Brought to his knees before the kingdom after ten years of hiding, Kyros believed that he would be sentenced to death for the murder of his pack. His sentence would mean the end of it all - his torment, his abuse, his turmoil.
But his destiny change...
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Bruised images of scarlet, dripping in the damp cold gripped his mind.
Painting his memories were stains of darkness, stains of woe. Unsettling depictions of mutilated bodies and their souls being separated with a final scream tore through the past that he would never let go of.
His mother's betrayed eyes, drowning in tears flashed before him. His father's wrath, his companion's screams of terror.
The scent of bloating, rotting corpses permeated his brain as those memories passed through his mind, devouring his soul with merciless guilt. Skies blackened like their decaying skin stretched over the expanse of the skies, concealing him in a cloak of velvet as he had worked for several days to hide their mangled bodies.
To erase what had been done.
But children often do not understand that sometimes, things cannot be undone.
Things cannot be erased.
Sometimes, their impact can be felt for eternity.
Many would like to believe that children aren't capable of such atrocious crimes, but they were wrong.
They were wrong because that's what he was at the time. A child.
But was it really the child's fault if he was compelled - overtaken by a creature that dwelled within? By a creature that was under the influence of the untold and unknown evil that lurks around them?
Kyros didn't know, for what was unknown lay still in a puddle of blood, waiting for the truth to be revealed and fall upon its stiff form.
A wraith of evil seemed to loom over him, follow him wherever he went, haunting him for the deeds down by his own hands. He mourned the ones who lost their lives, yet was the one who destroyed them. Destroyed every last one of them.
Or so he thought.
Crepuscular shadows danced around him, and eyes of soulless depths devoured the sky, capturing them in pools of reflection. The storm was imprisoned in his eyes, and rain cavorted against the window steadily.
He hated the sound of rain.
Dark clouds gathered, swollen with rain as if they were preparing to cry. Preparing to mourn the day that marked the death of so many.
And cry they did.
Their tears tapped against the window as nature let itself sob, something that Kyros had rarely let himself do. He watched as the raindrops rolled down the window slowly at first, then quickly as the intensity of the rain increased.
Soon, the rain pounded against the window and Kyros covered his hands over his ears, wincing at the sound. Though he was a man, he resembled a small boy at the moment, shaking and quivering. Cold. Traitor. Death. Blood. Droplets of blood and rain clung to his hair.
