Till Sunrise┊Luke Castellan

27 .·:·The Fall from Grace

Friedrich von Mülle, Karl. 'Romeo and Juliet'. 1842

Words: 918

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As the moon cast its silvery light over the ancient woods, the clash of swords shattered the stillness of the night. Phoebe's heart racing in her chest, her senses sharpening as adrenaline surged through her veins. Luke's movements were fluid and precise, his sword a deadly extension of his will. Every strike he made seemed to be imbued with an almost supernatural speed and strength as if he were drawing power from the very depths of the earth itself.

The air crackled with energy as their swords clashed again and again, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath. Phoebe's muscles screamed in protest as she strained against Luke's onslaught, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tide of battle in her favour.

And then, in a flash of movement too quick for her to follow, Luke swung his sword with a force that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. His eyes burned with a fierce determination, their intensity piercing through the darkness like twin beacons of light.

Phoebe barely had time to register the danger before his blade came crashing down towards her, the air singing with the sound of steel meeting steel. She raised her own sword just in time to deflect the blow, the impact sending shockwaves reverberating through her body.

As she staggered back, her mind reeling from the force of the blow, Luke swung again. The movement was swift, almost too swift for Phoebe to register as anything more than a blur, a fleeting shadow in the moonlight.

Luke expected the metallic clash to echo through the woods, instead his eyes widened in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat. The surge of adrenaline drowned out all other sounds, amplifying the rhythm of his own heartbeat as it thundered in his ears. Phoebe's gasp, barely audible amidst the chaos of battle, reached him like a distant whisper.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to slow, the world reduced to the two combatants locked in a deadly embrace. Phoebe's senses reeled as she felt the searing pain blossom across her abdomen, a sensation as sharp and sudden as a lightning bolt. The warmth of her own blood trickled down her skin, mingling with the sweat of exertion.

A tremor ran through Luke's frame, his grip faltering for the briefest of seconds as if an unseen force had struck him, disrupting his balance. His gaze fell upon Phoebe, a mixture of horror and disbelief reflected in his eyes. The realisation dawned upon him with a chilling clarity - the wound he had inflicted, the exact spot where she had shown him to aim earlier that day.

The intense tingle intensified, and Phoebe gasped as she felt her nervous system catch up to the fact that thousands of circuits had just been broken. Instinctively, she sought to contain the damage, her palm pressing down with a desperate urgency.

Stumbling backwards, her movements driven by a primal instinct to escape the searing pain that threatened to consume her, Phoebe found herself pressed against the rough bark of a towering tree.

She heard the clatter of metal, the sound ringing out like a discordant symphony in the silent forest. With aching limbs, she lifted her gaze to see Luke rushing towards her, his eyes glazed with shock and sorrow.

"Please, Phoebe, I didn't want it to go like this." He reached out, his fingers curling around the fabric of her shirt as if seeking solace in the touch of her skin. "I didn't want it to go like this."

"Please, you understand right, you have to understand that I had to do this," he begged her, voice cracking. But all she could do was clutch her side tightly. "That I had no choice."

"You understand right? Phoebe?" His voice was desperate, pleading for absolution. But Phoebe couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes anymore, his brown eyes being nearly as painful as the gash.

He released her shirt, taking a few clumsy steps back, his hands stained like a crimson sunset, trembling in the dim light of the forest. Phoebe braced herself against the rough bark of the tree behind her.

As she glanced up at him, his eyes, nearly the same hue as his bloodied hands, stared down at her side, concealed by the hand that clutched it.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe. Please, I'm so sorry. I didn't have a choice," he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation.

"You can't even look me in the eye." She winced out painfully.

"I'm sorry Phoebe."

"Apologies aren't going to fix this," she declared, her voice laced with a bitter resolve as she stared up at him, her hand pressed tightly against her stomach, where the wound throbbed with each beat of her heart.

And as she looked up at him, she felt him leave her even before he took his first step away. Her beguiling Luke Castellan.

A conch shell echoed through the woods, its mournful cry mingling with the distant shouts of demigods. Luke glanced around skittishly before fixing his gaze back on her.

With a hard swallow, he steadied himself and shakily approached her. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her cheek.

"I'll come back for you. I promise," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the whispers of the wind.

Then, with a lingering glance filled with sorrow and regret, he took a step back, then another, retreating into the shadows. The saltiness of her tears fresh on his lips.