Drakes Care Not For Manners



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Tiliana was roused from her sleep by a pounding at her door, so sudden and loud she jolted awake in her cramped bed. For a second, she dreaded the worst, and her heart jumped in her chest as she imagined armed soldiers or bandits breaking her door down and rushing in to kill or arrest her. But after a moment, she got her bearings, and she knew what it was -- the barkeep, who owned the building, waking her for her shift.

Tili slumped forward, putting her heads in her hands, and took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She was a fifteen year old girl, with pale skin, a heart shaped face, and a thick and lucious head of wine red hair. Her striking appearance, even at her young age, was part of how she got the job when she came to the door begging for a room and work. No doubt the barkeep could use a pretty face to bring in the clientele.

She was still only a teenager, but her body had developed generous curves. As much as she like her appearance and the way she drew eyes, it was less pleasant now that she worked in a city full of politically protected, armed, horny, entitled young men. 

She sat there a moment, gathering her bearings, trying to balance out the beating of her heart and the fatigue in her head. The silence clearly annoyed the man on the other side of the door. He rapped again, louder this time, and said, “Tili, wake up.”

“I heard you, Gald,” she said. “I’m coming.”

The voice on the other end grunted. “Be soon, the soldiers will be here any minute.”

Tili’s stomach fell. “At this hour?” she said. “But-”

“It’s Saturday,” he replied. “Get dressed and get down here.”

Tili deflated. Right. Shift changes on Saturday. The guard wants drinks after getting off work.

She huffed as she swung her legs out of her cramped bed, shivering slightly in the cold. Her plain white shift was thin and gave little protection from the morning chill of early fall, and while Gald had lit the stove, it would be some time until it heated the tiny bar to the point of comfort.

Her bedroom was an attic space, with a door that she had to lean down to enter, and little room for more than a small dresser for her things and her tiny bed. She had long ago given up pining for the life she used to have, her comfortably spacious bedroom back on the family farm. It had long ago settled in that this was her life now, waking up with her legs cramped, serving beer and food to leering and handsy soldiers.

Tili scampered over to the tiny dresser, hurriedly pulling out the cleanest dress she had -- a very pretty blue one, with purple trim and a low exposed back. 

She tugged it over her head, and smoothed out the wrinkled bits until it was flat across her belly and waist. She turned and looked down at the lower section around her hips, which was growing taut, no matter how much she adjusted it up or down.

Getting tight, she thought, and exhaled. She’d have to get it tailored again, which would be expensive, a silver or two at least when she barely made a couple coppers a day. The little costs of her daily life, a new winter blanket for the approaching cold front or her dresses getting too old and ratty and small, never seemed to stop adding up. 

You can stop developing any time, body, she grumbled, but all the same, grabbed a hair brush with dozens of missing teeth and started running it through her red locks. Once it was smoothed and shone, she picked up a small hand mirror and looked past the grimy surface and cracked glass at her face.

As was Tili’s routine, she put on a bright smile, showing her teeth as best she could, trying to look as pleasingly attractive as possible. She tried her best to repress all the loathing and spite she held for the Holy Karssidian Empire, pleasantly grinning, forgetting about the symbol that was everything she hated on this earth.

Tili forced herself to forget about the sight of her father being gutted by a soldier’s blade, the crimson spilling on the ground as he screamed. She made herself forget seeing her family home burned to ashes, her mom and brothers still inside. She forced herself to repress the memory of when she found their charred corpses.

An empty and pleasant smile on her face, she took a deep breath, and marched downstairs, ready to serve and please every scumbag soldier.


The bar was a tiny little spot in the city of Longpath, once a small town built on a river. Originally, Tili heard, the town was built as a stop point between several of the other cities. Nearby logging and mining ran through it heading to capital city of Balthim’s Landing. Soon an inn and a watering hole had a blacksmith and a carpenter, and then a mill for food, and then some housing for the laborers to live in, and it only grew from there.

Tili only came here recently; over a year ago, she had just enough money scavenged from her ruined life to buy a change of clothes, rent a room, and get a few days of crying in. After that, she had to beg for work. 

She lucked out that the barkeep had just lost one of his best serving boys, and after looking at her, Gald knew he wouldn’t find a prettier face and hired her immediately. Her sob story about her family abandoning her, leaving out the part of them being murdered by the Karssidians, prompted him to give her a little closet above the place as a room and board.

As a farmgirl her whole life, waitressing was an entirely new skill that perplexed her, and she was terrible early on. She broke a lot of plates, spilled drinks, and once or twice even snapped at the paying customers. But she persevered, forcing herself to keep working, knowing she had no other options when the money ran out. Even if her wages were meager. And she got better at it, until she was faster, efficient, and knew how to pretend to flirt. 

She tugged an apron over her dress, making sure it was low enough to keep her breasts on display -- they tipped better if she had a little cleavage. She didn’t mind getting leered at so long as she could pay her bills. Tili walked over to the bar, and quickly poured fresh beer into the metal mugs there. The foam spilled over her hands a little, and she flicked it clean. She didn’t lick it off; she had grown to hate the taste of beer in her short time here. The smell never left her, and that alone turned her stomach.

The stoves had been lit hours ago, and Gald was already working on some seasoned potatoes and garlic, and the smells of the spices wafted out from behind his burly form. 

Gald turned in place; he was a thick, stocky man, with a heavy gut and a tired face, thanks to years of running the bar. Tili had heard that once he had more life and joy to his eyes, and enjoyed running his bar and the patrons that came in. But all that was different when the Karssidian Empire marched in, and declared the tiny town a part of their empire.

“Best to get the doors open,” he said, and gestured for her. “I’ll get the key.”

Tili nodded, and slipped quickly in front of the stove, poking at the vegetables on the pan to ensure they wouldn’t burn. She heard jangling of keys as Gald picked through the metal ring, muttering to himself as he did.

The young woman heard voices just outside, loud ones, and they were getting closer. She glanced at Gald, and said, “That’s them. You better hurry.”

“I’m...I’m trying,” Gald said, squinting at the iron keys in his grip. He flipped through them, the sound of dull clattering echoing from the fistfull of metal, muttering to himself. “Come on, where is it....”

The group was at the front door, and she heard the rattling of the doorhandle, as well as agitated and annoyed yells of male voices outside. She could feel her heart beating faster as the door was pounded by angry fists.

“We’re coming!” she shouted, and turned to Gald. “Hurry!”

“What the hell is this?” a voice shouted on the other end, loud and sneering. “Open up!”

At last he finally found the key he was looking for, and he gave an exhale as he passed it to her. Tili snagged it and scampered over to the door, which was visibly shaking as fists pounded at it from the other side.

Tili turned the key in the lock, and paused for just a second with her hand on the handle. Again, the bright smile came to her face, the prettiest one she had, and she pulled it open. 

There were almost a dozen men on the other side, wearing the cloth uniforms emblazoned with coiled red serpents. They had no armor, but Tili knew from experience that they still had weapons on them. None of them looked knighted, merely ambitious young men given swords and orders, which was somehow worse. The knights had no better morals, but at least they had manners.

“Sorry about that,” Tili said, brightly, and stepped away to pull the door open. “Come on in!” 

There was a cheer, and before she could even get clear of the door, a skinny one in the front with a goatee violently booted it fully open. It smacked her hand, and she did her best to not flinch at the pain. 

The man shoved a chair out of his way violently, and gestured to himself. “Well, what’s the holdup?” he barked. “Let’s get some drinks going!”

“That’s right!” a man next to him said. “Pints, all around!” he gave an angry clap of his hands and shouted, “And step on it!”

Tili’s heart rate spiked, and she struggled to keep her expression bright as she gave them a point and said, “You got it, boys!” 

She quickly scampered off as they found tables, and the clattering sounds of them pushing and shoving and knocking things over as they forced their way in and found seats followed her. Tili winced; she knew Karssidians could be rowdy, but this was worse than normal. 

She gathered as many of the poured mugs as she could grip in both hands, and trotted hastily over to the table with the one with the goatee -- she knew he’d be a problem if she didn’t serve him immediately.

Her suspicions were correct -- he at once guzzled half of the mug down, and smacked the table right after. “Let’s get some food out here too!” he barked, and pounded a fist on the table so hard it visibly rattled. “Now, damn it! We’re hungry drakes, ain’t that right boys?”

There was a cheer among the men.

He’s definitely gonna be a problem, she thought, and tilted a bit to the side, cocking her hips as she did. She trotted over and playfully ran her fingers through his hair, smiling at him, and watching as his temper suddenly fled. 

The boy’s brain fizzled out as her fingertips gently brushed along his scalp, pinkie dragging along his ear, and his eyes went wide.

“I’m sure a big strong Red Drake like yourself,” she lazily dragged a finger down his chin, at his goatee, to his chest, and thought for a moment about driving a kitchen knife right into his heart. It helped her smile widen. “Can be a little patient while I whip you up some potatoes, right?” 

The soldier’s eyes went wide with her touch, and he gave a delighted nod, and suddenly in a much softer voice, he said, “Y-yeah, I...I can do that.”

“Great,” she replied, and let her fingertips linger a moment as she trotted back and said, “Then I’ll be right back.”

There were excited noises and claps on the shoulder of the lucky man who got the cute redhead to flirt with him. She waited until she was out of the dining area to give an exhale and a shudder of revulsion, as she filled up another round of pints and took them out to the other impatient men. 

Thankfully, the goateed man was a little more complacent after that, his ego successfully soothed. And in no time she had brought out several rounds to them all, along with the crunchy edibles. As she darted around, serving up plates and refilling flagons, she tried her best to drown out the prattle they told one another as they ate and drank.

“I found three of the traitors in an attic! My captain was so impressed he gave me a merit on the spot! Look, it’s a Firebreath Mark!”

“My boy Thilso here got a heretic today! Speared him through the chest himself! One of the Dragon Knights said he was gonna take him under his wing!”

“I’m gonna join the Inquisitors one day. I can’t wait to gut a heretic and watch him scream for mercy. Bastards deserve it.”

Tili didn’t mind it, much as it made her stomach clench. She had gotten used to the psychotic, violent stories about their conquests and torture. She just kept her head down and polished tables and brought out beer, keeping that pleasant, pretty smile on her face as she did.

The dominant religion of the Karssidians was the Trinity -- three gods in conflict with each other. Hissenth, the demon, Eudeno, the holy, and Plinth, the mortal. Apparently Hissenth and Eudeno, in the Trinity lore, were fighting some kind of wager over mortal life, and the conclusion of that would decide humanity’s fate.

It seemed like bullshit to Tili; she had grown up in Rorne her whole life, and her parents taught her of the pantheon, dozens of gods each one with control over various aspects of life. The idea that there were only three gods, no more, sounded more like a cult to Tili. And as she heard about the joyous way ‘heretics’ were tortured and gutted -- many of them likely just followers of a pantheon deity, if anything -- she was given no reason to doubt her theory.

At some point, she had a trio of empty mugs on her arm, and she was scooping up a second set, right when an arm suddenly curled around her waist and yanked her back. She let out a yelp of shock, and was plopped roughly into the lap of the goateed man from before.

“Aw, you work too hard, girl!” he shouted, and placed his hands at her hips, with no small amount of force to keep her in place. “Why don’t you spend a few minutes keeping Thilso company?”

She forced herself to give a playful laugh, even as much as she wanted to throw up right into his shirt, and pushed on his chest a little. “I think you need another drink!” she laughed, and tried to move -- and was held in place. His left hand tightened on her arm hard enough that it hurt, and she was pressed tight against his body. 

“Oh I think I need of somethin’ a little...sweeter,” he replied, grinning wickedly, as his eyes glanced down at her.

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t lose the fake delighted grin. “Oh aren’t you fierce,” she replied, and attempted to wiggle away. “I’m at work, perhaps you should wait until I’m off duty!”

Thilso’s eyes flared with anger at the clear refusal, and his other arm grabbed at her free hand, right at the wrist, and held her in place. Fear overrode her act, and her eyes went wide and she gave a frightened gasp, leaning away. 

 “Listen here you little tease,” he snapped, and she could smell beer on his breath. “You’ve been playing hard to get all night, now quit with the bullshit and-”

A fist suddenly cracked across his face, and Tili jumped as she heard the impact. The punch was hard enough to daze Thilso, his grip on her loosened, and she quickly hopped out of his lap. Thilso’s lip bled, a bruise already appearing on his face, and he staggered a moment before looking at his assailant.

The soldier who decked him was a much burlier man, clean shaven and blonde, and a head taller. There was an appealing squareness to his face too, even as it was held in a stern glare at the drunken buffoon. 

“Don’t make me hit you again,” he warned, pointing at Thilso. “You’re way out of line.”

Thilso stumbled to his feet, eyes a bit unfocused, and slurred out a startled, “I’m...I’m gonna kick your ass Papris!” 

The blonde man, Papris, was undeterred, and glared hard at him. “Are you?” he challenged. “Then let’s see it.”

Tili was frozen; a drunken bar fight was not what she had in mind, but she was one teenager surrounded in tall and strong boys with several years and at least fifty pounds on her. 

Thilso still had all of the liquid courage inside him, and he stumbled to his feet, muttering swears as he did, running a hand over his sweat-lined face. “Alright then, you wanna be the big man?” he said, and raised his hands. “Then we can handle this-”

Whock! Papris’s fist decked him again, right in the face, and this time Tili heard the crunch of his nose breaking as the powerful punch landed home. Thilso went down immediately, flopping out on the floor, stunned and defeated, face totally blank.

Papris turned to Tili then, and suddenly the ferocity and tension in his body left, and he gave her a bashful glance. “I, uh, I’m sorry about him,” he muttered, “He gets a little...excited sometimes.”

“Well,” she said, and gave a laugh. “I can see that. I...I do appreciate you helping me though. They can get…”

Tili hesitated, and Papris laughed. “Handsy?”

“Handsy,” she agreed, and scooted away as she saw Thilso stirring. She scooped up the mugs she had dropped. “I...better get back to my job.”

Papris raised his hand towards her, but a comfortable distance away. “Wait!” he said, quickly. “What’s your name?”

Tili looked at him, hesitating. She saw the softness in his eyes, and the gentleness to his voice, but also the white cloth that adorned his chest and the curled red figure on the front that showed his allegiance.

She hesitated, then said, “Tili,” and scampered away, to dump the dishes in a wash tub.


The group dispersed a short time later, singing merry songs as they left, all except Thilso of course, who sulked and held his bloodied and bruised face, nose puffing out like a cauliflower. Tili saw Papris give her a longing look and a little smile, and she nodded back at him politely. 

The moments of silence were welcome, as she quickly wiped the table clean and swept away the dirt and mud of the soldier boots. More would be coming; they were endless on Saturday, a constant stream of bar-crawling young men full of their egos and arrogance. She pocketed some of the coins on the table, and with relief noted there was a significant tip there. No doubt from Papris, hoping to either butter her up or apologize for his friend.

She had a merciful twenty minutes when a very tired blacksmith who had been working all night wandered in and requested a flagon. He was polite and kind, and Tili welcomed the ease, right before the next party of young men marched in, red symbol on the front flapping as their white uniforms shifted, and demanded beer.

The Karssidian Empire was a big fan of branding, for as long as Tili could remember. They adored all the iconography and presence of mythical beasts, waving giant flags with various types of creature on them. She had heard stories about the different squadrons and factions involved, named after all types and colors of the legendary beasts, and the ridiculous ranks of the generals and lieutenants in the high command, including ‘Emerald Dragon’ and ‘Diamond Elder.’ 

All the lowly police forces hanging in Longpath were given the title of ‘drakes,’ which was fitting. Pale imitators of the mighty four-legged winged creatures, drakes had only two legs and looked like flying snakes. Tili imagined some of the higher up generals of the Karssidian Empire thought the subtle insult was quite funny.

She obliged the thirsty soldiers, hastily serving them roasted food and massive flagons of beer. They seemed more polite, to her relief -- she caught a few leers and some crude whispers about her body, but that was normal for the Karssidian soldiers. She only hoped they tipped well, she needed a new dress soon, it was horribly snug in the hips.

It was all going fine, up until she scooted forward to slide a plate of potatoes onto a table, and suddenly felt a hand roughly grab her right on her upper thigh, clumsily missing her buttock, and giving her a hard squeeze. 

Tili’s heart clenched, and she forced down the impulse to gasp and shove the hand away. She saw the man who did it, and forced herself to grin at him, giving him a little light push in the chest.

They will kill you, she told herself, swallowing down the impulse to scream and slap him -- or worse. You are little more than meat to them. They will kill you and nobody will care. 

That is not on the menu,” she scolded, lightly, and only a little warble of her fear made it to her mouth. “How about I get you a cut of meat instead?”

There was laughter among the young men, and a few even clapped him on the shoulder for his brazen behavior and the light reward. Tili scooped up two empty mugs, and made a steady trot towards the dirty dishes barrel in the back back, doing her best to ignore the catcalls that followed her.

Tili managed to get the pints dumped into the water before she burst into tears, and mashed her palms against her sobbing eyes.


The day, at last, seemed to come to an end, when the sun set and the attendees finally slowed. Tili had been running all day, her legs ached, she was tired and hungry, and there was still so much to clean. Gald was scrubbing the dishes and still had to scrape the stove, leaving the dining area full of crumbs and dirt and spilled ale as Tili’s responsibility.

She did what she could, but it was hard as one teenager to clean so much filth. The threadbare broom merely pushed around the dust, and she had only just gotten it to the front door when it cracked open.

“We’re closed, we don’t-” she said, but she recognized, it was the blonde soldier from before, who had punched out the other soldier. The names escaped her.

“Uh, hi there,” he said, and gave a tiny wave.

“Oh, you,” Tili replied, and a memory came to her. “Papris, right?”

Papris’s face brightened. “You remember me,” he said, giving her a smile. “That’s...thanks, I was hoping you might.” 

There was a small pause, and he awkwardly looked away, color tinting his cheeks. Tili furrowed her brow -- she had never seen a Karssidian soldier act this way.

“I, uhm,” he stammered, and suddenly his other hand came up, and she for a second thought it was going to grab at her, but in his grip was a flower, clearly plucked from the field out back. “I...I got this for you.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said, and took it. 

Papris again flushed, and smiled. “Are...are you almost done?” he asked. “I...I wanted to go for a walk with you. If -- if you want, that is.”

Tili hesitated. She wasn’t sure what his plan was, but she worried about the consequences of refuting him. She didn’t trust Karssidian  soldiers; she knew they had tempers, and violently taking what you wanted was an expectation, not a rarity. It would be anyone’s guess if he suddenly exploded with rage and tried to hit her, or was as soft and sweet as he seemed. 

And that didn’t even include tarnishing her reputation as ‘the cute and fun barmaid’ -- hypocritically, the Karssidians were all about women’s purity, and if she was labeled a slut…

Tili didn’t know. They could refuse to attend the bar, or the groping and manhandling could get worse. Neither would shock her.

Carefully, Tili nodded, and held the flower close. “Give me a bit,” she said. “I have to finish. I’ll meet you outside.” 

The look on Papris’s face at that was genuinely a little touching, at the surprise and delight as he gave an excited nod and said, “Okay! That’s...that’s, yes, thank you!” and quickly scampered out the door, shutting it behind him.

Tili took the opportunity to think, as she finished her shift cleaning up. Her eyes were distant as she brushed the dust aside, wiped down the tables, and helped Gald with the bucket of dishes. And by the time it was over, she had made her decision.

Tili bounded up the stairs to her room, where she discarded the filthy apron and fished around in her clothes chest. At the bottom, tucked into a corner, was a little knife in a shealth, no longer than finger length, with two straps for securing.

She tugged up her dress and her shift, and quickly strapped it to her leg, right at about her ankle. The straps went tight, and she pushed the hem back down over her knees. 

Tili appeared at the door a few minutes later, giving Papris a smile as she walked over to him. 

“A walk, you said?” she asked.


Longpath had grown enough over the years that the central road that split it in two had been replaced entirely with cobblestone, better for the carriages and wagons that carried people and supplies from town to town. And now that dusk had fallen and the moon and stars were out, the way was lit for Tili and Papris to walk down the street.

Tili had her hands bundled together in her lap, and she let him speak as they wandered together. Apparently Papris was from a Karssidian city from the far east. His family attempted to send him off to the wizard’s college, but he failed out and instead joined up with the military during the power change, when King Robald the Third was deposed.

“Oh?” Tili asked, cautiously. “Did you want to be a wizard?”

Papris shrugged. “Nah,” he said, and kicked at a rock that was at rest. It clacked as it bounced along the stone walkway. “Was what my mom wanted. I never was good at much of anything. But I was big, and strong. So I became a soldier.”

Cautiously, Tili said, “Well...I’ve heard there’s academies for soldiers in Rorne. Puts you on the path to be a knight. Did you try one of those?”

He nodded, and looked glum. “Flunked out,” he said, and looked away. “I’m not great with weapons. Got called ‘butterfingers’ by the entrance exam.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Papris replied, and gave a nervous laugh. “I’m kind of a fuckup, I guess. But the Karssidians give me structure. I got a job now. They even pay nice.”

Tili didn’t speak for a moment as they walked together. They crossed the bridge over the river, which stretched yards over. During the day, it was full of foot traffic and carts, but now there was one drunk passed out in a pile on the ground, a glass bottle tumbled out of his hand and to the ground.

She waited until they were on the other side, then said, “Do you...like the job?” 

“Oh, yeah!” he said, and brightened. “It’s great! I love finding heretics. Bastards make me sick,” he gave a noise in his throat of disgust. “And the other Drakes make it easy. Nobody opposes us, we’re too strong and organized.”

Tili was quiet a moment, nodding. “Yeah,” she said, softly. “That sure seems to be the case…”

It was silent a moment, and Papris turned to her, gently gesturing to her. “So, what about you?” he asked. “Where are your folks from?”

Tili looked up, and gave him a coy smile. “Why must we talk about them?” she asked, and gently reached out and curled her fingers around his hand. “Come with me.”

Papris gave a grin, slightly hopeful, and obliged as Tili led him away. His eyes followed her hips as they walked together, until Tili slipped into a secluded alley between a pair of taller buildings. The light of the street and the moon was blocked off by buildings and angles, and it enveloped the two in shadow.

The young woman knew the buildings were abandoned, and as she strained her ears to listen, she heard no footsteps. They were alone. She hadn’t seen a guard patrol since they left the tavern.

Tili brought him close, and stepped back into a little cubby against the wall, where the wood creaked slightly as she leaned into it. Papris’s square jaw was in a goofy grin in excitement, and he obliged as he put his foot in between hers, coming so close that he could feel her heat. 

She could smell his musk as he got closer, the sweat from his clothes, and it made her head a little dizzy. Tili’s fingertips traced against the back of his neck, and he shivered in delight as he brought his hands against her waist.

Their lips met -- she felt the stubble of his shave, and his kiss was a little too forceful, a little too hard, and she clumsily slipped a little as her leg came up to lean against him. Tili could feel him trembling in excitement, and his erection pressed against her thigh.

She broke away from the kiss, and looked into his eyes. “Papris,” she whispered, softly, then hesitated, looking down at his chest as her fingertips brushed against his collar. “Would you quit?” Tili paused. “For me?”

He blinked in confusion. “I...quit what?”

“Would you quit the drakes?” she asked. “The Karssidians? If I asked you to run away with me?”

He gave her an amused stare, and shook his head. “Of -- of course not,” he said, as if the question was silly. “Why?”

Tili gave a little sad nod, and looked down. “I see,” she muttered, and leaned up to kiss him again. 

Their lips met. And then her blade pierced his throat.

Papris’s eyes went wide and he let out a startled gasp, but Tili wouldn’t let him go, and her free hand went from behind his neck to his mouth, pinning it shut as he went to scream. He was too startled and shocked to fight back, his hands shakily fumbling to grasp at her arms as she pushed the blade further into his jaw.

Tili didn’t let him move, instead she gripped the tiny blade tight, shoved him hard against the wall, and slashed it across his throat, cutting it wide open. 

Tili saw Papris’ eyes were wide, pupils dilated and reflective in the faint light of the moon as his blood poured out of his throat onto her hands and dress. She dropped the blade and grabbed his free wrist as it swung for her, and leaned her full body into him, holding him as still as she could. Papris grasped at her hands, trying to wrench them away from his body, but she pressed all the harder, holding tight as she could to avoid allowing him to scream.

His muffled gasps behind her hand became gargles, and she saw his throat pumping as he gulped for air and his lungs filled with blood. He grew weak, and not even his strength and size could overpower her as she pinned him against the wall. His hand fumbled for a knife at his belt, and she slammed her knee against his arm to stop him.

Slowly, Papris’ body lost all its strength, and the crimson seeped from his neck across the fabric of his uniform, until his body’s struggles became sad little twitches, and he slumped over. His eyes didn’t close, and his mouth fell open as he collapsed, dead.

Tili stepped back, and took a deep, shaky inhale, unaware she had held her breath the whole time. She trembled horribly, heart beating rapidly through the terrifying event. But she did it. She heard not even a whisper of a footstep, and the boy lay before her, inert, stiff, and lifeless.

Slowly, Tili looked at the man’s body, his tabard stained white, the way his throat looked cut fully open. It reminded her the way her father used to kill livestock to feed them, as blood poured everywhere and she saw little bits of gore as his throat fell from his neck. It was nauseating, and she felt her stomach clench with revulsion.

But then she remembered the sight of her father’s blood on the floor of her childhood home. She remembered the way the burning building smelled of burnt flesh as she fled. She remembered the way her mom screamed for help.

And then she spit on his body.


Comments

  1. Very detailed and nice and graphic, now adding pictures would get audiences really into it.

    ReplyDelete

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