Village of sorrow ~ Ethan Winters x Reader

End Of The Line, Dimitrescu

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Chapter XI.
Wordcount: 7126

(These next couple chapters still need to be re-written and re-polished, so there'll be rough/older/less experienced writing from here on out until chapter 11/12

Expect oddities in the dynamic between Ethan and the reader, as I haven't finished to re-write their arc completely. That being said, this chapter and a few more upcoming ones might feel a little more 'jagged')

"Another daughter gone." You murmured, looking down at the sorrowful pile. "—But how did you do it...? Bullets do not work on them, correct?"

Ethan shook his head and pointed to the skylight that was bathing the both of you in vibrant cold morning light. "It's the cold."

"Cold? The cold killed them? Something as simple as the 'cold' is capable of doing such a monster in?"

He pulled his lips in. "No, the cold weakens their body—or something. Weakens their resistance enough for bullets to do damage."

With slow nods; showing him that you understood, you gazed back down at the pile of ash. "It made them mortal..."

"—It made the fight fair. Karma is a bitch. They got exactly what was comin' for em."

Silence followed. The chilly wind blew in through the skylight, howling like a widowed wolf as it swept Daniela's ashes away. You didn't know if the cold raised the hairs on your back, or the sight of her ashes blowing away like nothing.

That was a person.

Or...

Used to be.

It didn't feel right. Seeing as all that remained of the living being a few minutes ago, were a few specks of ash. Most of it had already swept between the crooks of the closets, attached itself against rotten books, hid in dark corners.

"Do you really think so?" You turned towards the silent blonde. "Do you believe they deserved this? Do not get me wrong, I bear a lot of anger in my heart for what they did to me just now but— Don't you think we have both been dealt a bad hand?"

His eyebrows creased up at that. It seemed he didn't have much to say, for his mouth opened once, just for it to close again. No word being spoken. He looked distressed. The question making him think about his morals and what he stood for. He took two of someone's daughter's lifes in search for his own one. Was he a hypocrite?

"(....)." He quietly spoke your name. "I don't — I don't want to answer that." Ethan knew that your empathy came from a good place, but this questioned too much off the gray matter in his brain.

You gave his shoulder a soft squeeze, tapping him out of his thoughts. "That's perfectly understandable. Don't fret, I don't mean to judge you. You did a good thing, Ethan."

"Good?—No I, I just want to get my daughter out of here, (....). Never wanted to do anyone any harm, just, they tried to kill me and then they got you. They forced my hand." Blue eyes peeked through his narrowed eyelids. Cautiously examining your face. "You understand me, right?"

You gave him an understanding nod.
"Yes, they attacked us in the first place... We'll get your daughter. Just wish it didn't involve so much of..." You looked at the heel of your shoe, covered in ash.

"I know, I know. Me too. Come on, we should get going." He sighed.

Ethan looked down at your hand, fingers tightly wrapped around the Russian model. "Oh on a, uh, lighter note. I found you something a few hours ago. Let me go get it." He walked towards one of the bookshelves, sliding out a dusty bag that he had most likely propped there. "I figured having to hold your gun all the time or having to hide it in that dress of yours can be pretty inefficient."