Vengeance Shall Find Him

PS Elements 8, Wacom Graphire.



Corrin's blades cut through her with little resistance, her blood flowing free, a wash of red against the orange haze of the burning village. It streamed and covered her, and as she crumpled to the ground, a pair of arms fell underneath her, supporting what was left of her weight.

"Sehra!" A strangled cry escaped the elf's lips as he pulled the dying girl to his chest, staining himself in her blood.

So that was her name, then. It was done. He had a whisper to haunt what little conscience he still possessed, until the letters were skewed and stretched, blown away into tiny shattered fragments. He'd never intended to kill the girl. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, something he could not accept fault for. And now there was nothing left. Nothing but the smell of the flames licking along the thatched roofs and the sound of that pathetic elf sobbing his heart dry.

"Damned coward!"

It wasn't an elvish curse, to be certain. The harsh words were sputtered in Common, and a vague smirk tugged at Corrin's lip. He turned, in the slowest sense of the word, casting a dark glance over his shoulder. The elf was slumped over his love, clutching her to his chest, soaked through in red. He reached for his etched staff, his fingers curling desperately around it, and Corrin's sad amusement lit through his eyes. He shook his head - just a brief trace of a motion - and turned back.

"Face me, you coward! If you can take her, you can take me too!"

"Fool," he mused, pursing his lips with the word.

He started walking. Even as the elf's anger spread as a flood through his veins, he left him there, wiping the girl's blood from his blades with the side of his glove.