I hear it, the screams. My fists clench. My heart pounds—
"Don't worry yourself. It'll all be done in a moment." His voice lurks all around me.
I grit my teeth, feeling my heart as strange. Truly, is it just me? How can he think this unworthy—
The crashing of glass. The throaty, panicked cries—
"It's but a simple matter," he says.
The bitter cold creeping behind me.
I'm shivering—
It's not them.
I'm sweating—
It shouldn't be.
I'm drowning in air—!
It just can't be.
"Hey! Hey, I—I know you're awake. You're awake, aren't you?!" The door pounds beneath a heavy fist. "Please. Please, come help us! My dad, he—"
But a greater, heavier thud strikes the door. And the breath in my lungs freeze.
A shadow seeps through the crack. And the girl screams wretchedly in pain—
I run.
"Surely, it's simpler to wait—"
But I'm crashing heavily through wood; the door broken mysteriously behind me. Was it me?
It could've been him but the sight of the two struggling leaves me less time to think.
There's a knife in front of me. I pick it up. And drag it heavily to my lips; the sharp pain a reminder that I am, indeed, alive.
The man's slamming her body into the planks even as she scratches his eyes; bloody tears running thickly down her bruised and swollen cheeks.
They're straining—struggling—the tension growing—my footsteps slowing—
Yes, the cold is biting. He's there. Watching. Waiting. Merely observing—
My heart, it's sinking. But my hands are steady. What a bastard.
What a pain.
The blade sinks into the man like tar; his back pierced slowly, gradually but truly not very slow at all.
Is it the sight of the blood that's gushing—?
Or the feeling of fleshy bone resisting the blade—
But she's quick, desperately clamping her arms and legs around him to keep him in place—
I stab. And stab repeatedly; blood splattering against my cheeks. And then I twist, and twist; twisting the blade in slowly.
It's not altogether unfamiliar to me; the cruelty of sudden, agonizing pain.
After all, I had my part to play.
I rip the blade from his flesh; his struggles now long since over. But she's breathing raggedly and crying, while I'm crouching and checking her wounds.
Of course, my own stomach's churning. But not from the sight. The sight's not anything new.
Is it my poison? The relapse he said would be soon?
But she grips my hand, her nails clamping down harshly; spitting gobs of blood messily down her chin. "My father! He's—they're killing my father! Please, he's just in that room—hurry—My father—he's bleeding—!"
I place my finger against her lips. "Quiet." I don't hear anything from that room; the door shattered just as easily as mine. But I feel the breeze; the air unnaturally freezing.
No one else releases such spine chilling fumes…
It's unnaturally quiet. There isn't a sound from the next door rooms. The patrons, are they ignoring us entirely?
The innkeeper. At least the innkeeper should be reporting the news…
That's right. This is the world we live in. Not even the righteous sects involve themselves in human affairs anymore. It's all political gain…
Even I would'nt have helped if she hadn't banged on my door, leading her troubles my way.
Is that also cruelty? One could say.
But it's a sour, bitter taste that runs through me—
Not even humanity's humane.
But his new whisper comes unusually loud. "This is quite amusing. I just knew we were of the same kind…" His laughter resonates harshly even as his presence fades, leaving me behind.
Are we?
The same kind.
Truly, I can't say either way.
"My father?! What about my father? Aren't you going to help him, too?!" She yells, frantically trying to push me away.
I flinch from the feel of her lips moving against me. And shake my head as I quickly stand away.
Males. Females. They shouldn't be in such close proximity. I rub my hand against my pants. I certainly don't want that feeling lingering.
Now, isn't that strange?
Before, it wouldn't have mattered as much. But now…it's a reflex to dodge any such normalcy. From man, woman, or beastly things. Because it's an illusion.
Because I'll be betrayed. The torture was real. And so was the pain.
Even more so now…my friends from that place…those people compounded the pain.
Why is he so different? Why don't I find his touch as strange?
But I look up. "Wait here." Her eyes, they're pleading desperately. "I'll return momentarily."
Her body slumps as I leave. She'll be fine. I know she'll be just fine. It isn't like there's more coming.
Truly, there's not more coming. There shouldn't be.
But I cross the path of the wooden frame now in shambles, and hastily step inside.
What's there but the gasping breaths of an older man lying there in agony. His gut. It's surely open—
But the wound's closing even as I watch; a green flame meticulously eating away the newly formed wound.
If he was going to fix it anyway, why didn't he stop it from happening in the first place?
But how much power does he have? To make such a wound disappear…
Just like that, the vicious cut heals. And I'm left standing there; his bearded face now free of any wounds.
Is Kian not as much of a bastard as he—
"Don't think me a pleasant sap. Consider this a gift." His laugh, I feel it through my bones. "A gift of greeting, dear, young Ethan. I won't be doing this again."
I run towards the door; my feet thudding all the way. The girl—
Did he fix her too?
Indeed, her face and body's healing—
But it's then I hear the boots pounding up the stairs.
Just what am I supposed to say…