I was free. The thought was slow and lethargic, rising hesitantly in my mind like the morning sun over the horizon. I couldn't quite bring myself to believe it, and constantly touched the smooth, pale skin of my chest, running my fingers over the spaces scarlet lines had once occupied. Tears slipped free of my eyes, warm and unnoticed, as reality finally sank in.
But at what cost? The thrills of relief faded as my gaze fell on the slumped corpse before me, and the staff pulsing warmly in my hand. I gripped it tightly, squeezing my eyes shut in transitory anger. Why hadn't Fate come sooner? Why did Aurle have to die?
But the sparks were short-lived, and I sighed, letting it all out. Aurle hadn't died. She'd been killed. Her sweet, previous life was stolen by the man I loathed above all others. He was responsible for the last months of unbearable torture and humiliation.
