Rough hands clamped on both arms, dragging her toward the door of her infirmary. She struggled violently, but she had already let them get too close. She should have stopped them before they were close enough to get to her. The two men shoved the door open, throwing her to the floor, the younger one sneering down at her, clearly feeling tough for being able to throw a small woman to the ground. The sense of the deep danger she was in shuddered through her body.
Carria no longer lived with her, so her sister could lend no aid. Hamadryt had moved into a house somewhat near, but he'd told her he was leaving for a few weeks or so. They spoke to her, both of the brigands, but she could not recall what exactly was said. She remembered the older one slapping her quick and hard. She kneed him in the groin, his pain only providing a tiny amount of satisfaction before his buddy began beating her. They had asked for information on Miss Kallynn...information which she would not give.
The fight flashed by, too quick to think. She could only do. Act and react. Her upper body became the victim of quick attacks, and she felt herself losing. She didn't want to. She didn't want to, but she pulled her dagger out. She stabbed the young brigand. Slashed his throat.
This she did remember. His agonized face as he realized he could no longer draw breath without inhaling his own blood. He fell, but not fast enough. He looked her in the eye as he went down. Shock. Fear. Regret. Sorrow. Emptiness. He was not ready to die. But she killed him. The older brigand managed to wrest her dagger from her and plunge it into her own soft skin twice. Agony. Her shoulder and the side of her abdomen were on fire. Her world was going black. This was it. She'd lasted too long in this world already. It was time to meet her Creator.
She sank to the floor, barely hearing the crash of a window. She looked, but could barely perceive her sister's small form rolling after breaking through. Her eyes grew ever darker, then black. She managed to open them again. How long was it? She didn't know. All she could see was the pool of blood that used to be her floor. Everything was blood. She peered around, seeing only one figure. He came closer, his face still full of agony as he gasped for breath, gurgling through his own blood. She tried to stop the bleeding, pressing her hands to his throat. She realized she was choking him now, her fingers clenched around his neck roughly. He died. She looked at her hands but could not see them. All she could see was the blood pouring over them.
Ash woke up, heaving over the side of her bed. Pain shot through her body from her abdomen and shoulder. She looked at the floor, unwilling to let anyone else come and clean up her own mess, but unable to move from her position. She wept. Her tears ran out of her tightly shut eyelids as she sobbed, her sobs shooting more and more pain throughout her body, but uncontrollable. "I killed him. I killed him with my own hands," she whispered to herself. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me." This wasn't the first time she'd ever killed a person, but it brought back every memory of every life she'd taken. She calmed after a little while, then forced herself to stand, despite her body's protests. The mess she made upon waking needed seen to. She left her blanket behind, as there was no one in her room to see her bare chest, most of which was bandaged anyway. She cleaned the small mess, then lowered herself back onto her bed, allowing herself to weep silently with regret.
She should have let him stay with her. Forget propriety. She no longer felt safe.
