I should never be allowed to write death scenes. I ended up writing my character, Warne, having been stabbed in the back(not literally, the sword pierced his abdomen. I mean he was betrayed) by…someone. He’s dying in the place where the used to love, that he dreams of during the war. Tall grass and blooming flowers make a sort of halo around his broken and bloodied body. He lies on his back, eyes fluttering shut and closed, watching the bright sun above. He gazes at the just visible stars. The Valley of Time was a truly beautiful place.
Blood pools around him, shattering the innocence of the scene. For one could think he was merely resting, a boy sated after a day of play. Rainbows dance over his skin, painting his bare arms and high cheekbones like fine art.
The scene is ethereal, and poetic. The irony of how such a life shall end in the very place where it began.
Tragedy is most often beautiful, we weep, for no one is allowed to see it.