colliding with another's truth, could ignite change. He envisioned the kiss as a spark, a violent tear in the fabric of her curse, convinced that if true love were a weapon, THIS MOMENT MIGHT FINALLY BREAK THE CHAINS THAT HELD HER IN A FORM THAT WAS NOT HER OWN.

-

Slowly he observed her as she settled down, his eyes widening in awe at the elegance with which she descended. Her movements were deliberate and rhythmic, a graceful folding of powerful limbs that resembled not an animal succumbing to slumber, BUT RATHER A SILK KIMONO BEING ARTFULLY DRAPED OVER A SCREEN. She didn’t simply collapse into the straw; she positioned herself with a regal poise, her neck arching in a soft, GRACEFUL CURVE. He was left breathless, captivated by the sheer propriety of her actions. Having spent his life emulating THE RIGID DECORUM OF THE COURT AND THE STRICT FORMS OF SWORDSMANSHIP, he found himself in the presence of a wild creature displaying a natural dignity that rendered his own disciplined stance awkward and forced.

“Kagutsuchi, it is my pleasure.”

The invitation took him by surprise, momentarily stealing his breath away. He gazed at the vast, warm expanse of her flank and the gentle allure in her eyes, feeling a sensation, something warmer and softer than the pride he typically clung to, BLOOMING WITHIN HIS CHEST. A small, genuine smile crept onto his lips, the first that hadn’t been rehearsed in front of a mirror to meet his father’s expectations. He sprang to his feet, his movements lacking their usual calculated precision, AND RUSHED TOWARD THE BACK OF THE STABLES WHERE HEAVY WOOL BLANKETS WERE STORED IN CEDAR CHESTS. He returned, clutching a thick, indigo-dyed coverlet, the fabric carrying a faint scent of old smoke and dried grass.

“Here, Kagutsuchi, here.”

He didn’t merely drape the cloth over her; he did so with the meticulous care of a scribe illuminating a scroll. Kneeling beside her, he carefully spread the wool across her shimmering obsidian back, tucking the edge around his own shivering shoulders. LEANING INTO HER, THE WARMTH RADIATING FROM HER LARGE BODY SERVED AS A FURNACE AGAINST THE DAMP CHILL OF THE RAINY EVENING. For the first time in his ten years of life, the silence enveloping him didn’t feel like a void waiting to be filled with failure; it felt like a shared secret.

“Kagutsuchi, I swear then, we will be friends, forever, from this moment onwards, I’ll look after you, I will not let anyone hurt you.”

“I suppose I’ve had years to let tragedy settle,” she mused, her dark gaze flickering back to the man. “Maybe I found a way to be content over the years, an easy thing when I am allowed to stay at your side, Michikatsu. You have been good to me over the years, I’ve grown quite fond of you.” Her admittance surpassed the warm feelings of a friend, though it was hard to tell when her face could not properly express the way she felt, her lips were too stiff, her brow practically nonexistent, she could only express her warmth by pressing her snout to the curve of his cheek.

Let him be angry, let him have a moment to mourn the girl that was hidden beneath layers of fur and horse flesh, it was only natural for one to react so passionately when it came to someone they cared about, even she would have made passionate declarations if she found him in a similar predicament.

Still, she felt a warmth blooming in her chest as she heard him rambling on about how he viewed her as not just a mare, but a woman, how he would find a way to dispel this curse. If she were still a lady she would have ravaged him in the moment, would have busied herself with drinking up his invigorating speech until it melted into ragged breaths and whispers of devotion, but instead she would simply flick her tail and shift her large body in an attempt to curl around his figure further.

That was until she felt the warm press of thin human lips against her snout and the caress of sword calloused hands against the fur of her muzzle, surprisingly she did not retreat from the affection, instead she leaned into it, allowing her eyes to fall shut for a moment as she reveled in a closeness that she hadn’t experienced since she was a girl, when one of the neighbor’s sons had kissed her under her family’s blossoming plum tree. For a moment she swore that she could smell the sweetness of those blossoms again, a recollection of scent that made her body feel as if had suddenly become weightless.

Little that she knew it had, with a kiss, ignited by the blazing passion of a young man utterly smitten with the soul of another, the curse seemed to seep from her very bones, a transition that had no flare, only the quick melting of a large bulking body into the soft curvaceous form of a young woman. However, the effects of the curve did not last there, for instead if being dissolved, it merely transferred, the weight of an elongated spine and four sturdy legs that weighed on the warrior’s form as if it had always been there.

A lady always conducted herself with poise, especially in the company of one who was not her kin, she wished to make a good first impression, she yearned to prove that she was no simple beast to be tamed, but rather a lady to be adored, a creature that would not roll in the grass or submit to animalistic urges like the others, still balancing a certain degree of comfort as to not to make the boy feel unwelcome. It was something she had learned at a young age, something that had been expected of a young lady who would be subjected to the scrutinizing gazes of suitors and their kin.

If she could smile, she would have, she could tell by the lookin the boy’s eyes that he had already accepted her invitation, a think only confirmed physically by the way he hurried off to grab the old patch of wool. A considerate boy he was. She let out a small snort as the boy with hair like the night and eyes like spilled wine tucked himself up against her side, both of their youthful forms softened under the thick layer of wool. His weight came as a comfort to her, so much so that she tool a moment to curl around him, her warm, velvety snout tucking him further into her side like a mother hen settling her eggs beneath the warmth of her body.

“Thank you, Michikatsu, you are a sweet boy.”

Her praise was but a whisper beneath the heavy pounding of rain against the roof and she would settle in the small pocket of warmth with him, her eyes falling shut. “Friends forever,” she repeated as if her words solidified the fact into the very fabric of her existence. “I promise to keep you safe and warm and if anyone makes you cry, I will kick them.” She let out a playful little snort before settling her head against him.

She supposed being needed, while annoying, was also quite endearing, so she would often entertain the man’s needs.

With his abrupt entrance the young lady would prop herself up on an elbow, her brow quirking as she slowly turned her dark gaze away from the book in her hand. Kagutsuchi would take a moment to listen silently to his request, a gentle hum rumbling in her chest as she seemed to mull over his words— while she did consider him to be a friend, he was asking a lot to have her risk not only her head, but the heads of her family and those associated with them. If she were to take such a risk he would have to give her some reason why her devotion to him and his cause would be worthwhile— now if he were her husband she would have accepted such a thing without a second thought, but he was not.

So…

Slowly, she pushed herself to her knees, her legs tucked beneath her as she focused fully on the man before her, looking him over as if she were contemplating what she would say to him.

“You ask a lot of me,” she began, “while you have my support as a friend, I am hesitant to involve myself and my people in matters of the throne. My family, we fight for our own.” Her words were followed by a pause, one that only lasted for a few seconds before a mischievous little grin crossed her features. “Though an exception could be made for a husband.” Her suggestion was one not motivated by a greed for power, but more of a curiousity to just see how the man would react to such an outlandish proposition.

The methodical clicking of his respirator served as a grounding noise, something she could use to keep time of her own breathing so as to not give away the emotions that roiled in her chest like the sea during a hurricane. Click. Hiss. Click. Hiss. In. Out. In. Out. Charcoal eyes followed the slow descent of his head, watching the way his mane coiled and swayed like a sea of golden cotton candy, a deceptive facade, one that hid the truth of his cruelty. She was growing tired of him digging his claws into her mental wounds, she could bear beatings, she could bear insults and cruel actions, but the way he had treated the annihilation of her home as if it’s destruction were some inside joke that she had not been let in on, it made her blood boil.

Ash met gold as she caught his gaze for a fleeting moment, her own breath fanning against the respirator’s bubble as she stood proudly, her chest puffed out, she would not waver under his gaze, even if her lip still quivered from the lingering phantom of her nightmarish recollection of her home’s demise. The tanned curve of her cheeks were still stained with streaks of crimson and the remnants of salty tears, even the expanse of her lashes were still clumped together with the dampness of her despair, yet she kept that practiced smile. What kind of princess would she be if she couldn’t manage something so simple?

Kagutsuchi had no intention of begging for scraps of compassion that he simply did not have, it would be nothing more than a waste of her breath and time for she was sure that this creature had no heart in his chest— and if he did, it was surely a rotten little thing. How could a man that was so cruel to her be anything more than heartless? He saw her as nothing more than a slave, a thing to be owned? Well, she saw him as nothing more than a beast parading around in the facade of a gentleman. Her plan for him went much deeper than the predictable begging of a woman who had been backed into a corner, after all, she was not only a princess, but a warrior of her own Atlantis.

She forced the proximity of their their personal space closer until they overlapped, until the curve of her cheek pressed against the side of the bubble that encapsulated his head and she whispered close to his petal shaped ear.

“You are a rotten, despicable thing.”

And she stepped back, grinning at Killingham like a feral beast, her crooked little canine peeking from behind her lip.

What she had hidden behind the serene smile of a well mannered lady was her intentions, the closeness had merely been a cover for her dominant hand reaching back to pluck a strand of obsidian silk from her vast expanse of hair, even if he had caught on to what she was doing it would have been much too late for she was already swinging her arms with the poise of a seasoned swordsman, the strand of hair she held erupting into a blinding flash as keratin morphed into sharpened steel mid swing. The little princess had poured everything she had into that single swing, all of the anger, the hurt, every ounce of it, she wanted him to feel it, to bear the result of her misery.

Let him wield her, she would be honored to be his blade, she would revel in being the stone he trampled in the name of ascending to a greatness that no other had come close to grazing. At times she wondered if he had any idea of the effect he had on her, of how just one look from him could have her on her knees as if she were before a being that far surpassed any god. She wanted to be his…no, she already was his, the only thing she wished for now what to hear hear such a declaration of ownership from his lips, she was determined to earn such an honor, even if she would not live to hear it with her own ears.

The way he looked at her made her shiver, the sensation washed over her body like lightning striking the sea, causing a grin to curl her lips, flashing the stubborn canine that broke the symmetry of her smile, her grin was a wild thing, like a feral beast grinning up at the one and only being that had ever managed to tame it, though that wasn’t too far from the truth. She still remembered the days when she was a wild thing, picking fights and slaughtering lesser men until he had come along, she cherished the day he had beaten some sense into her— there was nothing quite as exhilarating as having a blade pressed to one’s jugular.

“Only weak men and fools cling to such trivial things, from the moment we met my life became little more than currency for you to spend as you see fit, a small price to pay,” she murmured quietly as if sharing a secret that had only been meant for his ears, though no other deserved to hear her declarations of devotion. She parted her lips, drawing in a breath as she took a moment to let his scent wash over her tongue, there would be no withdraw from her, she would not shy away from his closeness.

“I have no doubt, you will be the greatest ruler these lands will ever know, there will be no one who could oppose the might of a dragon, least they yearn for death.” Careful fingers moved, adjusting a stubborn wrinkle that creased the fabric around his collar before her palm smoothed the fabric over. “No one defeats the dragon,” she hummed as if it were a fact of existence, her gaze following his towards the thin line where sky met sea.

“Leave it to me, if I can’t manage such a simple task then what use am I to you?” The question was more for herself, to remind herself that failure was not an option, that the only outcome that she could even fathom was success. “I will check on preparations now, my lord, tonight I will depart.”

With those words to him, she would take a step back from him, flashing him one more little grin before she would take the first steps back towards the path that had guided them to the rocky beach.

Such a response felt disingenuous, a rehearsed line memorized to repeat to fools, sweet flattering words meant to sugar coat the fact that such efficiency was built off the backs of slaves. She was no fool, though she was still trying to piece this man together, did he say such things because he found them to be true or did he simply say them as a means to sell the dream of Mary Geoise to what would be the next reigning monarch of Kazan. He wasn’t the only one who longed to be elsewhere, she had many other pleasures that she preferred to be partaking in— like perusing the sweet shops of the capital’s main square or making the ascent to the highest spire in the castle where she had crafted a nest of plush bedding to with a good book and stolen treats from the kitchens.

He wasn’t certainly a curious thing, the way his head swayed as if he would simply fall asleep where he stood, normally she would find such a thing to be disrespectful, though she had a sneaking suspicion that this man was almost always in such a state since he didn’t even seem to acknowledge the fast that his eyelids were beginning to droop like a candle left in the summer sun. The little princess was half tempted to jab her gloved index finger into the soft meat of his waist, but she restrained from such an unladylike gesture and instead she would busy her hand with adjusting the silken gloves that inched up past her elbows.

“Paradise?” She mused, “I suppose that is something I would have to find out for myself…though such things are not up to me, not yet.” The dark-haired woman paused for a moment, glancing up towards the bubble that adorned the man’s head, watching as it swayed, threatening to give under the weight of narcolepsy. “It seems that my conversation skills prove to be quite dull, you can barely keep your eyes open,” she pointed out suddenly, yet her voice held no malice, only the faint lilt of amusement.

Maybe a change of pace would be for the best, it was hard to have any semblance of decent conversation when one had an audience.

For a moment, she glanced over her shoulder as the parade of guards and attendants that followed them from a distance before she glanced back at the God’s Knight that half stumbled by her side like a drunk stumbling home from the pub. Suddenly a mischievous little grin swept over her features, the corner’s of her eyes crinkling as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Come with me, quick,” she half whispered as she reached up, taking the other by the hand before pulling him insistently from the path of curated stone.

When she finally inhaled sharply, her voice trembling as she recognized he had spoken, HE REFRAINED FROM GIVING HER THE SATISFACTION OF A NOD. Instead, he regarded her with an expression of deep indifference, though his muscles remained tense. He had nearly begun to relish the silence that followed her fainting; IT WAS THE MOST TRANQUIL EXCHANGE HE’D HAD WITH A HUMAN IN DECADES. Yet, the curiosity in her dark eyes was a flicker, and any master of the blade understood that a single flicker in a parched forest could ignite a wildfire.

“I did.”

As he took a step back, his hooves etching two deep, parallel lines into the earth, creating a purposeful space between his formidable chest and her quaking form. He observed her rise, not as a beast regards its master, but as a general assesses a novice recruit who has just stumbled over her own sandals. She was a CHAOTIC BLEND OF SILK AND DEFIANCE against the serene stillness of the night, her breath shallow and erratic. He noted how her center of gravity fluctuated, her weight shifting from heel to toe in a rhythm of pure, unfiltered shock.

THE HUMAN PSYCHE WAS A FASCINATINGLY DELICATE THING, SO EASILY FRACTURED BY A FEW WORDS FROM A BEING THAT SHOULD ONLY BE CAPABLE OF NEIGHS AND SNORTS.

Then his head jerked towards the tree line, his ears rotating like a navigator's compass. The air, which just moments before had been a blend of moist earth and rosewater, was abruptly torn apart by a harsh, JARRING CHORUS OF SCREAMS. Then came the scent, not the gentle waft of a cooking fire, but the explosive, VIOLENT AROMA OF CEDAR AND SILK BEING CONSUMED BY FLAMES. It was a fragrance he recognized with a deep, ancestral connection: the scent of a home being wiped from existence. He didn't need to witness the flames to understand that the estate was no longer a refuge; it had transformed into a funeral pyre.

“Hm, it seems things have taken a turn for the worse.”

The sound surged forth, following the scent in a tumultuous wave of chaos. THE RHYTHMIC, METALLIC SHRING OF STEEL clashing against steel reverberated through the valley, mingling with the guttural, primal laughter of men who fought not for glory, but for spoils. Beneath the cacophony, there was a more insidious sound, the wet, HEAVY THUD OF BLOOD SOAKING INTO TATAMI MATS, a sound that heralded the demise of a lineage. The wind shifted, carrying the metallic tang of fresh carnage, and he felt a phantom pain in his own ghostly wrist, the specter of a sword yearning to be unsheathed.

“Don’t, I know what you are thinking, if you run there, you will die with them.”

Then he spoke again, a verbal confirmation of her questioning, one that seemed to finally solidify the situation within the young girl’s mind— this was really happening, she was not dreaming nor was she hallucinating, the beast before her speaking was no trick of her mind. He was the living breathing embodiment of the impossible. Wide charcoal eyes stared at the towering equine figure before the girl slowly tilted her head to the side, she wasn’t sure what emotion the cling to, she was scared, yes, but also curious, confused, and excited? It wasn’t every day that a girl found out that her horse was no ordinary animal, but also, what were the implications to such a thing?

Still, when she stood she had wrapped her slender fingers around her bow and what few arrows she had been able to salvage from her trampled quiver, clutching them in her hands as if they alone were anchoring her body upon the earth. Slowly, her lips finally parted as if she were about to speak when the symphony of discord began ringing out through her sanctuary.

Even as he spoke she had been stepping towards the sound of obliteration, her feet instinctively guiding her towards the purging of her bloodline— her mother, her father, her little sister, they were all still there, she needed to get to them, to save them, to—

His words were like a blow to the gut, she knew he was right, she knew there was nothing a puny little thing like her could do to save what she cherished the most, she was weak, just one little mouse amidst a pack of coyotes. Her bottom lip trembled akin to a lone leaf caught in the autumn winds, her fingers tightening around the crude little weapon she held and she turned to the creature she had so lovingly names Hiyate. “What about my baby sister?” She croaked out, her obsidian eyes glossy with tears that threatened to spill over the lengthy curve of her lashes. The absurdity of the moment had been lost to the agony of having to choose between life and sacrificing life on the minuscule chance that she could salvage even a fraction of the people she loved.