She’s gone. The light in my life, the light that saved me… She’s gone. My wife is gone. Murdered. Run through by the woman I used to love.
I see her feet, armored boots planted firmly in the damp, blood-soaked earth. The tip of her sword points at the ground, angled away from her as well as the still-warm body of my wife.
My wife. My love. My salvation.
Rain falls, seeping into the ground where I’m kneeling, as if the gods themselves are weeping for the one I have lost.
Above me, I hear in a soft, gentle tone, a voice that used to master my mind and senses: “How does it feel to lose the one you love?”
I look up at her, brown eyes dull, empty, lifeless. I say nothing, all words gone from my mind. A smirk curves one corner of her red lips and a sultry laugh leaves her.
I used to hear that laugh beside me at night.
I remember the feeling of her hands on my skin. Her lips by my ear, whispering promising things… wonderful things… Our lips meeting in a multitude of ways.
I remember her body pressing against mine, fitting together like puzzle pieces. The feeling of euphoria at the night’s conclusion, feeling wild and alive…
Complete and utter bliss…
I shake my head to rid myself of the memory and drop my gaze to my wife again. Nothing can -or will ever- replace her. Nothing can help cure this ache I have in my heart. This… hole.
I remember when I first saw her, playing with the village children. Nothing but pure joy was on her face. Our eyes met only once before I moved away. We were enemies then.
I remember the first time we danced. It was a mocking waltz in my throne room. She was my prisoner at the time. I ended up letting her go, but only because I knew that a caged bird never sings, especially one as exquisite as she.
I remember the catalyst that turned my life around. My future wife showed me the light. She led me out of the darkness that was seeping into me, twisting my mind, clouding my vision. That darkness was something my former lover only encouraged.
I remember when my son was born. My wife received a terrible tear that required stitches. I stayed with her until she recovered, offering her peace, comfort, and love as my fingers combed through her hair and I held her close to me.
I remember sleeping beside her at night.
Beautiful. Captivating. Ethereal. Perfect.
I held her. Protected her. Graced gentle fingers down her soft, pale cheek. Listened to her breathing hitch as she dreamt, and comforted her when she woke.
My wife. My love. My salvation.
I hear movement above me and I glance up in time to see my former lover examine her accursed, black blade, laced with blood. Her eyes shift to meet mine, her smirk morphing into a smile that has stopped me in my tracks numerous times in the past.
Now it just fills me with rage.
My countenance darkens and I turn my baleful gaze on the murderer as I stand. Dark metal crawls up my legs, manifested by my smouldering rage. Her smile remains and she lowers her sword, watching me carefully.
“She’s dead,” she says tauntingly.
I snap.
The metal completely encases my body, a bright red gemstone on my chest over my heart. Before she can react, I step forward -over my wife’s body- and grip the murderer by her throat, hauling her into the air. Her free hand immediately goes to my own. Seeing her slight movement with her sword, I swiftly twist her wrist, forcing her to drop the blade, and kick it away with my foot. Both of her hands go to the one I have gripping her neck now.
“You took her away from me,” I growl, my lips peeled back in a snarl.
The murderer spits something in return, though her words are garbled because of her current predicament. She uses my hold on her to gain leverage and kicks me square in the center of the diamond on my chest. I stagger back a step. Her nails split where she claws at my metallic arms while she continues to kick me blindly.
My grip on her throat tightens, my eyes alight with fury.
Panicked now, the blasted woman unsheathes a dagger I had not seen before, lashing out with it. The blade meets its mark in the diamond in my chest.
A cry leaves me and I release my grip on her. The metal recedes as I fall to my knees, my tears renewed as I realize that there is nothing I can do.
The woman coughs violently, struggling to recover her breath. After she does, she sheathes her dagger as well as the cursed sword, albeit shakily. Her voice a bit hoarse now, she says, “It’s over. She’s gone. She is not coming back.”
Her words rebound off of the walls of my mind. I say nothing in response and press my brow to the earth with my arms wrapped around my abdomen, struggling to keep back my sobs. The physical pain I feel is nothing compared to the utter agony present in my heart. The rainwater mixes with the tears on my cheeks.
It’s over. She’s gone. She is not coming back.
My son will be motherless. I will be a widower. There’s nothing I can do.
My wife is gone. All light is gone. My salvation is gone.
It’s over.
She’s gone.
