chapter sixty eight: a struggle

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WARNING: this is graphic. if you don't wanna hear about stabbings, go to the next chapter. love u guys!!
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Immediately, she got an idea.

The young woman reached down, shoving her hand into his back pocket and grabbing the pocketknife by its handle.

Immediately, he reeled backwards, realizing that she had gotten her hands on his weapon- but it was too late.

She jammed it into his back, since she couldn't reach far enough for more deadly targets, such as his throat.

He let out a bloodcurdling yell as he threw her off of him, blood streaming down his back.

She fell to the muddy and wet earth beneath her, a sickening crack echoing throughout the night as her leg snapped.

She screamed, far louder than he had, as he turned to face to her, having ripped the knife out of his back and now holding it high above her head.

She tried to get up, but fell back down- her broken leg combined with the slippery and wet floor, along with the searing pain she was in, sent her right back to her knees at his feet.

With a loud grunt, he brought it down right on her chest, the blade ripping through her clothes and piercing it's way into her flesh.

Fueled by his anger at her attack, he repeatedly drove it into her chest until she slipped out of consciousness.

Luckily though, in his rage, he hadn't thought logically enough to go for the heart- while most of her chest and abdomen had been ripped apart, her most important organs remained for the most part, at least, safe.

Once he was finished, he shakily stood up before turning and running away, back to the village, leaving her bloody body behind him.

She had put up a good fight, but would it be enough?

Vlad, meanwhile, was furious. He was so angry, in fact, that he hadn't even heard her out, let her explain what she was doing with that man.

A small voice in the back of his head rang out, telling him that maybe he should have- maybe this was all some big misunderstanding?

Maybe he should even go back and apologize?

And maybe come with a new door for her. He felt a pang of guilt wash over him at the thought of her home flooding in the rain because of what he had done.

He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands as he stared out the window and pondered it all.

Did he even still have a chance with her after lashing out like that?

With every moment that dragged by, he regretted his actions more and more.

Maybe that small voice was right.

Finally, he stood up with a sigh, making up his mind:

He was going to go apologize to her.

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