Blood dripped from the knife to which was pierced through the chest of Eadith. Blood. Blood. And more blood was all Arveion thought of and he knew the deaths, the cries and screams were yet to be over. He knew that there would be more.
And he knew that he couldn't save all of them. He felt it, the hairs standing on his neck, the blood dripping in slow motioning and the hole casted in the earth also deepening as time flashed. He thought about his brother—Davis, who would give it his all just to save everyone, putting himself last—and wondered if he'll shake his hand for the person he has become.
Everytime he has her in his grasp, there's always something pulling them back apart from each other and it hurts him that it hurts her in the end. Like they weren't meant to be together…
