"You have gone mad from centuries of drowning in anger."
Darkness. Cold, suffocating darkness.
Alaric stood in the middle of a ruined house, as that familiar voice filled hus ears, tormenting him. The scent of blood was thick in the air, staining the ground beneath his feet. As for whose blood it was, he didn't know.
Light footsteps attracted his attention and a few metres before him, stood Ravenna, her face twisted with something he had never seen before. Pure seething hatred.
"You killed me," her voice was hoarse, and hollow.
Alaric's breath caught in his throat, taken aback by the look in her eyes. He tried to move forward to reach her, but something was in his hands. Something warm, wet, and yet pulsing, though its pace reduced every splitting second. His gaze dropped.
A heart.
His fingers trailed its delicate shape, trembling, dark blood trailing down his wrists like chains. It beat weakly and eratically, as if resisting its own demise.
