They swung open the cage door, cattle prods at full power, humming with electricity. The man lazily lifted his hands in surrender. "Now, now." He said softly. His voice was like velvet. "No need. I'll do as you please." The man in the cage said, his...
Authors Note: 12/06/2024 Hi everyone! I normally don't do these, and I don't plan on making it a habit. Quick one- I realized this morning when my "post chapter" alarm rang that I had accidentally posted a chapter yesterday mistaking it for Friday. Time runs a little weird for me sometimes. Because this was my mistake, and I've promised a chapter every Friday, I'm giving you an extra one today! Consider the double posting an extra "happy holidays" gift from me. Enjoy!
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Kiril heaved the ax down, letting the blade shear through wood like it was butter. Sweat oiled his body, and his arms trembled. He'd been at it for hours. He had hoped that the monotony of the activity would dull the pain in his heart.
There was a second, darker hope that he'd have the courage to shove his body onto the ax head, but he didn't. He was too much of a coward to die by his own hand.
So he kept chopping, as if destroying all the wood in the lot, all the wood in the world, would somehow fix what had broken all over again.
He imagined Dimetreaus' head splitting under the ax, for convincing Theophania to ever come here, and then again for abandoning her.
He imagined the lycan Augustus' head splitting under the ax, for opening its foul jaws and sinking venomous teeth into her flesh, and making her dangerous enough to be killed over.
He imagined his brother Vsevolod's head splitting under the ax, for more reasons that he could recount or even understand.
He imagined his own head splitting under the ax, for failing her yet again. When he thought of her, he didn't know which one of them he meant. Theophania, or Mischa.
Kiril tried to think of them. Mischa's face was blurry in his mind. He could hardly remember what she looked like after all this time. There were no remnants left of her in the world except for his fading memories, and he couldn't even remember her in the vibrancy of life. Tears pricked his eyes as he recalled her all too pale face, the blood on her lips, the tone in her dying words. "Forgive me."
And now he would have to remember Theophania like that too. He never should have looked at her body. He never should have seen her in such an extraordinarily broken way. He tried to imagine her curly black hair, clean and beautiful as it had been in the lake. Instead, he saw it caked in her own blood, plastered to her face. Her face, so swollen and bloody and destroyed that she didn't even look human.
He heaved the ax down through the last round of wood he had, and it kept on going right through the chopping block, splintering it into a hundred mangled pieces.
There was nothing left.
Kiril let out a roar and slung the ax into the treeline, collapsing to his knees and slamming his fists down on the splintered mess of wood until he bled, the tears blurring everything except for the mental images he wished he didn't have of her.
