Hatred. Hatred and loneliness were all that seemed to be left now. And blood. He could never forget the blood.
A trickle of the stuff ran from his dry lips and into the curving lines of his chin, which hung low, his noble head down and dejected. A steady drip-drip-drip of hot crimson blood fell from the wound on his forehead. It might be shallow, but it still bled like a bitch.
But it didn't matter. It wasn't life threatening. What was life-threatening was the condition of his heart. The beat had once been steady, and he used to lie awake at night sometimes – especially recently – counting his heartbeats. They were what kept him calm. They were what kept him steady. They were what let him know he was alive.
Yes, he was alive. But only on the outside.
The young man brushed his fair hair from his eyes. He was a very attractive man, in his early twenties. He was physically very fit, and handsome. Any girl would have been proud to bring him home to mother and father. Proud to show him off to her friends. Proud to love him.
Except one. And that girl was the one he had always secretly wanted.
It was a forbidden love; even if she had wanted him, their families would never have allowed it.
Cold, gray eyes looked down at the body. Unfeeling. Hard. Cold, as if the ice that surrounded his heart was somehow reflected into his very being, his soul. Impenetrable.
She still looked beautiful, even now… dead. Killed, no doubt by some minion of the master he vowed to always serve.
Bending down to where she lay motionless, he brushed some dirt from her long, vibrant locks. Her red hair against her pale face contrasted so deeply that she could not possibly be still alive. Her lips were red as the sunset. Her skin was cold enough to freeze wine. The only thing that suggested the body had once been full of life and spirit was the small line of freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. He had always loved her freckles… always thought they were cute.
He wanted to move her… get her out from the pool of blood that surrounded her – maybe not even her blood. He wanted to lay her down, flat on her back, hands clasped over her chest. He wanted to close those beautiful brown eyes for the last time. He wanted to brush her hair out of her face and just look at her… just once more.
He couldn't. It wouldn't have been too painful. It wouldn't have been a last, loving gesture: they had never been lovers. It wouldn't have been out of respect. It just would have been.
But he could not, so he turned on his heel and left, walking slowly away as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
The master was waiting.
0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0
Author's Note: OK, so I know I said I'd never update another story, but I wrote this randomly today, and wanted to post it anyway.