An Eclipsing Star
What, exactly, does one feel about the passing of an abhorred torch? 100-word ficlet.
Reading the death notices, he noticed the account of yet another Shogunate supporter cut down during the night. It had been a sloppy job—far too much telling detail had found its way into the write-up.
The sudden whirl of conflicting emotions almost unbalanced him.
Annoyed impatience: So much cleaner had it been my work.
Horror of scattered memories: Blood smelling like fear. The tension of the stalk, the release of the attack. The prickles of stealthy flight, to avoid detection, further killing, deeper thoughts.
Overwhelming relief: No longer my burden.
Then, suddenly, a new thought: Who carries this burden now?
A/N: You all do know, don't you, exactly who "carries the burden" now, right?