In the corner of a chamber illuminated by a single, flickering candle, a man sat with his back against the wall, one hand pressed upon his wounded side.
Blood spilled without end from his side, the blade that had pierced him lying idle beside him.
His breath came in broken gaps—heavy… uneven.
His eyes fought to remain open, fought to not give in to the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him.
He had fought battles, had crossed blades with great men—and not once, not once had he been struck so deep.
Yet someone he had called his own—someone whom he had loved beyond measure—had done this to him.
"Hah," a dry laugh left his lips.
He could not die.
Not in this manner.
Not yet.
Not when she had left him so coldly to perish.
He had to live.
He had to find her.
I must not die yet.
I must see to it that she suffers.
I—I must—
Yet the cold crept even deeper into his bones, and his lids grew heavier and heavier with every passing second.
Even his hearing slowly began to fail him.
The door to the chamber opened, and light from the corridor spilled within.
With the light came figures he could barely see, but he could tell they were his people.
Their mouths opened wide, screaming words he could no longer hear; their faces blurred, yet he could still see their fear.
As they scurried about him, his gaze remained fixed upon the door whence the light poured in.
And the longer he stared, the weaker he grew.
He could feel his life slipping away.
Hold fast.
You must find her.
You must make her suffer.
She—
She must tell me…
Why?
What wrong had he done? Had his love been wrong? Had his way of loving been wrong?
What exactly was his sin?
Why?
No more… He could fight the darkness no longer, and as it finally stole his life from him, memories came flooding through it.
Memories of once upon a time…