Blood.

There was blood in his eyes, angrily spat from the wound in her chest. He cared not while ripping her heart out: he had killed beasts far more dangerous than an uncouth, barbarian queen from this god-forsaken land.

Her heart was needed. His demon demanded so. He set it on fire, watching it burn and collapsing among the flames: it was a small but so very red, still looking alive.

Her corpse was still sprawled upon his table, her fiery hair fanned out on the wood like the flames burning her heart. She was drenched in her blood and thus her green dress had turned a sickening shade as well, making her look like Death herself.

He briefly wondered if the Cantii ranked her among their deities.

He cared not about that as well: a demon come from the underworld would not fear Death, as she was its most faithful companion. Where a demon went, Death would follow.

Only her face remained untouched by the gore. Her pale flesh was still rosy in the dimly lit room, the flush in her cheeks mocking him, making her seem alive. Her eyes, green and unrelenting, were glassy and stubbornly fixed on the ceiling, avoiding his own. Her dead look held only rage and a promise for revenge. She had sacrificed herself for the prophesised child to no avail: the Roman Empire would conquer the damned lands, pagan gods interfering or not.

She would have made a fine wife, more so than a fine alliance. Even dead and sacrificed like an animal, she looked lovely. Having a go at her now, unfortunately, would not be really exciting: a corpse would be too compliant to be anything near enjoyable. A pity.

With a gentle gesture he closed her eyelids, covering for the last time her wild irises. He could allow her that much dignity. After all, she had been almost a worthy opponent.