H I M
The one he'd die for, wanted to kill him the same,
But death would be a guest he'd welcome, if she promised to sit by his grave.
................................................
H E R
If there was a list of all the sins she was t...
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Anything well said, is believed.
Words were weapons, the deadliest of them all. And he knew how to weild them. With such expertise that the truth itself would question its existence.
The eyes see what the mind believes. His father was a wicked man, sharp as a fox and just as cunning. And he was his son, which made him worse than him. And there were times when he had realised himself, that he was far worse than his father.
He emerged from the lake, his soaked hair hindering his vision before he swept them across his face. The water glistened from his body, tiny drops of water tracing down their path, gliding from his neck to the dip of his collarbone, before sliding across his chest. The carpet of grass was soft beneath his feet, as he walked towards the tent.
"Did you wash away all your sins?" A bemused voice greeted him. He picked up the white cloth, drying himself.
"What sins are you talking about? I am but a saint." He jested, drawing a chuckle from the elderly man.
"I can see that.."
"Oh, but you cannot." The words left him, and his lips twitched up near the ends. "You seem well rested, Aarya. Any particular reason for your elation?"
"I meant to deliver bad news, actually." His mentor's voice turned serious, the clouds in his eyes turning darker, "The people of Taransh are terrified. They are afraid of leaving their homes at night, they fear they'll get attacked again, the situation.. it's gruesome. Terrible."
He shut his eyes close.
A vision passed him, burning houses, people screaming, women wailing, cattle scurrying, and he opened them abruptly. The scene was ghastly.
This wasn't meant to happen.
"I know.." there was remorse in his voice, "They are innocent, yet they are the ones suffering."
"The king will interfere now, he won't let this act slide. Besides the news of these attacks have been reaching him for quite a time now, but he cannot turn a blind eye to it this time."
His hands closed in a fist.
He meant to say something, something about the king. Of how ignorant he was, how uncaring of his people, that it took such a huge attack for him to finally acknowledge the matter at hand?
"What do you think he'll do?" He stood up when his mentor did, as they walked out of the tent.
"He'll try to make haste, in accomplishing what he meant to." They fell into step beside each other, their strides evasive like their thoughts.
He could hear the distant wallow of the nightingale, as if the bird was weeping for what was to come, warning the chirping birds of the misery that would reckon them.
"What does the king want to accomplish?" A feminine voice interjected, the sound of jingles enunciating from her bangles. The voice made him pause, and think back to the time he had heard her bangles chime. He remembered thinking how the sound had felt so much like music to his ears. Before she had placed the dagger at his throat.
