A King, Unadmitted
There, beneath a white shroud, lay her sister.
The cloth was put down carefully but blood had already started to spread to the edges making it a dull and ugly red color. You could still see the shape of Natlys hand, on the fabric her fingers were curled up a bit and they were stuck in that position the last way Natlys hand would ever look.
Natshas breath caught. She just stood there for a long time. The world around her felt far away and quiet like she was standing in the water. The wind was gently pulling on her cloak trying to get her to move forward. Her feet would not budge from the stone. Natshas feet felt stuck to the stone. The wind kept tugging on Natshas cloak. She did not move. Natsha just stood there frozen in place with the world, around her feeling really distant.
