Tears welled up in William's eyes, falling unbidden down his cheeks as his voice cracked. "Elena... My dearest Elena..." he whispered, the words heavy with the weight of his grief.
His body shook, weakened by both emotion and the blood that soaked his clothes. The warm, sticky sensation of the blood against his skin felt alien, but it was not his pain that consumed him—it was the agony of what he had done. What he had been forced to do.
Across from him, Elena's wide, glassy eyes locked onto his. The world around them faded as her once lively gaze, filled with so much love and hope, now reflected only the stark horror of what had just happened. Her features, pale and ethereal in the dying light, trembled with a mixture of shock and disbelief as she slumped forward, collapsing into William's arms. The dagger she had clutched so tightly slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground with a sharp metallic clatter that seemed to echo through the empty air.
