The King froze at the sight of the Black Werewolf's sudden emergence. His eyes widened in shock. Anger, despair, fear, grief, sorrow, helplessness, denial, and at last resignation… an entire storm of emotions flashed across his gaze in a single instant. The final attack had drained him of everything. He had no strength left. He could only stare at the black wolf and await his doom. Slowly, inevitably, his gaze settled into one final expression: acceptance.
Ophelia's voice came like a whisper, yet it filled every corner of the blood-soaked chamber.
"Die."
She stepped forward with calm, unhurried grace, until she stood before the King. Meeting his gaze without flinching, she sank her claws into the ragged wound Eleanor had left in his chest. Her arm plunged deep into the steaming cavity. She closed her claws around the Troll's pulsing heart… then tore it free.
The heart, vast and veined with black corruption, beat once… twice… before Ophelia crushed it in her fist.
