“Did you love him?”
The night was stilled, the spaces around her filled by the sounds of her frantically beating heart. Blair fumbled through cabinets that were once so familiar and warm. Her skin burned and ached, ruined beyond repair. The only bandage holding her deep set wounds together was the idea of freedom itself.
Her hands shaked as she searched, a nervousness of being found and retrieved chilled her. She didn’t want to be a part of their games anymore, she didn’t want him to see her like this and didn’t want to be tricked into staying. Fooled into a sensation of pretend protection, this could happen again and she just wanted to go home and have him believe her dead.
Only a small bag of supplies was truly needed to return to her own folks. A light bag and her familial right, which decorated the mantle of this false ‘home’. It was the final thing to grab and the gleam of the blade reflected her ugly self, causing her to lose herself in the shame that she had become. The sting of tears rolling down into her injuries only deepened the sensation of a growing eternal numbness.
Her hands wrapped around the hilt, and a budded seedling of spite sprouted.
“You will admit to everyone here what you did.”
The sound of blood from the blade and the spilled ink pooling off the table both dripped in an eerie unison. The note in his handwriting, legible and clear in its message. Accidents of life and death happened frequently in Roglia. Bastion Drake, now a ghost, will carry her shame into death and he wrote it clear as day, proving his ‘guilt’.
She had freed herself, the feeling of shame and horror felt foreign. Distant even. The Blade of Woes rightfully in her hands brought her to her senses. The person she was before tonight was who she was before she married and dragged down into weakness.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
19 days. 5 days to lose hope. 9 days to lose faith. 12 days to lose your sense of self. 15 days to completely break- Who shall Conquer us?
He didn’t even bother to look for her. “Drakes don’t keep prisoners, Blair.”, he assumed they were the same.
There was no sorrow for what she had endured, and if there was she would not have needed to make a deal with the whispering wind to escape. She believed Bastion would have- should have saved her from the Rennetts, yet he was only sorry at the end when he himself dealt with the punishment of those 19 days by her hands.
“Look at us, Blair and Liam back at it! Fighting together again.”
I missed him, my brother. I missed my people. I missed fighting for the passion that burned deeply in me but was repressed by a Rogalian binding. I missed being me, Blair MacCraig.
So what if I killed my husband?