Befouled

A Kingdom in Ruin

     Doran towered over the bodies of two men, hands dripping with their blood, his enormous figure casting a shadow over the whole of the alleyway. They were unrecognizable. Any semblance of a human face which there once was had been reduced to a crimson paste. Why didn't you run? He thought. You were supposed to run.
     A mother and her daughter cowered against the alley wall, terrified, covered in the gore, shrouded in shadow. He turned to them and they hugged each other tighter. His eyes widened; they were scared, no longer of the men who had attacked them, but of him. He wiped what blood he could off of his hands and swept his long, blood soaked hair out of his face and crouched down to their level, putting on a warm smile as best he could.
The woman tightened her grip over her child as Doran sunk closer to her level.
      "Don't worry," he said. "I won't hurt you." He reached out to the mother to help her up. She looked at him, her gaze softened. She was met, not with the face of a monster, a warrior, or some ruthless vigilante, but a child. She grabbed his hand, and he helped her to her feet. Even as he helped her, she still did cower away from him. She stepped away upon standing, wiping the tears out from her eyes and shielding her daughter.
      "Thank you." she said, with a tremble in her voice. She stepped away from him, keeping her eyes on him before turning and running out of the alley.
     "You're welcome." He muttered and watched them run away.
He looked at the ground, and immediately it was as though all the force of a tsunami struck him at once, knocking the breath from his lungs. Hyperventilating and nauseated, he stumbled back into the wall, sliding down it until he could feel blood soak his pant legs. Tears welled in his eyes, but none would flow. Inside he was screaming, but no sound would come from his mouth. So he sat, alone, and waited.
Some way down the street, a very short, slightly older woman with long, red hair walked. She held under her arm an ornate golden helm, with silver and ivory accents, and wore a suit of identically colored and similarly designed armor. She had a large glaive, taller than herself, sheathed on her back. She seemed upset, to say the least of things. Her eyes told a story. Her irises looked as if they had lost all color, and the bags under her eyes were as dark and prominent as they could be.
     A smell of raw iron, a smell she knew well, became readily apparent, growing stronger as she walked towards the alley. She halted, confusion and a touch of anxiety swept over her. She squinted her eyes, looking forward at the ground. Something was flowing through the cracks of the bricks, though she couldn't quite make out what it was, what with the shadow of the buildings beside her and the fading light of the setting sun. Still she crept closer and hunkered down to the ground to see what it was. Fresh blood. The sheer quantity made her queasy. She took a moment to compose herself before standing up. Her body language changed sharply, she seemed now battle ready. She quietly set her helmet on the ground, and pulled her glaive off of her back.
She crept towards the entrance of the alleyway. She finally rounded the corner to the alley, recoiling at the sight. Not for the gore, but because of Doran, sitting there covered in the blood.
She dropped her glaive rushing to Doran's side, almost tripping over herself. kneeling down next to him, she cradled his cheeks and turned his face towards her's, looking up at him.
     "Doran, Doran! What's going on buddy, what is all this? Are you hurt?" she spat out, her eyes wide with fear.
     "I... I killed them Amelia..." He finally managed to say, after what felt to her like an eternity. His voice was quiet and shaky, barely even audible.
     Her heart dropped, and her face went sickly pale. She tried to speak, but choked on her own words.
     "They... they should've run." Doran said, his voice a little stronger, tears beginning to flow.
     "Why didn't they run Amelia? Why didn't they run?" he said through sobs and sniffles.
"I— I don't know Doran, but we have to get out of here." She recuperated herself and stood up grabbing Doran by the hand, attempting to pull him up. He pulled away from her grasp and crawled to one of the men's corpses.
"Doran what are you-" He started chest compressions. A vain attempt to undo what was already done. Alas, all he ended up doing was caving a hole directly through their chest. He lifted his hands to look at them. He inhaled sharply before letting out a primal, animalistic wail. A sound of pure unbridled anguish and regret. Amelia struggled to maintain her composure, a few stray tears rolling down her face. She hesitated a moment before gently placing her hand on Doran's shoulder.
     "Doran, we have to go. You can't be seen like this." Her plea fell on deaf ears however, the boy seemed scarcely even conscious of his actions. "Doran!" She said even more firmly, her voice cracking a bit. "We have to go, now!" she said assertively.
Doran didn't respond; he just cried more. She moved her hand and stepped to walk away, believing he needed time alone. She barely made it a step before she was nearly knocked over by the full weight of Doran wrapping around her.
"Please don't go!" He cried out. "Please!"
His pleas muffled against her armor.
Amelia stopped a moment, looking at him over her shoulder. She stood there, frozen as Doran sobbed into her back. She thought a moment more before she turned around in his grasp and gently wrapped her arms around him and sank to her knees. Doran fully caved into her embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso.
She stroked his hair gently, closing her eyes as he weeped into her bosom.
"It's okay. You're okay." She whispered shutting her eyes tightly.