He had never tried loving someone before. At least not in a romantic concept. The only love he had shared with anyone was love for his family and friends. Romantic love was not something he had tried.
Not until he met her. From the very beginning she had been different, from the very beginning he had wanted her, desired for her, and he had taken her… completely. At least he thought he had taken her completely.
He was realizing how stupid that thought was.
Many questions passed through his head in that moment. Did she really hate him that much? So much so that she would slowly, diligently and oh so perfectly scheme for his death?
All he had done wrong was loving her. Was that such a great sin that she would require his life for it?
Maybe loving her was his punishment for not letting her go on that very night, and being stabbed in the chest by her was his punishment for loving her.
