He stood over her and watched the blood pour out of her, stain the ground. Then he knelt and pressed cool fingers to her throat. She had to die all the way before he could know, so all he could do was watch and wait.
He ran a hand through hair bleached-white from the sun, colorless in a colorful world. The wounds at his shoulder - seven slashes, as from a seven-clawed beast - bled sluggishly. Gingerly he tugged his sleeve up to cover the wounds and waited for her to die. For one moment, his colorless eyes were blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment