Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi
in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:ÎŁÎšÎ˛Ď ÎťÎťÎą
ĎΚ θξΝξΚĎ; respondebat illa:ÎąĎοθινξΚν θξΝĎ. *
(Â I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging
in a cage, and when the boys said to her:
âSibyl, what do you want?â she answered: âI want to die.â )
the past few weeks havenât been the best â not that anything is desirable in war apart from victory â in terms of his schedule. holding down the fort at one of the islands outside elv hadnât been too hard. neither was helping the troops clear out of the land near the outskirts of tempestade before the opposing sides engaged in a prolonged skirmish that lasted a few days (three days, ten hours and fifteen minutes, if cain was being exact, but who was keeping count?).
it was the pirates that irked him the most, fighting battles they could not win, and pushing him into making his fleet stay at sea just to fend them off. they bred like cockroaches, anyway.
and it was after a particularly refreshing meal that a messenger knocked upon the door, and proceeded to deliver news that made him stab the poor desk heâd been eating on.
âexcuse me?â
âcaptain nam heeyeon, sire. she was killed in action, after having eliminated most of the enemy â,â
          killed.
before the poor boy could finish the message, cain was already on his feet, grabbing the scabbard that remained among other choice weapons behind him. âwho did it?â
âsuryans, your highness. they were reported to have sailed north, towards elv. they were spotted about thirty clicks east of our location.â
          killed.Â
                    they killed his favourite â
âget a smaller ship ready for me. call scott â the colonel is in charge for now until i get back,â cain instructed â more like snapped, scabbard sheathed at his hip and his glasses removed, placed neatly inside the drawer at his desk. it was easy enough to locate his jacket despite the sudden blurred vision, after having lived with it for so long. âNOW.â
ây-yes! yes, sire.â
only when the boy was gone did grief crush him entirely. once the door closed his palms fell against the wood, arms shaky as cain felt his chest cave in completely. the finality of death wasnât lost to him; the finality of loss was something new, something foreign, something unwanted. cain had never lost something so precious to death â never lost it while never having hope, elusive and fantastical as it was, that someone precious could come back to him again. his throat and his eyes ached, and only when tears fell warm and heavy onto the marred surface did he realise he was crying. cainâs jaw was set, teeth locked in an effort to keep the grievous cry trapped within it at bay.
and there lay the uncertainty, the hopelessness, the loss of something heâd come to accept as normal, as routine.
for once in his score-and-a-yearâs worth of existence, cain felt something like what others would call sadness â and he hated every second of it.
cain quickly inhaled, and wiped the tears away, and by the time his orders were accomplished did he set out with his hands aching for blood.
the operation was relatively easy when their opponent was just another ship.
they were spotted quickly, but all too late: cain already had a wave crashing against them, bigger than them, bigger than anything, blocking out the light of the full moon for a moment before trickling into the brig, into the hold, and freezing at his command. the weapons were worthless. it was easier, then, to kill suryans locked in ice.
âkill them all.â cainâs voice was unforgiving. the suryans struggled as the enemy crew boarded their ship, but all worthless squirming. these bits of scum, flotsam and jetsam all in one disgusting heap tainting the elvan seas âÂ
âand make sure theyâre dead. twice.â
ice melted where he walked, and cain walked with purpose, the door to the bridge frozen enough so that he could kick it open.
âdonât,â he began, arms and hands already in the air, the blood in the captainâs veins held captive by invisible strings, âtry.â
cain paused in mock thought as he continued forward, forced the other maleâs wrists onto the floor. âor do. please do.â so i can hurt you more. so i can hear you s c r e a m. âdo you know what youâve taken from me?â
the other male only glowered at him. perfect. now cain could twist his legs. and his arms. the bones cracked along with the steady rocking of the ship atop the ocean. how horribly foolish, to infuriate him in his domain. his hands dropped; so did the captain onto the floor, neck exposed and ready for cain to step on.
âyou took her from me.â the other male writhed, attempted to lift his arms but could not. âand iâm going to make you suffer.â
in a ship, rope was easy to find. and infuriated, cain was a much more formidable opponent. people often thought the sea beautiful; cain had a temper that could rival the deep blues, had a storm already brewing in his chest, spitting thunder and lightning with every rough handling of the man who could barely use his limbs.
the crew said nothing of the bound prisoner.
tonight, their lullabies would be the agonies of a dying man, and cain, the deathly conductor of another gruesome masterpiece.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
war has many faces, and cero is looking into one of them.
this is the face of the dying old man, clinging onto cero with his distended belly and papery-thin skin, clinging onto his bones as if it might save them. the man is groaning in the soldierâs arms and asking to see the face of the one who has both saved him and condemned him. living is hell. dying is the sweetest escape.
whatever the old man is saying is lost on the soldier whoâs trying to get him to safety.
cero says: âsir, if you really have survived for the past ten years, donât you suppose thereâs a reason for it?â
the old man says nothing. cero wishes he had some amount of money with him.
another is a dead mother cradling a living child.
itâs not the motherâs face he pays attention to. the child is empty, he knows; dead too soon, living too much. sheâs clinging onto a small rag doll, small enough for the soft arm to be held between stubby little fingers.
âsheâs just asleep, isnât she?â
cero recognises that voice because it had once been his own. he crouches down, unable to detect the fresh scent of death because of the mask over his face. but heâs able to see and hear grief and death, and that is enough.
âlet her rest,â he tells the child, voice muted and surprisingly calm. heâs left people behind and he has killed them and he will live with them; itâs easier to let children believe that death cannot touch love. brown eyes, warm still from the fires of war, can see through the lie. but she gets up, and leaves the dead, and cero carries her to safety â or as safe as the travel to due can be.
later, when theyâre about to leave, a messenger tells them that the general has been found dead; the lie that streams out of ceroâs mouth is airtight. his jaw is locked in deception, and they all believe the excuse. it isnât one of us, they believe, the suryans have many enemies.
he wishes he had killed more. he wishes he had killed them all, because war has many faces, and not many know his own.
The unmistakable metallic scent of blood that filled the ail makes everything calm to a halt. Beside her, the horse neighs and pants its evident exhaustion from all the running it did earlier but around her, the soldiers cast her a glance of evident delight as they await her next move. The looks on their faces are sinister; an expression so familiar now that she has seen so many times in her nightmares.Â
âYour highness...âÂ
She understands then what thoughts were going through their heads when she turns her head and finds a child, perhaps not more than seven or eight in age, curled up in pain with ghastly wounds decorating both his arms. She realizes then, quite painfully, that the cause of the childâs misery is her. The childâs pain and tears exist because of her. She could not blame it on anyone else this time, not the soldiers who ran after her or the horse that got spooked, no, this time, it is obviously all her fault.Â
âM-mother....â The child calls out and her heart constricts painfully in her chest.Â
One by one, the men dismount their horses and begin to enclose around her and the child. No scholar is needed to figure out what they intended to do. There is no use in trying to talk them out of it, all sense of morality and conscience had surely been erased by her fatherâs charismatic delivery of lies. Now, they are nothing but killing machines-- she cannot consider them human for only it is only death in their minds.Â
âKeep away.â Her tone is laced with warning even as she remains seated on the ground from where she had fallen off her horse. Every fiber of her being tingles with adrenaline; her senses all on full alert even as they heed her words and pause. âTurn back and mount your horses.â She orders them again though she does the opposite and inches closer to the child who now lay half unconscious.Â
They begin to enclose around her and the child once more. âYou know we cannot do that, your highness. We have our orders.â That answer, of course, does nothing to ease the tension. She expects nothing less of them especially when the desire to kill is obvious on all their faces. Behind her, the childâs only signs of life are the pained moans he lets out from what she realizes are severely broken bones from where the horse had trampled over him.Â
âGet back, I said!â The authority in her voice is almost unrecognizable for she was never used to asserting her own power but the situation calls for nothing less from her. As expected, the men no longer give a care for any of her orders as they close in on them with flames blooming from their palms. She stands up now, walking the remaining feet between them and meeting them halfway. âI will not let you hurt this child!âÂ
They only sneer in response to her and continue their onward march. In sheer anger at their disobedience, she marches forward, palms outstretched, and pushes the soldier who stood walked directly in her path. âI said get back!!â She repeats again but her force is only met with resistance as he grabs hold of her wrists and tries to lock her arms into submission. His strong grip on her wrists tells her that he could easily snap them but he is holding back because she is still of royal descent.Â
The obvious degradation only deepens her anger and she struggles and thrashes wildly in his hold. âLet go of me, you insolent prick!!â Her own flames begin to dance at her palms but by then, it seems as though it was too late. When she is finally freed from her captor, who now lay in pain on the ground from the burns, she turns her head and realizes with horror that the other men had already formed a circle around the vulnerable child and were having their fun kicking him.Â
Everything around her becomes red then; her emotions, seeing no bounds, Â became the fuel that lit the flames of her ultimate wrath. The familiar feeling of her chi zinging in her veins is the only thing that made sense to her and soon flames danced around her arms and the cracking sound of lightning filled the air.Â
âI SAID GET AWAY FROM HIM!!!!âÂ
The ribbons of fire that her wrath created succeed in burning everything in its wake but it is only when the smoke clears does she realize the magnitude of what she has just done. In a sick and cruel alteration of fate, she finds the soldiers curled up in a far off corner alive and still breathing and when she turns her gaze to look for the child, she finds only the same pool of blood with burn marks around it but no child in sight.Â
The truth of what had just occurred comes to her then but even as she repeatedly blinks through her tears to clear her vision, the child-- not even heâs corpse -- is to be found. She falls to her knees then as the painful realization of her sin renders everything else incomprehensible.Â
itâs easier to fight in the water â his element, his greatest weapon and his greatest shield. itâs foolish for the suryans to fight him here, and perhaps that is why he finds himself on land. itâs on one of the small islands apart from the mainland where theyâre stationed for a month or two â his time in court had been too short. he quite liked it, too. at least the food was carefully prepared.
itâs the little things that irk him.
âdamn fucking suryans,â he mumbles, sheathing the blade at his hip, the stone heâd used to sharpen it being covered so carefully with cloth and placed under the makeshift table heâs sitting at. Â âcanât let a man finish taking care of his shit. i could just kill them for it.â his statement, meant as a form of jest, is met with silence. it doesnât faze him; not many people had his sense of humour. then again, he hadnât been entirely kidding. âhow many were sighted?â
âa battalion. maybe less, ten clicks north.â
he removes the spectacles from his face then. while everything else is suddenly blurry, his decisions are not. cain decides that waiting for scott to come back from leading her own scouting party wonât do any good. action is vital in winning a war. besides, cain doesnât believe in staying still; he isnât going to be his brother. and if scott isnât the one reporting this to him, there must be a reason. had she been held up somehow? caught in some little skirmish?
âweâll meet our scouting party halfway, then chase the bastards away. and while weâre gone, i expect everyone to be on guard. no one is allowed to sleep until i get back,â cain announces, already standing up and adjusting his armour. âgive me ten of your angriest men, and ten of your fastest. the new ones looking for blood to spill, and the ones who look like they canât take me on in an actual fight.â and more silence. honestly, scott is a better conversationalist than this. doesnât hold her tongue, that girl. âwhat?â
âjust twentyâŚsir?â
ah â the guy must be new.
cain is given a new round of newly-promoted dumb fucks every mission that, at this point, heâs learnt how to be the slightest bit patient. they must have heard of him by now, must know his reputation one way or another. maybe thatâs why heâs given the task of helping them with their discipline issues. heâs never quite lost a battle either â not entirely, at least. thatâs what he likes to think, anyway. most of it, he blames on his damn eyesight; itâs a miracle heâs even gotten this far, but he isnât complaining.
âlet me tell you something you might have forgotten, corporal,â he says, tone perfectly stable as he stands before the lower-ranked officer. âi was like you a few years back. i understand your concerns. but you gotta understand â iâm your superior for a reason. now, on the off-chance that i donât come back, feel free to promote yourself. otherwise, you better learn how to fucking listen.â
his hand rested at the hilt of his blade, gaze cutting straight through the male, all with the iciness of an elvan winter. he isnât feared without a reason. cain smiles though the expression canât seem to thaw the coldness of his gaze.
âget me those men. donât make me say it again.â
âs-sir.â heâs given a salute, and the officer ducks out of the tent with his tail between his legs. cain likes it when they do that â their fear is always so amusing. itâs not like he actually does anything to severely harm the soldiers (and seamen, if heâs lucky) under his command. just a little beating will do.
and there is a reason for the small amount of men heâs taken with him. itâs faster to move that way, less people to worry about, and less people to lose. there are weapons and supplies in their little encampment, and the economy doesnât do wonders for the amount of rations they receive. cain will not allow it to be seized, if the enemy seeks to distract them with their little hunting party. suryans are smart little bastards.
the angriest men will go with him. the other half will be tasked to poison the sources of water they find that isnât within half a mile radius of their camp â and this needs to be done quickly, lest the enemy catch them in the act. who knows how many of them there are? soon enough, however, he knows that this will matter very little.
kei stares at his adopted father, blinking slowly. he hasnât lived with his adopted family in several years now, and while they still spend holidays and certain festivities together, neither side ever wants to associate any further than that. this invitation (though it sounds more like a demand than an invitation) is completely unexpected and uncharacteristic of the man.Â
âa trip to where?â kei asks cautiously, crossing his arms over his chest.
âthe badlands.â
keiâs eyes widen, and he immediately takes a step backward, his mouth already opening to argue, to ask why. however, before he can get any words out, his father rolls his eyes and raises his hands in a universal âcalm downâ gesture. âno, no, donât worry, not like that. we wonât stay for long, and weâll have plenty of food and water. weâll be traveling with the suryan army. theyâre going out to control the population out there, and i want you to come watch. itâs high time you learned your place in the world, keita.â
if he thought this would reassure his adopted son, he was wrong. keiâs expression hasnât changed, and he vaguely thinks that heâd rather live in the badlands himself than have to watch the army control the population. that might be a less crude way of putting it, but he knows what this is: soldiers are going out to have some fun, kill some cuspians who are already on the brink of death anyway. the thought makes kei feel sick to his stomach.
âpack your things. weâll come by to pick you up at dawn. and if you try to run away or refuse to come, iâll burn this place to the ground,â his father says, conjuring some small flames in his hand to make his point extra clear. keiâs jaw tightens, and for a second he considers fighting, but the thought is quickly dismissed, and he only looks at the floor and nods.
as his father leaves, kei mentally curses himself for being such a coward.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
the zeroes made by his finger and his thumb shut in on the sun in the middle of the sky. there are about twenty four hours in a day and he doesnât need a whole hour to slice a neck in half. or maybe ten, if heâs lucky. itâs the travel that gets him, and heâd already set off so early in the morning. it takes a week â maybe more, if they run into trouble (which he had been hoping for) â to travel by sea, and frankly, cero has half a mind to jump overboard to keep his stomach from turning in on itself again.
fucking sea.
either way, what would have been his day off from duty became his week off from sojinâs side. it sent another burst of anxiety through his spine, made his chest ache. why couldnât he just be her permanent bodyguard, instead of being stationed there âuntil further noticeâ â which, apparently, involved being shipped off to the front lines to deliver supplies.
wonderful.
the mask was pulled further down his forehead, almost falling over his already half-covered face, meant to act as a shade. yet the sun was unrelenting, and he was forced to grumble and sulk by the cargo, mask tucked neatly under his jacket until he could use it to cover the entirety of his features. with it was a small list of names, rolled up and tied together by red string.
just because he had been ordered to come here didnât mean that he didnât want to; no, he was determined to have a lot of fun.
and when he was awoken again â a few hours into his well-deserved nap against the crates of rations â he was all but glad to help carry them to dry land. shit, he almost begged them to keep him there, if it hadnât been for the fact that he had people who asked for his services back at home.
given the fact that they were practically at the front lines, cero was just bursting with excitement.
granted, other people were probably justâŚbursting. personally, he found that hilarious. it also gave cero an excuse for vengeance, as if he didnât have enough reasons already.
the whole process of helping people out didnât bother him much. the ruins didnât, either. heâd seen enough of that. seen enough ghosts lurking in the shadows that it no longer fazed him, seen enough ghosts in peopleâs eyes who had trouble recognising kindness when kindness did not exist in war. words were pointless, political, even if they were meant to convey something along the lines of sympathy. his hand was open; his mouth was not.
his comrades did not trust him â he spoke too little, unless he had something smart to say, or spiteful. it was his hatred of the suryans that reassured them that he was on their side, for as long as they had use for him. cero did not protest.
it was easier this way to slip out come nightfall, with the world asleep and the army waiting for the early chill of dawn to herald another heated battle.
how these little deaths awaited him.
how they excited him.
they were names, numbers, positions, carefully marked on a map. and cero was masked with the same darkness that brought this war, that they shoved down his throat. it was easy enough, he thought, to skirt around the perimeter. suryans looked up, or straight ahead, and only ever looked down to crush the worms underneath their feet.
first: five soldiers.
quick little thing, cero was, this monster with the little knives in his boot lodged in the back of running necks and hands snapping lives shut and a single blade out of a pair stained with the blood that stems from a neck. the bodies were disposed of, placed into indiscernible graves.
second: two more.
one, at the entrance of the room his target was residing in. could have been more, if cero hadnât been careful, if he hadnât taken his sweet time watching from the ground. the soldier was dragged inside â quietly.
and finally, this: the pig who was dressed (or, apparently, undressed) for war, who would have alerted everyone of his presence had it not been for the knife thrown at his outstretched fist.
cero didnât have long to enjoy the latter. the face was familiar, belonged to one who had once patted his head and called him a good lad, who shook hands with his father. now these eyes looked at him in the darkness, burning fear as a candle was lit by the bedside by fire shooting out of ceroâs finger as he sat on the fat manâs chest.
âhowâs dĂşrcel?â asked the masked man, the deep curves of a devilâs face dancing in soft light. nothing like the sun, no. a blade, too, was resting against the whore with him, ready to attack if need be: that would make eight. pity -- cero was two people short of a good murder.
silence, then: âwho are you? duuri assassin?â
cero shrugged. the knife in the other manâs knuckles was taken out. blood never did show on black clothes. the flat side, tainted now, was wiped on the generalâs bare chest. âor i just want to kill you. how about that? how about that, huh? anyway, iâm on top â iâm in the position to ask questions.â and the tip, against a fat chin. âhowâs dĂşrcel?â
ââŚmikhail?â
finally â there â cero smiled, under the cloth over his nose, under the mask over his face.
âi think your head would be a wonderful present to my father.â
the smaller blade was buried in the generalâs open mouth, cavernous; the larger, resting against the whoreâs mouth. to her, cero smiled again, although he supposed the expression was lost now. he shook his head at her instead, clicked his tongue a little as the male choked on his own blood, his own tongue pinned to the back of his mouth. and the liquid flowed, too, upon the pillow, sinking into the sheets.
ânowâŚâ cero moved off of him, crawled over the female. it wouldâve been romantic, really, if there wasnât so much blood, and if she wasnât sobbing at the blade nudging her mouth open, allowing him to take her tongue between his finger and his thumb. âterribly sorry about this, but i donât think youâll be able to suck anyoneâs cock for a while. doing you a favour, really.â
off the muscle came; so did the soundless scream. and it fell silent as the bigger blade buried itself between her eyes, right into her skull. when it came off, cero peeked in out of curiosity. brains were so interesting, seen inside where they should be, and not splayed upon the ground.
cero was casual about the way he walked to the other side of the bed again, grabbed the dead manâs head, lobbed off that fat neck and separated it from his shoulders. out came the oil-soaked rope; his hands would smell odd later from it, and the blood, too. to be fair, the oesophagus was cut clean; so was the spine.
âwhat a wonderful day,â cero laughed softly, hanging the decapitated head by the open door after gathering his things. a hole in the ground opened before him; he had to be quick about setting the rope on fire, had to be quick about the way it spread quickly, before the earth closed over his head.
âI trust that you will obey my orders and go with your brothers and sisters to the Badlands, Hikari. I hope that you do not break this trust that I have put in you...âÂ
The voice of her father is soft and frail yet Hikari senses the warning laced between each word as she listens with her head bowed. He sounds like a father gently requesting that his beloved daughter return the trust he has put in her-- the emperor is skilled in making people fall for his acts-- but she knew better. This man is a monster; he lays in bed and the lives of those he asks to be killed is offered up to him on a golden platter.Â
Yet she knows that she is bound my filial laws and to disobey would lead to a fate much like that of her motherâs so she nods her head and curtsies out his chambers. âYes, father.â
The repulsive scent of burning flesh greets the second princess once the door to her carriage is pulled open by the coachman. The orange and red hues of flames that cover almost every patch of land available could almost rival the fire display of Suryan festivities. But she remembers then that this is a Suryan festivity; the king had succeeded in brainwashing his men into thinking that the purge on the unfortunates are events worth great celebrations.Â
âPrincess Hikari.â The coachman scurries back to his post at the sight of the approaching man and leaves her in his presence. He greets her with a ninety degree bow and a disgustingly smug sneer on his lips. âWelcome! We are very pleased that you could join us here, your highness. Your men have been waiting for you.âÂ
She needs not to turn her head to face the new arrival to know who he is; only one person could find such happiness given the present circumstances, she thinks to herself. âThank you for the welcome, Minister. I trust....that everyone has been doing well.â The words make her sick to her stomach but she has to stand firm-- everyoneâs eyes are on her and if she makes the mistake of falling into the preconceived notions that have set for her, she would be handing them their victory with her own hands.Â
âOf course, your highness, and we have been eagerly and patiently waiting for you to join us.â His voice is smug and grates on her nerves. âSix of our best Suryan soldiers will accompany you to the sight were the unfortunates were last sighted. I am sure your father has given you his own instructions so I will take my leave now for I have my own area to take care of.â
âAlright.âÂ
âHave fun then, princess.â Hikari watches the old man mount his horse before speeding off into the darkness and leaving her alone with soldiers.Â
One of them, then, approaches her with a horse in hand and without saying anything, she mounts the horse and gestures for them to lead the way. They ride into the darkness and flank her on both sides; whether it is to keep her safe or to ensure that she does not go anywhere, she isnât sure. She is only certain of the fact that if she wishes to escape them, the only option would be to run away from them and hope that they do not catch up with her.Â
The opportunity for her to flee presents itself when they stop at a waterhole near a foliage for the horses. She leads her horse first into the water and while it drinks, she turns her attention to her companions whom she finds engrossed in caring for their own animals and chatting amongst themselves.Â
Throwing complete caution to the wind, she silently leads the horse to the trees. When the horse finally enters through the canopy of trees, she kicks its side and holds onto the reigns as it began to run at top speed. A silent prayer is on her lips as she asks the heavens to grant her this escape but in mere seconds, the stomping hooves of army horses echo behind her and she knows that they will catch up to her in no time at all.Â
Her heart thuds so loudly against her rib cage that she isnât sure if the pounding she hears are sounds from the animal or if it is her own heart. Goosebumps break out on her skin as they close in on her; her horse pants loudly beneath her but to give up now would be waste of her efforts so she pushes it forward-- pushes it even more.Â
Everything comes to an abrupt halt when the pained cry of a child breaks the perfect silence and her horse screeches in panic. Then, in the stillness of the shock, the scent of blood fills the air as the childâs sobs continue.Â
a long sigh leaves her chest as she wakes to conscience. the princess blinks for the light of the day is invasive and for once, she doesnât feel its warmth. her whole body is heavy as if her bones were replaced by a skeleton of iron, weighing her down and trapping her down to the floor. her weak frame is not in the slightest used to the work she volunteered herself to do. she did great when she needed to be swift and agile, like the cold breeze that touches her face.Â
( tw: death )
it is the gentle breeze that wakes her up for good. it brings clarity to the thoughts of a body that doesnât rest peacefully in duurâs castle. such clarity that makes you wonder whether it is a blessing or her own doom. the innocence that sheltered her was left in every bandage and in every tear stained face and in every underweight body. the most innocent thing she had was now the child that rested on her arms. she had the peaceful expression of someone that knows that their parents are resting within the stars. her tired body seemed to grow cold by the minute inside the princessâ arms and it brings a frown to the eldest child face, a wrinkle to her forehead.Â
ahreum tries to call for the girl and she shakes her gently in her embrace. her breath is frantic and fear makes her fingers cold. she feels like she is detached from her body for her mind was relentlessly denying that moment. there was no breathing disturbing the girlâs chest and there was no beating of heart against ahreumâs sweaty palms. and then it hits her, sinks deep into her soul. and a sound of agony leaves her lips together with her tears because this was never what she expected. her whole body shakes and she watches as her guards come to take the girl away. she watches her own hands, pale and shivering and it comes to her that she had that girlâs last breath in her arms. the princess put her to a sleep that she would never wake up from.Â
the shock hurts more than anything she experienced. her rational, imaginative mind is nothing but a blur enveloped by despair. and she hates herself because ahreum is being taken care when she came to take care. it takes her all her effort to get up and silence the tears in her eyes. comfort is not a luxury everyone has. the war takes lives every day - she knew that, she just wasnât ready to witness that. she wasnât ready to have war taking life from her very own hands. as a last sob leaves her childish lips, her fragile strength is used so her eyes would witness the smallest amount of death they could.Â