(100 words.)
She was – for too many years, perhaps – the finest weapon in his arsenal. Her body a blade forged by their shared anger, a pistol pointed at their enemy's heart, molded carefully to fit his hand.
He relied on her too heavily, this weapon that was always bound to slip his grip and bite into his flesh.
He feels her absence now most keenly during a fight, when he reaches for his blade and does not hear the distant whisper of her own sliding from its sheath. None of the others are quite so capable of turning his intentions into bloodshed.