She watches him lie there on the floor.
He's on his back now, injured, probably spiralling towards death at the very second. But she can't move, she won't. She wants to turn away and not have to see his face anymore, to bury her face in her fathers chest and cry like she did when she was but a little girl. But she can't.
He lifts his head to look at her, snarling at the pain inflicted by the wound in his throat. She still can't believe that was her doing. That and the stiletto buried in his thigh, the bullet wound... all of those things, inflicted by her hands. She can feel said limbs tremble slightly, as if cold.
But then his eyes catches hers. And she freezes in place.
There're all there, all the different emotions. Madness because she succeeded. Vengenance. If he could still move, he would be on her in a heartbeat. His lips move, but not a word escapes his lips. She moves closer, trying to decipher what he's trying to say. But then he closes his mouth, his eyes holds hers once more and he smiles ever so slightly, drawing a long, ragged breath.
And then he's gone.