Hands of Death

14th of February 1996 in Veorasia. The day my brother, Lucius Forrest, was murdered. I didn't know who it was or why he was murdered nor did I have the time to find out. Everyone assumed it was just another death of a supernatural, formed from the jealousy of a lowlife, so I assumed that as well, but deep down, I knew it was no ordinary slaughter. What kind of lowlife would even think to beat up a supernatural so ruthlessly, burn some of his internal organs, gouge his eyes out and stab him right through the heart with a sword?

Why? I still ask myself this one-word question. Why? This tiny little word makes a million different questions run through my mind.

Why didn't I kill myself?
Why didn't I save him?
Why was I given such a horrible father?
Why am I protecting him, knowing he's the reason why I'm suffering?
Why did he kill my brother?
Why did he die?

The last 2 questions burn furiously in my mind like a never-ending flame. It made me question my existence and made me wonder if I hated him or not.

However, all of these questions did not suddenly come to mind after Lucius' death. No. It came to mind when I started living in the castle (AKA the hell hole), with my father but even with a ruthless father like him and questions like the above burning in the back of my mind, I still fought- fought for freedom. Not just my freedom but for Lukas' freedom as well. At that time, the only thought in my head was that I had to protect myself and him from the hands of death. I had to first live then cry.