Death Blooms
– By the Window and the Torchlight
As I ran up the stairs, carefully choosing my steps not to produce any sound, I could hear the metallic clashing of blades filling the air downstairs. Here, only silence. My group of the most skilled assassins was still assaulting the main corridor of the castle’s upper level, defeating the last guards that uselessly defended the royal chamber.
Our work there was done already, and I had King Leandrus the Fourth’s blood all over my right hand since it had spilled and dripped from the hilt of my curved blade when I trespassed his head from his chin up. The queen and four of his sons and daughters had the same fate at the hands of my men; their lives were easily taken, one by one, soon as we reached the chamber where they feasted after celebrating a street festival. It reeked of wine and hypocrisy. Now it was a place filled with death, with blood all over the floor. I just needed the fight to stay there while I worked elsewhere, so my men kept attracting the guards of the surroundings, letting the metal clang so they would be heard.
Our mission was almost over.
Only two still to go: Theolus, the Second Son, and Moraine, the Half-bred.
Theolus, reports said, was the only son of Leandrus that actually knew how to defend himself or knew something about the military. I expected him to eventually show up at the royal chamber, so I left my every man there. I could handle a princess and her guards by myself with ease.
Moraine was the bastard daughter known to live isolated at an annex tower by the queen’s demand. Fruit of an affair the king had on a year’s long expedition to the fiery desertic lands southwest, stories told her to be a dark-skinned midget, hard to the eye, therefore kept in secret. Apparently, it was harder for the queen to accept being cheated on when the king’s target of sexual desire could produce such a hideous creature, seeing that other bastard children did not receive the same treatment and normally lived at the court.
The order our suzerain gave us was to kill them all, using in our favor the knowledge that King Leandrus was more of a sociopath and less of a strategist. The poor idiot kept his entire royal bloodline stuck to his court and under his wing, living in his same quarters. It would have been a good strategy if you were confident they were protected there, which was not the case. One of our elders once said, “A free and happy kingdom is always a place for insecurity.” He was right. With his troops advancing on other lands aiming to enlarge his territory, enslave and loot, all in the name of great and noble Caestyria, the reign itself was so convinced that nothing could hit them that their arrogance would never see us coming, and here we were.
With the right people for the job – mine – it was just a matter of using a festival, as they had many, as an excuse to be as close as possible to the castle at night, kill a guard or two, infiltrate the place and wait for the right time. King Leandrus had a top-notch army on the battlefield, at his borders, but that made his kingdom nothing but a nut; tough shell on the outside but soft and easy to handle on the inside.
The word around was that Leandrus was somewhat crazy, an abuser, a good king only to his servants but a tyrant to his own court, full of himself, and nothing but a fool. Not that any of that mattered to me. I had my orders; I had my village to maintain and to lead. That job would buy my soldiers, elders, peasants, and me some peace for the months to come; the whole winter would pass unnoticed.
The wide ladder to the annex tower was made as a turning left on its way up. The outer walls had thin, tall windows at every quarter circle, and each seemed to face a cardinal direction. Although it was a thoughtful construction, now they were covered by bricks and turned into windows to another wall; I wouldn’t know if on purpose or if it just happened that they covered them up with stone on the outside when they expanded this wing of the castle. The thing was, now, they seemed out of place. Moreover, useless. Mainly they represented my thoughts about the king’s court, something to watch, merely decorative and of no use. I had no problem killing members of a court. The higher, the better.
I heard light steps on their way down the stairs amidst that train of thought.
I took a moment figuring how close it was, and by the speed, whoever it was had no idea of what was happening downstairs or had a good plan to escape, one that did not include passing through the fight. Unluckily, the person had not noticed me either.
When the rushed and light steps were close enough for me to slice through, I had to decide whether to kill the woman or child instantly or to make myself visible and make the person surrender.
After a moment of short deliberation, I made my move, shifting swiftly in the way of the coming prey. I would take less time identifying and striking than deciding the better course of action. Branding my saber up to their face, just one quick step forward, I could puncture a throat, and it would all be over… However, after one glance, I did not want things to happen as fast anymore.
In front of me, static, was a petite girl dressed in a red robe tied upfront of the thinnest silk imaginable and nothing more. Her long and wavy hair of a dark brown tone lit alive in a copper-colored highlight, falling wild all over her forehead, shoulders, and back. I thought the feeble light of the torch was tricking me, for that exotic creature was one of the most tempting beings I had seen in my entire life.
Her chest heaved after the fright, like a scared little bird, but her exquisite face kept emotionless, her brown eyes looking to the tip of my blade through those long, thick lashes. The torches were put by the side of each of those covered-up windows, and we had one at our side, a few steps up. I needed to see her better.
“You didn’t scream. It seems you know better than that. Move to your right, beneath the torchlight.” I said in my low and husky tone, and she looked me in the eye for the first time.
Not looking down nor to the side, she felt the floor with her tiny bare feet and slowly went up one step, then another, while moving to the right. My sword was always following her, but her eyes were still on mine. She was finally to be seen near the false window when close to the wall.
I was not exaggerating, and my eyes weren’t betrayed by the shadows; my companion for gods knew how many years now. She had just reached womanhood, her forms were all young, firm, and perky, and I could see her whole shape, nude beneath the thin cover of the scarlet silk. Her skin, I could not decipher its actual tone… It was bronze… Sun-kissed, it seemed. Something impossible here or anywhere near here. The girl smelled like spring flowers and wine.
“Who are you?” Slowly, punctuating the words so she could feel my intensity and how important her answer would be, I asked her.
She answered after taking a deep breath, never taking her dark eyes from mine. “I’m the King’s whore.”
I was, even if behind several other things I excelled at, an expert on detecting lies. I felt she put additional strength in her truth, enlarged it a little, maybe, or just wanted to ensure I believed her, which, at the end of my contemplation, I did. Leandrus seemed much less of a fool now for hiding a preciosity like that for himself.
“For how long?” I asked, trying to understand the whole picture.
“Not long.” She answered with a tinge of relief in her voice but sorrowed too. “He used me twice. Gave me to Theolus once. Just now, he was secretly mouthing me.”
Her eyes never left mine. Her body shivered, and her face defied me. It was beautiful. She was definitely not one of those in the king’s court. Nevertheless, there was something wrong with her.
“He and not your majesty. Theolus and not Lord Theolus. For a servant, you are quite intimate or lack even the basic manners.” I pointed out.
“Or I hate them, Milord.” She answered, giving a short step back, which put her against the wall.
“I am no lord,” I said, stepping forward, the tip of my blade down from the tip of her nose to slightly touching her throat.
“You have my life in your hands now; you are the one who decides my destiny. That makes you my lord.” She said slowly, after closing her eyes for a moment. “But if it dislikes you, I shall not call you that. I only wish to outlive this wretched family…” The girl sighed in a heartfelt manner.
“And you were with Theolus this very moment?” I asked while focusing on hearing something from up the stairs, unsuccessfully. “I can’t hear a thing.”
“That’s because I heard swords while he had his tongue on me.” She hesitated for a second.
Clearly, she was thinking about what to say or what I would think about what she had to say. I understood the whole thing even before she could pronounce a word. Theolus was not following her down the stairs because he couldn’t. My eyes widened a bit, their silvery color staring menacingly at her. They were my signature. The only thing a person could see of me when I was fully clothed and masked to do what I do.
“He had me at the bed; legs open in front of him, while he knelt before me, mouth there, on me… I hit his head with a candleholder. He fell to the ground, bleeding. I rushed down the stairs and left him there,” she burst into short words, trying to make herself understood quicker than I decided to kill her.
Silence followed. Her breathing quickened. She put both hands back at the edge of the window’s stool, somewhat defensively, for the first time. Again, I knew what crossed her mind. She did not know what I was doing there. If I supported the prince in any way, she was as good as dead now.
Her apprehension was palpable. I could see the hairs bristle on her thin, delicate arms. I could also see the nipples of her beautiful young breasts protruding beneath the red silk. However, her face remained the same. Chin up, not as if she was facing me, but as someone who preferred to die with dignity, who knew better than to fear death, or she just wished it. That just added to the layers of exoticism around her, to the temptation that was the girl in front of me.
“If you tell the truth, It means that if I touch you, I shall feel you wet,” I said almost without thinking. My tone was not provoking at all, and I had no second intentions… I was just pointing out a fact that would prove her point. Until I thought about it. Then, I thought about the feeling of touching that girl.
I should not let a thought like that cross my mind. Something like that was not part of my world.
She glared at me as if my affirmation had really taken her by surprise, then her eyes lowered for the first time. “Then touch me, milord.” The phrase came out like a whisper, a slight tinge of shame, and I could not feel much more. Maybe she was, in fact, a whore. Her body was tense and still, but there was a certainty to her words. She clearly knew of the necessity of proving herself. Otherwise, it would only add to the chance of her being dead at the end of this encounter.
I swiftly juggled my saber from my right to my left hand and held its tip horizontally under the girl’s chin, lightly touching her neck while I stepped forward, decreasing the distance between our bodies. The girl was small in a way my tallness seemed to double when close to her.
She startled and tried to step back to avoid the blade and ended up sitting at the tall window’s stool, tiptoed, her neck stretched and her face up, really close to mine. I could feel her whole body trembling when I reached down to touch her right thigh, a skin tender, warm, as I had never felt in my life.
The cold touch of my fingertips made her gasp sharply and shivered all over. I felt a tingle as if a part of me for a long time forgotten had woken up… And that was no good. Not for me, nor to her.
I slid my fingers slowly to the inner part of her left leg. The girl inhaled deeply, her eyes wide open and fixed on mine. I felt her attention divided between those two very specific things happening to her body now, sharp steel and curious fingers, while she panted, the smell of her hot breath on my face. What seemed to be just a proof check from both sides was becoming much more. I felt my blood, trained to circulate slowly through my veins, starting to warm as well as my breathing increased in speed, escaping from my self-induced catharsis.
Up her silky robe, I went, and by the moment the chill of my skin met the hotness of her entrance, she gasped loudly, and her eyes filled with knowledge. “Cold Death…” my index finger slid between her petals; she was wet, inviting… “You are Cold Death…” then she closed her eyes.
No more defying look. No more chin up. No more “whore”.
By the moment she recognized me, two very different facts came to the surface:
To her, the almost certainty that she would end up as dead as the tales of those who had met Death itself. Except for the one woman that escaped my predecessor’s cold hands and started the rumor that originated our legend.
To me, there was absolute certainty she would not recognize me if she were a mere courtesan, or a whore, even a royal one. Everybody in the near kingdoms knew about the man who dwelled in the shadows, dressed in it, whose chilling proximity announced death nearby… But not in such detail. Only someone in the higher part of a royal court would know about the touch of my skin and how cold it felt. A whore that had been around for so little time, used by King Leandrus twice, given to Prince Theolus once…
I asked her who she was and she told me the truth, her way. Sad but intelligent.
“MORAINE!!!” A rumbling voice called her from the top of the stairs.
She opened her eyes again, straight into mine, while everything made sense. The dark-skinned midget, hard to the eye, locked up in a tower… It was right in front of me. It was clear that it was no shame what motivated the queen to lock this girl out of sight, but the purest jealousy. The king would do no opposition, as he would have her for himself… And his son.
Heavy steps ran down the stairs, but she did not express any intention of moving, even when I lowered my blade a little. She knew me to be much more dangerous than her half-brother roaring her name while rushing downstairs on her trail.
It was the right choice, that of hers, but what about mine? Now I was confronted with an interesting dilemma: Should I kill her now?
“By how his voice sounds, you were telling the truth,” I said, stepping back, pointing my curved blade to her again, to the tip of her pretty little nose. “That earned you the right to choose: do you want to see him dead before you are?” I asked, and it was a trick question.
Unless she had a clear desire to die – I mean, a clearer one, since she already demonstrated to be quite calm when facing a life-threatening situation – and was utterly disgusted with her life, she would opt for the other person to die first. Despite very particular cases, anyone would. What I wanted was to keep analyzing her. Through her tone, her body language, her breathing, I would be able to know what she thought… I was intrigued, and that was rare.
Even if she trembled and had a shaking voice, her pose was that of the beginning, composed and noble. She raised her face, chin up, and asked, “That blood on your right hand, is that the blood of our majesty?” An assertion to which I nodded and observed as she continued, after taking a deep breath, in some relief, “Kill him, and I’ll gladly let you do anything you want to me before you kill me.”
The girl hated him. It was written all over her face. She hated him more than the thought of being abused, then killed. Seemed to be the same with the king.
It was decided. I would give her that.
Quickly, I sheathed my saber and took her by both shoulders in hand. She startled and looked puzzled at me while I moved her back to the brightest point of the torchlight, then moved a couple of steps back into the shadows only seconds before the heavy steps were close, leaving her as a decoy.
I took a slow, deep breath while letting go of every bit of warmth, temptation, and vivacity I had felt some minutes before, and I mingled into the shadows. The girl looked terrified, astonished when she noticed that she could no longer see me.
So much that she didn’t notice when her enormous half-brother, running down the stairs, came close enough to slap her face with the outside of his big hand, hitting her so strongly that she hit the wall and then fell down on the stairs.
“YOU CUNT! YOU FILTHY SOUTHERN BITCH! YOU…” He kept roaring; big, blonde, plump, he shifted his weight in his white nightgown, clearly preparing to kick her. He was so easy to read, and that was the military-trained son of that stupid king. The blow would hit the right side of her waist or ribs with a high chance that she would get badly hurt – he weighed three times her weight, easily – and, although he was not in a position where I could go for a clean kill, I would not let him do that.
With a swift move, I hooked his right foot with my own, pulling it back. By doing so, he lost his momentum, and at the same time, I got him off-balance. While turning my body, I kicked down at the back of his knee with my other foot, making it bend and hit the ground fiercely, creating a sturdy cracking noise.
“AAAAAR—!!!” He tried to start a horrendous scream, but I stopped him before it effectively happened.
He would not be able to get up anymore, just as my arm locked around his neck took away his ability to shout or to breathe, for that matter… Neither his blood would be able to reach his brain. It displeased me immensely, the contact, the struggle, the time it consumed to end someone with my bare hands. I liked the instantaneity of my method using blades; puncturing, slicing, it did not matter.
Still on the ground, beneath the thin and high window, the girl watched intently while her half-brother trashed around, his arms forward in a vain attempt to grab her after he gave up trying to fight me, barely grasping the edge of her robe or touching her legs while I held him back. She just watched, a thin line of blood dripping from the left edge of her mouth, as the guttural noises he made trying to breathe eased, and the light of life vanished from his eyes.
I eased him to the ground slowly. It was the end of Theolus, The Second Son, and the last thing he saw was the mix of horror and satisfaction on his half-sister’s face.
She kept looking at him, his body lying just in front of her, and it took thirty seconds for her to adjust her mind in the face of what had just happened. I used that time to focus downstairs on the disappearing sounds of the fight I left as a lure. It was still going on, but with less intensity.
It was time to leave, which left me deciding how to deal with her.
As if she was reading my mind, she looked up, eyes into mine. She knew it was time.
I could not remember the last time I felt so divided between courses of action. My mind was split; should I explain to Moraine why she could not keep living, being the last survivor of the Caestyr dynasty? Or should I stab her quickly in the heart, so she wouldn’t have time to let fear finally get the best of her?
Never had I given so much thought about how to deal with a target’s death. My decisions were never based on mercy or pity. However, at that exact moment, I could even feel compassion for her, which was not normal.
Nevertheless, she decided for herself during the short time I took to decide. She stood up, trembling. “Are they all dead? The royal family?” to which I nodded. The girl then sighed, in a contained sorrow, with a tinge of relief, and started to untie the front of her crimson silk robe.
I had already seen her contours through the transparency of the fabric, but when the front part of the robe opened, I could see unimpeded skin without a trace of hair on top or around the beautiful molds of her entrance, at the apex of her toned legs… Then the clothing fell lightly on the ground, just beside the corpse, still losing its warmth.
Her shape was so beautiful, a tight little body, her pert young breasts topped with little red nipples that seemed tumescent. That was interesting because the temperature there at the stairs was fine, which gave me a hint that, shakiness and breathlessness apart, she seemed aroused. It made me think about what kind of life she could have endured here. What a peculiar girl.
She just looked at me, tears finally starting to appear in her eyes, and I could not be sure for which of the numerous reasons it was happening. “I am a woman of my word. I could see this bastard die. You had them all killed…” A little smile formed on her lips. “I am all yours now, to the bitter end. Just tell me where you want me.”
The time was short. Spending any of it at that place was wrong. However, I wanted it. I wanted to feel Moraine from the inside. Badly. But I had to think about my men, about my village. My worry fought with how eager I was. I felt myself losing control after years, many years. I felt awake, hard, without my consent. I had absolute power over my body, aura, and thoughts. My blood was my weapon as my saber, my daggers, my hidden blades… Now that same blood was pushing its way into action, and I could not hold it back. I was so eager that it hurt.
With what little control I had left in me, while I stepped forward, opening my trousers, I just defined in my mind that it should be quick.
I pointed to the window, and she obeyed promptly, already knowing what I meant by it. She turned around and bent, putting her small hands on the window stool. “Like this, Milord?” She asked in a breathy, shaky tone.
“Yes, like that,” I answered while holding my hard rod in hand and looking at the heart shape of her perfect behind. Before getting too close, I could see her little entrance in detail; it was beautiful, rosaceous red petals were partially hidden by soft folds of skin; it looked so fragile, so untouched, even though I knew otherwise.
“Ah!” The girl gasped in a high pitch when my left hand touched the side of her hip, and I saw her having goosebumps all over. “It’s so cold… Your hand…”
I did not answer. In fact, I was going to show her that it could be worst. With my right hand, I pressed the head of my member on her soft entrance, then rubbed it on her fiercely.
The girl then inhaled noisily, sharply, startled, when she felt that every inch of my skin was cold, not only my hands. The brunette, or redhead, as even my trained eyes couldn’t distinguish, looked back at me from over her shoulder, eyes widening in disbelief.
Disbelief we shared when I felt her warm, wet, inviting… Not spending much time, even if I worried about how I would fit my size inside such a space that seemed so small, I pushed forward.
“Huunngh!” She groaned loudly when I forced the head in, passing the initial resistance of her pussy, so unbelievably tight. “Huu-uuuuh!!!”
I had to hold on tight not to groan myself when I felt her scalding insides squeezing me so hard that I felt like I was breaking her, ripping her apart. But I didn’t stop, much the opposite; when I felt her entrance wouldn’t let me go any further, I pulled half an inch out and then shoved it in again, reaching deeper on every thrust, which made her groan exasperatedly. Even so, there was always a note of pleasure in the trembling girl’s tone, in her velvety, delicious voice, no matter how she struggled with my thick, gelid thing, deeply plunged in her most intimate place.
Until I felt it, her end, the bottom. She let out a more cried groan as soon as I pushed against it. There was more than an inch of me still out of her. I waited one second in place, enjoying how buried I was in that girl. It felt like she had the fucking sun inside of her, so perfect, so alive in such a horrendous situation, now melting around me while I ravished her.
Taking her hips tightly with both my hands, feeling a perfect grip on the accentuated curve of her waist, I started pummeling in and out of her, not holding anything back.
It was not like me to let myself go, just as it was not like me to abuse or rape a victim. I have had slaves before; even so, I wanted their servitude, their labor, not their sex. I respected what I did. I respected death and all that came with it. However, for some reason, I did not feel like I was trespassing in any way. I couldn’t know why.
Therefore, I kept at it, feeling the outcome coming quickly after all these years of self-asserted celibacy.
“Ahhh-ahhhh-ahhhh-Aghhh!!” She moaned for me, feeling wetter as it went on, groaning loudly, painfully, every time I pushed in more aggressively or when I hit her cervix, which I was not worried about doing, nor did she complain about.
The sensation was great when it rubbed against her deepest part, increasing my pleasure by the accentuated grip, and because there was a sensation of power, of being able to do whatever I wanted to her, it was inebriating.
Then, when my breathing became as fast as I supposed it could go after all these years, and I felt I would explode in an absurd climax inside that girl, the “king’s whore”, the “dark-skinned midget”… She got my attention with her words, while I still assaulted her frantically.
“P-Please-pleas-se… (gasp) Look m-me i-in the eyes w-when you d-do i-i-it… Ahh-Ahhh!!”
When you do it. Moraine meant killing her. I still hadn’t decided on how to do it. The only thing I knew was that she deserved a good death. It seemed she had been fucked by the crown just like we all had, also literally.
I stopped for a moment and withdrew from her. When I took her in my arms, she startled, waiting for the worst, her little fingers closing in a fist, frightened. But I just turned her around and put her sitting on the window stool, her back on the brick wall that covered it. Who would think that thing would have a use after all?
Leaning over her, slowly, I put her legs by the sides of my torso and around my back, then her arms around my neck. With the proximity of our faces, I became astonished again about how gorgeous that girl was, so different from our pale people.
“I’m sorry I can’t let you go,” I said softly to the young girl while her face contorted in the mix of pleasure and a tinge of pain while I pushed myself inside her again.
Moraine didn’t take her eyes away from mine while I went back to thrusting my way in and out of her, yet, she tried to answer me.
“I understand… I w-wouldn’t l-let A-Aoaah-AAAHH!!” but she started to groan and grimace when I took advantage of our position, hers sitting and tilting her pelvis upward to push myself even deeper, at times able to put all of me inside of her. Feeling the head of my member rubbing so roughly against the innermost part of her increased a sensation I couldn’t imagine possible being any more pleasurable. She gritted her teeth and kept saying, now in a higher tone, “My-y p-pleople doesn’t de-se-erve li-i-iving!! Ahhh!! AAAah!! AAAAAAAGH!!!”
While holding her tightly, as I could not resist her tightness anymore, I gave all I had to that moment, every once of manly savageness, humping her fiercely and making her scream while I ravaged her entrance, pushing it inside harshly and rapidly until I felt myself coming…
Then I noticed her having spasms underneath me, her tunnel contracting, and her arms wrapped tightly around my neck…
When I finally exploded, I spouted everything I had deep inside of her, feeling that she had also reached the apex of her lustfulness.
At first, the first I could remember in what seemed like an eternity, my mind went blank. The only thing I felt was release. A body I had trained to be nothing more than an instrument of death had been engulfed in a woman’s warm embrace and the hot insides. I took a moment to breathe and think while the orgasm irradiated, and I felt her fighting spasms, contracting all over, gasping, her arms and legs tight around me.
“I can’t fathom how you were able to enjoy this to the point of coming with me,” I stated.
Still panting, her face buried in my neck, she answered, “It’s the first time this has happened by my consent. Or at least I’m fooling myself to think it was by my consent.”
“I’d be a hypocrite if saying I wouldn’t have enjoyed forcing this upon you, but I wouldn’t have done it. Never did.” I said, and she remained silent.
I gave her some time, but little, as I could not hear any more noise from downstairs. Soon my men would come up looking for me, and we had to leave that place as quickly as possible. That moment had taken too long. So I slid my left hand over her shoulder to her neck. I raised her face, my thumb forcing her chin up, but carefully so as not to hurt her.
With her big brown eyes on me, I took her right breast in my hand, massaging it and caressing her erect nipple with my thumb. She sighed, seeming to relax but still shivering.
“I never thought death would be like this,” she whispered in a beautiful, husky tone.
“Death has many faces, and it decides which to show to whom it embraces,” I said while delighting myself in the beautiful traces of her face, her admired look. Even if she had tears rolling down her cheeks now, she seemed at peace.
She sighed, shivering more, not only by fear or anticipation of what was to come but because my body was reverting to its usual temperature, much colder than hers.
Every time I noticed the precious seconds passing, I wondered why I had not finished her yet. She could not live! If she lived, it would be all for nothing. It did not matter if she was only half-royal blood. It did not matter if she was a woman and could not take the crown for herself because, eventually, if she bore a child, a boy, he would be the king of Caestyria. That could not happen. Moraine had to die.
“Could death… Show me its real face before I go?” The girl asked. “Think of it as a last wish… Let me see the face of the man who really had me before he incarnates my death. Please.” And she waited for my response while silence installed. It was unexpected. Completely.
I felt a tingle deep inside of me. As if the empathy I had killed inside me to become what I was screamed from the afterlife. Then I gave in.
I untied the black cloth that formed my mask, first the bottom, then the top. Then Moraine could see the face of a thirty-year-old man, absolutely pale, with pitch black straight hair uncut and wild, the long and thin scar on the right side of my face, from up the cheekbone to the edge of my chin.
Her eyes widened. I always got that reaction, as I knew I looked like an apparition, a ghost. My eyes are so bright that they seem like pure bright silver.
She touched my face with her little, warm hand, “You are nothing like I imagined you to be. No one would say death looked like such a handsome man…”
It had been a long time since the last time I had shown my face to someone outside my village like that. I was doing it all wrong. I was betraying the very thing that made me more than an ordinary man.
My eyes were always on hers, and some seconds later, I knew what I should do. I leaned forward and kissed her. I tasted her as much as she tasted me. I gave this part of me to her as a departure gift, a way to say sorry for what I was about to do. Now I would use the dagger hidden in my wrist and slide it right beside her right breast, where my hand already was, puncturing her heart and ending her suffering the fastest way I knew.
She was giving herself to me as well. I felt it through her kiss. There was nothing wrong. There were no lies. I could feel how she seemed to really thank me for what I was doing, for freeing her and…
I couldn’t do it.
I could not end life for the first time in fifteen years. I had killed old people, young people, poor, rich, friends and family that had turned against what I believed or me and… I could not kill that girl yet. I removed my lips from hers and sunk back into her eyes.
She was crying when she asked, “Can you do it in a way that I won’t suffer much?”
“Yes, I can,” I stated. “But I can also offer you to keep living under my command. You tasted me. You know how ruthless I feel, and life may end up being more hurtful than it was here, with your people, because mine is severe in its essence. I would never offer this to anyone. In fact, I’m doing this because I know you will be honest since death is what you want. I am giving you a chance to have it by your side and inside of you for longer…”
Her heart beat even faster, “May Death take me, then.”