Pain.
Orioles chirped. A gentle breeze stirred. A few white clouds drifted across the sky. The sun shone warmly over the earth, but not harshly.
Pain.
Sunlight bathed the rooftops in harmony. The flagpole shimmered with tiny points of light. The breeze brought the fresh scent of distant soil, mingled with the fragrance of grass and leaves. The whole world seemed wrapped in tenderness.
Yet none of this reached her.
She could smell none of that gentle vitality. See none of the shimmering brilliance.
What filled her senses now was only the dull, hopeless, ink-dark—
Thick scent of blood.
She feebly twisted her arm. The coarse hemp rope scraped her wrist, breaking the skin at the base of her palm. Its fibers ground into her flesh. She felt an open, bleeding wound at the root of her right fingers—torn, ruptured—but that pain had already faded into the background.
The agony hadn't struck all at once. It had seeped into her bones bit by bit, until by the time she realized it, she could no longer stand. Her body hung from the rope, barely maintaining the last shred of dignity.
Pain.
She couldn't remember how she got here—or even where "here" was. All she felt was the unbearable torment and a tightness in her chest. Everything else seemed unreal.
Wind filled her drooping sleeves, swirling beneath her robes. Leaves rustled, as if laughing, as if sighing at the beauty of the world.
Her lips trembled, pale as death. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling past her ears. Her body burned with fever, yet inside she grew colder and colder.
Forgive her—she could not savor this springtime.
Her body began to seize, trembling violently. Her lips parted, releasing shallow breaths, lighter and lighter, as if her consciousness might drift away with them.
Her eyes struggled open. Blurred vision, a white haze everywhere—except for the blood, bright as cinnabar, clinging to her lashes.
And a vague silhouette in the corner of her sight.
She furrowed her brows. Her long lashes fluttered. Still she couldn't make out the man's face.
He stood with the light behind him, expressionless, meeting her gaze. The sun lit a glowing outline around him. She stared at his face—unclear, but unmistakably...
He was—
She forgot his name.
It was on the tip of her tongue, but as soon as she reached for it, it slipped away like a flicker of light—leaving only sorrow pooling in her chest.
The man bent toward her, eyes locking with hers, his face cold and silent.
She parted her lips, but no words came.
He turned slightly, picked up a slender rod—something like an iron stick.
She had no time to react.
A wave of sharp, searing, soul-splitting pain crashed into her.
She smelled burnt flesh.
Smoke billowed. The source—her lower left abdomen.
She arched in agony, but no sound escaped her lips. She gasped for air, but even her heaving chest seemed ready to crush what little life remained. She was slipping, weak as wind-blown ash.
Still, the man said nothing. He set down the iron rod into a brazier, then picked up another—a flat-headed branding iron—and, wordlessly, pressed it against her again.
He mouthed something, silently, facing her.
She thrashed in pain, but it was the twitching of a dying creature. Cold sweat streamed down her face. Her mouth felt branded shut. Not a drop of saliva remained. Her soul and thoughts, like her blood, spilled and seeped into the dirt at her feet.
Pain.
Her skull throbbed, like days of congested sinuses—except worse, like suffocation.
Thoughts, ideas, sensations—all tangled into a mush. She didn't understand what was happening, or why. She only knew it hurt—terribly, excruciatingly.
For the first time in her life, she wanted to die.
The man moved his lips again. She couldn't focus on the words, but she knew them too well—three words spoken by everyone who had ever abandoned her:
"I'm. So. Sorry."
She frowned, unable to process why he said that. All she knew was the pain—overwhelming pain.
And then it vanished.
She felt herself floating. Looking down, she gasped.
Her body hadn't slumped as her soul left it. Instead, it straightened suddenly—eyes wide, glaring at the man.
He smiled faintly—for the first time.
He untied the rope from her wrist. Her body, no longer held up, fell limply into his arms.
He helped her upright again, then placed a dagger in her hand, gesturing: pointing at her, then at himself.
He wanted her to kill him.
But she was already dead. Her soul floated above, watching silently.
She was confused. Why would he ask that of her?
Then, the pain returned.
Her eyes flew open. His face reappeared, calm—like something had been resolved.
She still held the dagger. He stared at her, waiting for her decision.
Her hand trembled violently, pain pounding her nerves. She realized she couldn't stand—her knees were broken. But she had no need for this body anymore.
She raised the blade, aiming for her heart, gathering the last of her strength...
Then stopped.
She saw his face—that radiant smile—running beside her on a green field, singing her favorite song, embracing her atop a mountain, whispering promises of forever.
Her eyes locked on the dagger's reflected light.
Then she let go.
The silver blade clattered to the ground.
He blinked, as if surprised. He stepped closer, untying the rope from her other wrist. She slumped into his arms, flinching instinctively, fearing another brand.
But he only held her gently.
As her knees bent, pain stabbed her anew. Her fingers clutched his robes, her body taut like stone, yet fragile as paper—ready to drift away.
He cradled her, and kissed her forehead.
A wave of sorrow and heartbreak crashed through her, like a great tree falling—splintering the ground, stirring dust and despair. Something inside her broke.
No physical wound could compare.
She felt herself astride a galloping horse.
The man supported her, but the motion jolted her to pieces. She wanted to grit her teeth, but had no strength left. Only her eyes remained alive—to take one last look at the world.
And then—she saw her.
Despite the deep green cloak blending into the hillside brush, she saw her in an instant.
Half her face hidden behind a miniature crossbow, eyes locked from afar.
She met her gaze—just like then, her eyes burned.
She thought: She will understand. She must.
She knows what I want.
A breeze brushed her cheek. A strand of hair slipped past her ear. The man's warmth surrounded her—but it wasn't what drove the cold away.
Then she smiled. No—more like used the last of her strength to twitch the corners of her lips. Her gaze, though, held peace. Release.
She knew—at last—it was over.
The crossbow fired. The arrow loosed.
The world turned off its lights. She finally fell into endless darkness—just as she had wished.