Milk And Cardamom | S. Brown ✔

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"Don't kill me... Please... Have mercy..."

The little hands gripping the sword trembled, hazel eyes locked upon the imploring features of the woman kneeling down at the ground.

"Don't listen to her!" Another voice broke the silence, commanding the child to commit the deed, "she is lying to you, she will take the first chance she gets to harm you."

"No I won't," the woman pleaded, her bony hands reaching out to clutch the boy's legs and he stepped back in fear, "I swear I won't do anything of the sort..."

She knew the boy was hesitant to go for the kill and she could see that if she managed to convince him, he would not act upon the strict words of the mercenary in black and orange armor.

"Don't... Don't come near me..." He was trembling already, drawing his feet away from the woman, "stay back..."

"Lucas, either you kill her or I will kill both of you!"

"Father don't," another voice spoke up but was silenced immediately afterwards.

"Stay out of this. And you, Lucas, I am giving you one last chance to prove yourself. Take it or be ready to face the consequences."

The woman's hands reached out imploringly towards him again, "please son... Don't do this to me, I beg you."

His face paled almost as if he was the one stabbed through the heart and not the woman whose features had contorted in pain. At that moment, the woman looked almost a haunting reflection of his own mother even though he no longer recalled what she had exactly looked like for it had been years since he had last seen her.

But that one word pierced through him, raking up his heart and soul, tearing through him yet as he tried to retrieve the sword, he realized it was too late.

Pale white contrasted with the dark of the night sky as the eight year old boy looked at his feet, hazel eyes wide in horror. The sword he held in his hand dripped of blood and the same red was pooling all around him as the woman fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, making his head spin.

He could no longer feel the pain from the wound in his side, no longer hear his father's voice addressing him either. All he could see was the color draining from the corpse at his feet, turning a deathly white as the reddish pool increased around him.

With a suppressed scream and a clatter, the sword fell on to the floor beside the dead woman whose livid eyes were still looking up at the boy, accusing him of murder.

"Don't be scared, it's all over. She can't hurt you," the familiar stern voice addressed him but the words flew past him. 

He was unable to hear anything other than the ear splitting scream that the woman lying dead had uttered a few seconds earlier.

"Lucas, pull yourself together. It's no big deal," that voice had turned irritated, as if disappointed by the fact that he was still shocked by what he had done.

And yet the boy backed off, trembling in fear. 

How could that woman hurt him when he had himself plunged the sword deep through her heart? Even if he was commanded to do so against his will, he couldn't deny the fact that his little hands had inflicted death upon a human being.

A human just like his own self, living and breathing not long before, begging him to spare her life yet lying cold on the ground at the current moment.

It was definitely a big deal for him. 

He had killed her.

He was a murderer. And committing murder could turn anyone into a monster.