Can I Be Buried Here Among the Dead?
Frailty, he thinks as silver hair slips between his clawed fingers. Frailty, thy name is woman. Her neck and heart broke so easily but still, she let him kill her.
He sinks to his knees, bent double to press his forehead against the cold and solid decking. He can still see the corpses, hear the dying gasps, feel their pulses palpitate beneath his fingers like dying butterflies.
It is so bitter to him.
He throws his head back, laughing to the sky and the God only he believes in. "WHY!" he shrieks, and means: Why can't I be frail, too?
