In the soft, golden light of the carriage's interior, Sir Tommin lifted his head for what felt like the first time in days. He had no idea how much time had passed since his duel with the Crimson Knight; it could have been two days or ten, and he had no way to be sure. Ever since the light of his own sword blinded him, he'd lived in a world of perpetual darkness and despair where he drifted between awake and asleep without regard to day or night.
Of course, neither the blindness nor his sleep brought him any peace from the horror of the Crimson Knight's strange, dark magic. 'Kiss of the Void: Hollow Faith.' If Tommin had to call it anything, he would call it a curse, and a far crueler one than any he'd ever heard described, even in the archives of the Temple in Lothian City that the High Priest had opened for him once he proved himself worthy of a Holy Light Blade.
