𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕆𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 ¦ 𝔽𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕪𝕤 𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕞

𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝚊 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎

Pushing up onto her wobbling legs, using a hand on the wall for balance Isleen hobbled towards the door, following the voices towards the main square, where the bodies of the Lords lay awaiting them.

She counted at least three different male voices, variating in depth and tone as the scanned mulling over the carnage surrounding them, pulling herself up to level the window, Isleen used the shreds of her sleeve to wipe at the yellowing pollen coating the glass like a sheen of freshly layered sweat.

Three sets of boots stood inches from the build in which she hid, their hesitation blatant as they paused to take in the six lords lifeless dissembled bodies. Their blood painting the court yard like freshly brushed paint, each stroke reddening the stone work.

The lines blurred, the pulsing pounding behind her eyes. Groaning Isleen blinked back the blur. Gripping to the frame of the building. Seizing tighten, she waited until her vison cleared enough for her to see straight without the world warping around her. Whatever power that girl had used, made something inside her shift. Unhinged or reverse,

With the pounding Isleen couldn't find enough stability to place what it was that was different, but like a gapping had opened in her chest cavity, something was missing.

With a little more surety then before she made way to slip out the door.

Keeping close to the walls, it was the safest way to not alert the trio of her presence. She couldn't trust them to not be alone, so staying hiding may be her best chance at surviving long enough to gather some information.

"Are they all dead?"

Yes. She wanted to answer the male.

Dead.

Dead.

All Dead.

Gone forever.

She peeped out from around the building wall. The male closest to where she hid had a lop of dark hair, his body littered with deadly looking weapons, many which Isleen had only ever seen imperial soldiers or mercenaries carry, but whoever he was she doubted he would think lightly on her eavesdropping.

"No they're just sleeping" the comment came from a blonde haired male beside him, they shared many things in comparison, to the set of their shoulders, and leaned packed on muscle. Brothers perhaps? Isleen watched them from the wall, but where was the third?

Creeping closer she hazards a look further into the court yard where the disfigured bodies lay. Her body chilled and hands began to tremble against the stone at the sight which drew breath and froze the blood. A ruining so great even these males stopped to admire the deathly beauty of it all.
Perhaps in shock and fear of the raw display of unchecked magic.

In the middle, the girl, still blood coated, knelt in the blood. The centre of the whole carnage.

The stone beneath her was cracked in lines that spiderwebbed around the yard, all stemming from where she knelt onto the brick. The crimson liquid seeping down into the crack, permanently searing their presence into the ground.

The golden hair of the girl, curtained her face, hiding it almost entirely from view.

The third male was approaching, slowly. An elongated dagger in his tattooed hand, an extension so deadly and sharp, it could only ever promise pain, no threats, just pain.

The broad shoulders of the male were bunched in anticipation when he crept closer, silver hair cascaded down his back around the sword strapped to his spine. Manoeuvring around the limbs and occasional decapitated head. The girl didn't move, Isleen wanted to shout a warning to her, the male gaining in distance, but she made no acknowledgement she was aware in any space of time. She couldn't be dead. But she was in a trance somewhere in the shadows between worlds, between space and time, unaware of the living world around her.