I was free. The thought was slow and lethargic, rising hesitantly in my mind like the morning sun over the horizon. I couldn't bring myself to believe it, even as I ran my hand over the smooth, unblemished skin of my chest. Tingles followed my fingers, tracing lines where scarlet marks had once scarred. Tears trickled down my cheeks, warm and unnoticed, as reality finally sank in.
But at what cost? The thrills of relief faded as my gaze fell on the slumped corpse before me, and the staff pulsing warmly in my hand. I gripped it tightly, squeezing my eyes shut. Why hadn't Fate come sooner? Why had Aurle have to die?
But the sparks were short-lived, and I sighed, letting it all out. Aurle hadn't died. She'd been killed. Her sweet, previous life was stolen by the man I loathed above all others. He was responsible for the last months of unbearable torture and humiliation.
