Years from now, unborn generations will curse Vival's name. They will spit upon her grave and scoff at her triumphs, and ignore all of her accomplishments in favor of this moment.
That, she thinks, hurts more than defeat. It hurts more than the emerald eyes of her treacherous wife boring into her, or the dagger buried in her chest, or the crown of silver and rubies slipping off her head- symbolism, perhaps?
Blood begins to bubble from Vival's lips. She reaches out, her ebony hand streaked with crimson, and touches Katerina's cheek.
"Why?" she rasps. And then she is dead.
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100 Word Drabbles
RandomDrabbles. Half baked story ideas, and possible prompts. Feel free to expand upon them how you see fit.
