“I warned you,” said the Lady, her back turned as she sat hunched over the blazing fire, “and you didn’t listen.” 

A burst of sparks leapt into the air as the wind howled, deafeningly loud in the cramped cave. A girl stood at its mouth, her clothes torn, her teeth chattering from the cold. Water slowly soaked into her tunic as she knelt, defeated. A tear ran down her face, mixing with its siblings still clinging to her cheek. A choked sob escaped her scarred lips, more a sorrowful hiccup than anything else, lost to the raging storm. 

The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air around them, ash swirling gently around the girl's head while she knelt. Each breath she took came out hoarser than the last, the taste of grit crawling to the back of her throat. She took no notice, too far away to care. 

The girl’s hands wrung at the dagger still tightly in her grasp, its sheath cracked and faded with age. She watched as her hands pulled at the sheath, its bloodied blade reflecting the warm orange of the campfire. Her brother’s blood. Her breathing became more raggedy, eyes widening as her hands slammed the sheath back on its dagger.  

“Save your tears for someone who still cares, girl.”  

The Lady raised her hand, silhouetted against the light, and clicked. A hush filled the small shelter, the screaming wind fading to a dull roar. In its place, a new sound rose. The girl’s heart, drumming away at her ribs like a beast caught in a cage. Erratic. Frightened. Wild.  

A scratching noise filled the room; the sound of ink being laid on parchment. Each scratch was long and slow, meticulously planned, utterly perfect. The Lady made sure of it. 

“Please.” whispered the girl, her voice cracking. 

The scratching stopped. Silence filled the cave, the crackling of the fire the only sound that remained. 

The Lady stood, albeit slowly and with significant effort, uncurling much like an old leather belt. A blade rose with her too, grasped at the handle by her pale skeletal fingers, appearing almost porcelain by the firelight. Its rusted complexion told of a quiet older life; its jagged edges hinted at its more active adolescence. 

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The Lady stalked ever so slowly forwards, her blood red dress trailing after her as she went. Each step she took was silent, perfectly placed. The Lady stopped when she drew near, the tip of her blade resting lightly on the uneven floor beneath. The girl did not look up, her gaze affixed on her own sheathed blade, her eyes a tempest of indecision. 

“Please?” replied the Lady, her voice barely audible above the sound of the fire. 

The Lady’s sword scraped as it was dragged forwards, rising off the ground to come level with the girl's neck. It hovered an inch from her muddied and ashen skin, goosebumps crawling down her spine as her breath caught in her throat. 

Slowly, surely, the girl looked up, eyes fixing on those of the Lady, pupils wide and pleading in the dim light. They were met with cold indifference. 

“You’re a fool to come back here, girl. A fool and a coward.” The tip of the blade, still sharp all this time later, pricked her skin as the Lady leant forward. “Fools I can use. But cowards?” she paused, the cool steel sliding down to rest above the girl's heart, “Cowards I cannot abide.” 

The girl spluttered as her skin split, blood pooling around her knees as the blade took her life. The girl watched in slow motion as it slid neatly back out of her chest, blood rushing to join the outside world. She stared down at the dagger still clutched tightly in her palm, pulling off the sheath and staring at the cold blade in her lap. She went to move, to strike, to scream, but she could not. Her eyes rose to those of the Lady’s one last time, seeking something, anything; finding nothing. 

“I’m sorry.” whispered the girl. 

The Lady straightened, steel returning to her side. She watched the lifeless body slump sideways to the floor, a lone bead on her lash; a tear that would never fall. She stood there, staring down at the body, finger tapping upon the hilt of her sword. 

“As am I, Rose.” 

A hush descended upon the cave once more, the fire blazing away to itself, oblivious to the girl lying dead a few feet away.  

The Lady knelt, her dress flowing outwards onto the cold harsh stone. She pried the dagger from the dead girl’s hands, staying a moment longer before standing. Her gaze lingered on her eyes; eyes too young to now see nothing at all. 

After a while, the Lady sat, gathering her skirt as she settled herself back down. She unsheathed the dagger, staring at its bloody visage by the light of the flames. She sighed, lifting her dress and clipping it back onto her belt where it belonged. 

The light of the fire danced in her eyes as she gazed deep into its heart, her cold eyes flickering as her heart fluttered. A flash of lightning, and the moment was gone. Carefully she bent, picking up her quill and parchment, before sitting back up. She cleared her throat quietly, and returned to her scratching.