He stared at her and felt no remorse.
She was curled into a fetal position, her breathing uneven, spine twisted, mouth open into a scream no one could hear.
He had done this. He had conceived her pain, her agony, her despair.
Her cry awoke him from his thoughts.
"Please," she whispered, reaching out to him, her black eyes tainted with a minuscule amount of hope. "Please…"
He turned away, not because he was guilty or disgusted. He focused his attention on the body a few feet away, blood trickling from its open mouth.
A moan came from behind him; he slowly faced her, deliberately taking his time.
There she was, hope drained from her once lovely face, lips quivering, eyes wide with an emotion he would never feel.
Smiling, he bent down and took her by the hand.
She was his.