So I'd never thought I'd continue this, but something took over me- probably the fact that Elizabeth tried to protect Meliodas. Also I wanted to thank these fabulous people:
missamouron: compared to zeldris and brand-new authors I am nothing trust me.
papapapuffy (I had fun typing your name out): you can be sure there'll be many more fic to come. And yes, this is a bonus for you and your wonderful thought about my fic. Why can't I reply to your review though?
This couldn't be happening.
Shit.
He cradled Elizabeth in his arms, the girl unconscious, blood pouring from her right arm and left leg. Her eyes were so peacefully closed, it made him unstable. Please, please don't die, you can't die on me, he spoke in his mess of a mind, already filled with thoughts of revenge, hatred and remorse.
Why did she… why did she have to get injured like this? Around him the walls were crumbling, but all he cared about was using his body as a shield to protect her. His gloved hand under her head, her soft hair taking him back to all the times he'd ruffled his hand in it, then to the times when he'd tucked those covers with those same old fingers of his and kissed her goodnight. No, this could not be happening, she could not die now, he still had to make it up to her…
How could she, a young princess who didn't even know it was he who saved her, he who managed the infamous Sins, try to save him?
It wasn't because she wasn't capable; that was merely a side reason. Maybe she didn't really understand that he was a master swordsman, with immeasurable strength and durability, able to weasel his way out of Death's grasp no matter how many times It tried. But still the guilt gnawing at his bones did not leave him. He couldn't let her get hurt on his account.
The guilt eventually swelled, and swallowed him whole. All he could see was her limp figure in his arms and his demon mode taking over.
He didn't shed a single tear, unlike that night.
Instead he lost consciousness after taking a blow to his head by a fellow comrade. Former fellow comrade, he might nearly say.
Later when he found himself in a cave with a talking pig, the only thing that interrupted his train of thought was the memory of Wandle. All the time, behind that poker face of his, when Hawk had been complaining to him, he had been wondering about her. Wondering if she was okay, wondering if she blamed him for what had happened, wondering if she was mad at him.
He'd never wondered about her forgetting him.
