Some tales begin at a wretched, bloody end. It''s not, however, to be understood that the bleeding ends. Just his. She huddled against a biting stone wall, part of an alleyway as dead and unfeeling as his corpse. Rain cared to wash away the blood, but it was in no great hurry as she observed the streams of red sprawling into dissolution. Her time crouched there she measured by the ending of this flow. As she gathered herself, a terrible ache came to focus. Her muscles screamed for this lonely eternity, and only then did she listen. The girl unfolded, standing, her knees and hips crackling with the release. Her eyes skimmed to his face, his cheek now as grey as the cobbles beneath him. Unseeing eyes were locked to her, horrid with uselessness.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She lingered a moment. Then, ever so gently, her palm came down over his brows and the cold eyelids. The gesture left a smear of blood. Too quickly, she jerked up and went away. Lifting a ratty blouse, she wiped clean her lips and chin. The girl did not look back.