Auther Note: I'm giving a warning, this chapter is darker than usually.
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The weight of Rowlin's order came crashing down on Seraphina like a landslide. Her breath hitched as her gaze shifted and stared at the merchants, huddled and bound.
The child clutched his mother's arm, his wide, tear-filled eyes looking at her with a mixture of fear and incomprehension.
"Kill them."
Rowlin's cold voice echoed in her mind.
Her heart pounded, her hand trembling on the hilt of her blade. The thought of ending their lives filled her with revulsion. Every fiber of her being screamed to stop, to defy this command and let them go.
She was not a monster, she had never taken innocent lives. She had killed people before, that was something she couldn't deny, but they were all bandits, people that had done crime or attempted to harm her— she rationalized that as the way of this world.
After waking up here, after the fusion of her memories, she had to adapt— such a step was a hard one but she could delude herself with it being the right way.
But deep down, she knew she couldn't do this.
'If I refuse... Samuel, Edwin... they'll die.'
Her thoughts churned, twisting and turning as she tried to rationalize what she was about to do. Karel wouldn't kill her— her position as the daughter of the Willows Dukedom was too valuable.
But he would kill them— Edwin and Samuel's lives were already hanging by a thread; all it would take was one failure, one act of defiance, to sever it.
'They're counting on me. If I don't do this, it's over for them.'
The justification was hollow, she knew it was nothing more than a desperate attempt to suppress the wave of guilt and despair crashing over her.
She could already feel the cold emptiness spreading through her chest as she gripped her sword tighter and moved slowly toward the group.
The merchants' muffled cries grew louder, their fear palpable as they squirmed against their bonds. As she stepped forward, her movements were stiff and mechanical, like a puppet being controlled by invisible strings.
Her violet eyes locked onto the merchant leader's tear-streaked face. He tried to speak, his voice trembling and hoarse.
"Please... have mercy. We—"
The blade flashed.
One swift strike silenced him, his body crumpling to the ground. The blood gushed out onto her body, before seeped into the dirt, the vivid red staining her vision.
Seraphina froze, her chest heaving as she saw the lifeless body lying before her.
The weight of what she'd done hit her like a tidal wave, but there was no time to dwell— she shifted her eyes slightly behind her to see the bandits watching.
Rowlin's gaze bore into her, his silence an unspoken command to continue.
One by one, the merchants fell. Each death felt like a piece of her soul being ripped away— she avoided their eyes, focusing only on the task at hand.
It was like a blur, her blade moved without thought and she simply sliced, ensuring the deaths were quick and painless— what little mercy she could offer.
When she finally reached the woman and child, her composure cracked. The woman clutched the boy tightly, shielding him with her body even though she knew it was futile.
"Please... don't..."
The woman's voice broke, her plea a dagger to Seraphina's heart— her eyes widening with a mixture of emotions as she stared at them.
Her hand trembled, her grip on the sword weakening.
She glanced at Rowlin, hoping for some reprieve, some sign that he would intervene. But his expression remained impassive, his arms crossed as he watched from a distance.
Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall.
'It's for them. For Edwin. For Samuel. For myself.'
The mantra repeated in her mind, a desperate attempt to drown out the woman's cries, the child's whimpers. With a shaky breath, she raised her blade and stepped forward.
When it was done, she stood in silence, her body trembling.
The blade slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground— blood stained her hands, her clothes, her very soul. She couldn't bring herself to look at the bodies, her gaze fixed on the dirt beneath her feet.
Rowlin approached, his tone as cold as ever.
"You follow orders well."
She didn't even bother to respond, she didn't have the energy left to, her lips pressed into a thin line. Without another word, she turned and began walking back to the camp, the wagon laden with stolen goods rumbling behind her shortly after.
The bandits followed their jeers and laughter subdued, as though even they were unnerved by what had transpired.
The journey back was a blur.
Seraphina didn't speak, didn't meet anyone's eyes— her mind replayed the events over and over, each moment a fresh wound that refused to close. The child's face, the mother's screams, the warm blood on her hands— they haunted her every step.
When they reached the camp, she moved like a ghost, her body on autopilot as she made her way to the cell. Samuel and Edwin looked up as she entered, their expressions shifting from relief to alarm at the sight of her.
"Seraphina—"
Edwin started, but she raised a hand to silence him.
"I don't want to talk."
Her voice was hollow, devoid of emotion.
She moved to her corner and sat down, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her head against the wall.
"Please... leave me alone."
They exchanged worried glances but didn't press her. The silence in the cell was heavy, suffocating, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp outside.
Seraphina stared at the wall, her mind a storm of memories and emotions. The guilt clawed at her, threatening to consume her— she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep herself together.
'This isn't over.'
The thought flickered in her mind, this was all the fault of those people, those bandits— but even above them, it was the fault of the people who forced her into this situation, whoever it was in her family that tried to kill her.
She would endure this, not for the sake of anyone else, but for herself. But the cost of survival was already carving deep scars into her soul— ones she wasn't sure she could ever heal.