MURDERER

Written on October 18, 2024 (♎︎)

Author's Notes: Written for Whumptober 2024 for prompt No. 18: Revenge ("I see what’s mine and I take it.").

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The dagger guard had left a mark in the meat of her hand before it clattered to the floor. As Balmafula tried to writhe out of his grip, there was nothing elegant to the struggle. Every moment after that initial hesitation had just reinforced how pitiable she had become, a witch unwilling to finish her compact.

The young Lord Durai shouted something as she stumbled–as the blade clattered across the floor and both of them toppled, swept up in the weight of Delita’s ceremonial cloak. She’d screamed more than once by then, and while they’d heard the shuffle of footsteps in the hall, nobody had yet come to investigate.

She understood nobody would.

Looking to Delita, she remembered the boy to whom she had been led at Mullonde: the terse conversations about how they had come to serve as the church’s hounds, the guarded moments where they had to convey in silence the intention to meet. She had felt, at each point, more than gestures and words could carry.

Now, with all things coming to an end, she moved–this time without hesitation–arching up against the man pinning her down. She did not flinch to meet her murderer with a kiss.

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