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Soon followed one gloved hand, then a short while after its pair fell as well. Cold sweat, the thriving toward committing an act diabolical yet still righteous; Just - from one's perspective that is - and unquestionable. Their pulse gracefully dropped, breaths became scarcer and less meaningful until eventually golden locks spread upon oaken flooring after a quiet thud emanated. Disabled, feeble, defeated. Bested in body they remained down upon the very floor, their silver eyes birthing an inner void in their soul. Humiliated. As if their own blood could not sustain life any further. No muscle moved, no order was taken. Only a singular aspect of the being remained unscratched, untouched: Their will.
From a mere spark, a fiery storm rose. Not a tempest of revenge, nor of anger. It was once more the exact, gnawing feeling of vulnerability.
Silver gaze, feminine curves, elongated ears; Slender and majestic, an Altalar. They stood to their left. Sky beryl eyes, stout and mighty a form. A northener to their right. Silver a gaze they issued toward the left, that's where the man once stood. Whether they knew the morrow's plans, whether they simply understood their own mistakes at that moment, all that seemed unnecessary and blurred. A decision, a conclusion, a verdict came.
"I hold no regrets."
And the day of resolution has finally come to an end.
And the day of resolution has finally come to an end.
