THE
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Welcome to the Story Wall! This is where we'll be pinning our favorite flash fiction stories from each Round for you to enjoy.
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ROUND THREE FAVORITES:
To Kill a Monster by Hannah Carter
“We require your services for a job. Details are enclosed. After all… it takes a monster to destroy a monster.”
Emi crumpled the paper in her first. She could hear the mocking tone of the author,
the little titter at the end.
She never decided who to kill. She was merely the weapon in the hands of the true
monsters; were they oblivious to the irony?
The mansion doors swung open in the light of the full moon. A figure crept out, a gun
slung on his back.
The other “monster.”
Emi tossed the crumpled-up piece of paper at the assassin’s head. He whirled around
and aimed his weapon at the trees.
Emi held up her hands as she stepped from behind a trunk. “Kiyoshi. Don’t shoot. It’s
me.”
Kiyoshi lowered the gun. “Emi?”
Forget any messages and jobs—Emi darted toward her brother’s arms.
“It’s so good to see you,” she murmured.
His arms tightened around her. “You, too. But why are you here?”
She withdrew from his embrace and picked up the note. “Because you’ve made some
rich thug mad enough that they want you dead.”
Kiyoshi stiffened. His hand moved for his trigger, and Emi crossed her arms. “I
wouldn’t have hugged you if I wanted to kill you, stupid.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m done being a pawn in the wealthy’s games. I don’t care about their petty
problems anymore. We’ve been trained since birth to be killing slaves for them, and now they
have the gall to pit me against my big brother for their own twisted entertainment?” Emi glared
up at the lights that burned in the windows in the mansion beside them. “And they have the
audacity to call us monsters.”
“You’re disobeying your orders,” Kiyoshi said dully. “Just kill me. If you don’t,
someone’ll come after you. You’ll spend your life as a fugitive… or be murdered. I can’t let you
do that.”
In one movement, he held the gun up to his head, his finger teasing the trigger.
Perhaps he thought the two years of experience he had over her would help him make
the final shot.
Or perhaps he just underestimated how much she loved him.
Emi hadn’t killed hundreds to be outplayed now, though.
She swung her fist around and caught his arm. She wrenched the weapon away; he’d
already fired, and the shot went wild. She twisted his wrist until his body instinctively released
its grip; then she wrenched the offending limb behind his back.
“We won’t have to spend our lives on the run if we do just a few more jobs before we
call it quits,” she whispered in his ear. “Start a little rebellion.”
“It’s madness. These men—they’re money-laden monsters. Violence is a game to
them; lives are the currency to play.” Kiyoshi swallowed.
Her brother, scared?
She tightened her grip. “Then it’s a good thing they trained us then, isn’t it?”
After all--
It took a monster to destroy a monster.
Magic Words by Rachel Kimberly Hastings
Smorloc the Great, Royal Wizard of Capermist, was a ghost. This surprised him, as he
hadn’t been a ghost five seconds ago.
His hands were transparent blue, shimmering like light underwater, and he floated
awkwardly above his physical body, which was crumpled on the stone floor of the cave. This
was not at all how he’d planned to spend his Saturday.
“JUNIPER!” he bellowed, “What did you do?!”
Another blue-tinted spirit popped up next to him. His apprentice looked remarkably
thrilled for someone who was incorporeal. “Smores! There you are! What happened? This is so
cool!” She bounced weightlessly around him, peering through his see-through cloak in sheer
curiosity.
She doesn’t realize, he thought sourly. She doesn’t even know what she’s done. Well,
there was only one thing to do: break the news. He drew himself up to his full height, towering
over her. “We’re dead.”
Juni faltered. “Wh-what?”
“You killed us with your disastrous attempt at a teleportation spell!”
“No, no—I’m too young to die!” She began to pace in mid-air.
“And I’m not?”
She stopped and eyed his long beard. “I told you I wasn’t ready for that spell!”
He scoffed.
“Besides, I’ll fix this! It can’t be permanent. I’ve read about teleportation spells going
wrong like this before. We just need to figure out the magic words to reverse it! Usually it’s
something hard to say… Maybe try a tongue-twister?“
“Would you stop? You’re going to make it worse.”
“Worse than being dead?” She poked his stomach, craning her neck to glare up at him.
“You’re the one who made me try the spell. Would it kill you to apologize just once?”
He snorted. “That would be difficult, since you’ve already covered the killing me part.”
Juni stamped her foot, not noticing how it went right through the stone floor. “Why are
you being so mean and cranky about this?”
“I’m always mean and cranky.”
Her face scrunched up, and for a moment, Smorloc was afraid she was going to cry.
Instead, she swallowed hard and spun away from him. She crouched in the corner of the dark
cave, floating there with her arms wrapped around her knees. A tense silence fell between them.
Smorloc’s gaze flicked down to his lifeless body at his feet, then shifted to Juni’s own
body, curled like a cat around her open spellbook where it had fallen when it all went wrong. She
always tried so hard to do what he asked. Why hadn’t he listened to her this time?
He sighed. “You’re… right,” he said. It was hard to get the words out. They needed to be
said.
Juni looked up, wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“I… I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” He gulped. “And for that, I’m… sorry.”
A flash of light surrounded them, and suddenly Smorloc was yanked toward his body.
He woke up on the floor, fully alive again.
Juni offered him a hand. “See, was that so hard?”
The Waltz of Death by Elisha Gadbois
Claevus locked blades with the last surviving member of the Tazmyk Imperial Guard. It
was all a dance, really, the most intimate kind of all. The waltz of death.
He spun around and slammed his heel into the guard’s head, sending him stumbling back
into one of the sitting room’s mirrored walls. Claevus grimly slit the guard’s throat. Fast,
efficient, painless. In the stadium, he was usually forced to prolong his opponent’s agony, but
here? It wasn’t the guards’ fault that they couldn’t keep step with him.
Claevus rose and so did his twin in the mirror. Flecks of blood dotted his face. He gritted
his teeth and roughly wiped the crimson off. He couldn’t stand blood on his skin, not even after
ten years in the arenas. It reminded him of cradling Sephura’s crumpled body. It reminded him of
the deadly music he’d been forced to keep time to.
Tightening his jaw, he turned. The emperor, the conductor, plastered himself against the
opposite wall, his lithe form shaking. Claevus stalked toward him, avoiding the imperial guards’
strewn bodies.
“Not so majestic now, are we, Imperial Majesty.” Claevus spat out the honorific.
The emperor swallowed. “Wait a moment, Claevus. Haven’t I always rewarded you as
the Veraph Games’ undefeated champion?”
Claevus tensed his grip on his sword. His hands constantly tingled with the sensation of
someone else’s blood, even after hours of scrubbing. “That favorite pastime of yours isn’t a
game.” The emperor’s smiles amidst the audience’s deafening cheers were more feral than any
beast Claevus had ever faced. “They’re the spawn of hell. Only a monster like you could invent
such a sport. You forced me to fight. You forced me to kill.”
“Ah, actually, I did no such thing.” The emperor’s gaze darted, but there was no one to
save him. “They could’ve lived if you’d chosen to die.”
“I couldn’t die.” Red hot fury burned his eyes. “Not until I’d avenged the only two souls
that ever mattered. Do you even remember them?”
“How could I –“
“Right, how could you remember? When you obliterated so many towns? When your
armies slaughtered so many innocents?” Claevus took a step forward, raising his sword to the
emperor’s chest. “Your soldiers killed my wife and unborn child. And you smiled.”
“I’ve never personally killed anyone.” He swallowed, adding, “Unlike you.”
Death’s music crescendoed and Claevus lunged, thrusting the sword into the emperor’s
abdomen. “For Sephura.” He ripped it across. “For our unborn baby.” He twisted the cut
upwards, taking his time. “For me.” He tore it out.
Blood spilling, the emperor sank to his knees. Claevus leaned in, reveling in his agony
and the satisfaction that this monster was suffering as Sephura had. Then the emperor went limp.
Claevus straightened, his body splattered with blood. Yet he felt no revulsion, only
immense gratification. At last, the waltz was over.
His bloodied reflection in the mirrored wall caught his eye. He was smiling.
Just like the emperor always did.
Cut to the Heart by Jenny Chasteen
The bloody knife clattered to the tile.
Guards twisted Emori's arms behind her. She thrust her head back, tossing her green hood
from her face. Rebel Commander's orders: do the job. Let them know who did it.
The king's eyes, pinched, rose from the dark stain consuming his blue robes. "Why?"
Such a youthful king. Not a speck of gray in his beard. But emptiness echoed in Emori's
chest where her heart should've been. "You killed me first." She raised her toneless voice for the
whole banquet hall. "You steal peasants off the street for your twisted experiments. You stole my
heart but somehow extended my miserable life. There are hundreds like me. Now your throne is
ours."
The king leaned forward with a ragged breath. "Operate...on her."
Emori's muscles tensed. He wouldn’t end her half-life, just steal another piece of soul?
Guards rushed her through a door, down stairways, across streets--into a stone room that smelled
of grime and tickled buried memories at the back of her skull. They slammed her on a table, one
guard holding down each of her limbs. Another thrusted a putrid bottle beneath her nose.
A blade in the skin of her chest. A scream. Darkness.
***
Emori opened her eyes. Light washed the cellar through a window on her right. She
inhaled morning air. Surely the guards hadn't simply left her alone after their foul operation.
Lub-dub.
She gasped and jerked upright. A pulse thrummed through her veins. What--
The king stood before her, in clean blue robes.
Her heart--impossibly--pounded. She'd failed. She should be disappointed. Furious. But
her desire to kill had melted like snow. "What did you do?"
"I gave your heart back." He gestured to the mossy stone. "We found it here, used for
experiments--when we overtook this illegal laboratory from the rebels."
Emori shook her head slowly. "You're lying. You're behind the experiments."
"Am I lying about your heart?"
" I--" she gripped the front of her ratty green tunic.
"It's the Rebel Commander who lied to you, and to the others under his control."
An image flashed into her mind: a ball under the stars. Then a throne room ablaze with
afternoon light. Running through a forest with--
She jumped off the table, retreating to the far wall. Heaven help. It was all true.
His eyes brightened. "You remember now."
"I--” Her heart skipped a beat-- “was your queen."
"You are the queen. You deserted to the rebels, who took your heart and your memories.
I would've given anything to have you back." With a sad smile, the king turned to the door.
"Wait!" Emori lunged for his sleeve.
Her hand passed through the fabric.
The king stopped, looked back. "He said I could tell you goodbye before my departure--
and equip you to fight back against the rebels. You see, your assassination attempt succeeded.
The throne is yours now."
He ran his hand, light as wind, down her arm. He vanished. Emori’s heart remembered
how to feel.
Who We Really Are by Makenzie Gray
Her words echoed in his head alongside the screams.
“It takes a monster to destroy a monster. I hope you know that.” Blood had dribbled from the corners of her cracked lips as she laughed, choked, died.
He’d backpedaled away from the limp body, his knife dripping with her life. And three hours later, he was still there, collapsed against a cold brick wall. Waiting. The sirens of the Officials should have already arrived, and he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that they hadn’t. He almost wanted them to. She was a Marked, and he was an Unmarked. The Officials would kill him on the spot. No questions asked. She would have, too. Maybe she should have.
Monster. Monster. Monster.
His hands shook and he turned them over in the semi-darkness of the alley. The coppery smell of her drying bloodstains made his stomach churn. Sure, he took no pleasure in taking her life, but where was the line between a hero and villain? In the end, they would all be dead - Marked, Unmarked alike - and nobody would be left to take score.
In the eyes of his Camp, he had neutralized a threat that would have killed innocents. Women, children. His sweet daughter, Natalie, even.
He’d named her after his sister, Natya.
Oh, Adonai. Forgive me…this blood. This world. Her blank eyes. Why won’t You let me go? Let them catch me. I want to see You, to forget this all. Forgive me. He closed his eyes against the echoed screams bouncing in his skull, mingling with the victim’s last words. His Camp had faced so much loss in recent months. And yet, in the eyes of the Officials and the world at large, he had just senselessly stolen the life of a brave warrior. A woman driven to protect the government-ruled world at large. Would her squadron scream and mourn her like his Camp would have mourned his death?
Would he mourn her, too? Really, only Adonai should be able to decide who lived and died. He understood that fact keenly. Painfully. Humans weren’t meant to make this choice. And maybe that’s where his problem was.
The screams had always been there, ingrained in his mind. Now her words would be, too. And perhaps a monster was the only thing capable of committing this act. Only a monster could close the victim’s eyes, rise to his feet, tug his hood over his forehead so none would know he was Unmarked, and leave.
After all, only a monster could kill his daughter’s namesake for self-preservation.
“We require your services for a job. Details are enclosed. After all… it takes a monster to destroy a monster.”
Emi crumpled the paper in her first. She could hear the mocking tone of the author,
the little titter at the end.
She never decided who to kill. She was merely the weapon in the hands of the true
monsters; were they oblivious to the irony?
The mansion doors swung open in the light of the full moon. A figure crept out, a gun
slung on his back.
The other “monster.”
Emi tossed the crumpled-up piece of paper at the assassin’s head. He whirled around
and aimed his weapon at the trees.
Emi held up her hands as she stepped from behind a trunk. “Kiyoshi. Don’t shoot. It’s
me.”
Kiyoshi lowered the gun. “Emi?”
Forget any messages and jobs—Emi darted toward her brother’s arms.
“It’s so good to see you,” she murmured.
His arms tightened around her. “You, too. But why are you here?”
She withdrew from his embrace and picked up the note. “Because you’ve made some
rich thug mad enough that they want you dead.”
Kiyoshi stiffened. His hand moved for his trigger, and Emi crossed her arms. “I
wouldn’t have hugged you if I wanted to kill you, stupid.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m done being a pawn in the wealthy’s games. I don’t care about their petty
problems anymore. We’ve been trained since birth to be killing slaves for them, and now they
have the gall to pit me against my big brother for their own twisted entertainment?” Emi glared
up at the lights that burned in the windows in the mansion beside them. “And they have the
audacity to call us monsters.”
“You’re disobeying your orders,” Kiyoshi said dully. “Just kill me. If you don’t,
someone’ll come after you. You’ll spend your life as a fugitive… or be murdered. I can’t let you
do that.”
In one movement, he held the gun up to his head, his finger teasing the trigger.
Perhaps he thought the two years of experience he had over her would help him make
the final shot.
Or perhaps he just underestimated how much she loved him.
Emi hadn’t killed hundreds to be outplayed now, though.
She swung her fist around and caught his arm. She wrenched the weapon away; he’d
already fired, and the shot went wild. She twisted his wrist until his body instinctively released
its grip; then she wrenched the offending limb behind his back.
“We won’t have to spend our lives on the run if we do just a few more jobs before we
call it quits,” she whispered in his ear. “Start a little rebellion.”
“It’s madness. These men—they’re money-laden monsters. Violence is a game to
them; lives are the currency to play.” Kiyoshi swallowed.
Her brother, scared?
She tightened her grip. “Then it’s a good thing they trained us then, isn’t it?”
After all--
It took a monster to destroy a monster.
Magic Words by Rachel Kimberly Hastings
Smorloc the Great, Royal Wizard of Capermist, was a ghost. This surprised him, as he
hadn’t been a ghost five seconds ago.
His hands were transparent blue, shimmering like light underwater, and he floated
awkwardly above his physical body, which was crumpled on the stone floor of the cave. This
was not at all how he’d planned to spend his Saturday.
“JUNIPER!” he bellowed, “What did you do?!”
Another blue-tinted spirit popped up next to him. His apprentice looked remarkably
thrilled for someone who was incorporeal. “Smores! There you are! What happened? This is so
cool!” She bounced weightlessly around him, peering through his see-through cloak in sheer
curiosity.
She doesn’t realize, he thought sourly. She doesn’t even know what she’s done. Well,
there was only one thing to do: break the news. He drew himself up to his full height, towering
over her. “We’re dead.”
Juni faltered. “Wh-what?”
“You killed us with your disastrous attempt at a teleportation spell!”
“No, no—I’m too young to die!” She began to pace in mid-air.
“And I’m not?”
She stopped and eyed his long beard. “I told you I wasn’t ready for that spell!”
He scoffed.
“Besides, I’ll fix this! It can’t be permanent. I’ve read about teleportation spells going
wrong like this before. We just need to figure out the magic words to reverse it! Usually it’s
something hard to say… Maybe try a tongue-twister?“
“Would you stop? You’re going to make it worse.”
“Worse than being dead?” She poked his stomach, craning her neck to glare up at him.
“You’re the one who made me try the spell. Would it kill you to apologize just once?”
He snorted. “That would be difficult, since you’ve already covered the killing me part.”
Juni stamped her foot, not noticing how it went right through the stone floor. “Why are
you being so mean and cranky about this?”
“I’m always mean and cranky.”
Her face scrunched up, and for a moment, Smorloc was afraid she was going to cry.
Instead, she swallowed hard and spun away from him. She crouched in the corner of the dark
cave, floating there with her arms wrapped around her knees. A tense silence fell between them.
Smorloc’s gaze flicked down to his lifeless body at his feet, then shifted to Juni’s own
body, curled like a cat around her open spellbook where it had fallen when it all went wrong. She
always tried so hard to do what he asked. Why hadn’t he listened to her this time?
He sighed. “You’re… right,” he said. It was hard to get the words out. They needed to be
said.
Juni looked up, wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“I… I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” He gulped. “And for that, I’m… sorry.”
A flash of light surrounded them, and suddenly Smorloc was yanked toward his body.
He woke up on the floor, fully alive again.
Juni offered him a hand. “See, was that so hard?”
The Waltz of Death by Elisha Gadbois
Claevus locked blades with the last surviving member of the Tazmyk Imperial Guard. It
was all a dance, really, the most intimate kind of all. The waltz of death.
He spun around and slammed his heel into the guard’s head, sending him stumbling back
into one of the sitting room’s mirrored walls. Claevus grimly slit the guard’s throat. Fast,
efficient, painless. In the stadium, he was usually forced to prolong his opponent’s agony, but
here? It wasn’t the guards’ fault that they couldn’t keep step with him.
Claevus rose and so did his twin in the mirror. Flecks of blood dotted his face. He gritted
his teeth and roughly wiped the crimson off. He couldn’t stand blood on his skin, not even after
ten years in the arenas. It reminded him of cradling Sephura’s crumpled body. It reminded him of
the deadly music he’d been forced to keep time to.
Tightening his jaw, he turned. The emperor, the conductor, plastered himself against the
opposite wall, his lithe form shaking. Claevus stalked toward him, avoiding the imperial guards’
strewn bodies.
“Not so majestic now, are we, Imperial Majesty.” Claevus spat out the honorific.
The emperor swallowed. “Wait a moment, Claevus. Haven’t I always rewarded you as
the Veraph Games’ undefeated champion?”
Claevus tensed his grip on his sword. His hands constantly tingled with the sensation of
someone else’s blood, even after hours of scrubbing. “That favorite pastime of yours isn’t a
game.” The emperor’s smiles amidst the audience’s deafening cheers were more feral than any
beast Claevus had ever faced. “They’re the spawn of hell. Only a monster like you could invent
such a sport. You forced me to fight. You forced me to kill.”
“Ah, actually, I did no such thing.” The emperor’s gaze darted, but there was no one to
save him. “They could’ve lived if you’d chosen to die.”
“I couldn’t die.” Red hot fury burned his eyes. “Not until I’d avenged the only two souls
that ever mattered. Do you even remember them?”
“How could I –“
“Right, how could you remember? When you obliterated so many towns? When your
armies slaughtered so many innocents?” Claevus took a step forward, raising his sword to the
emperor’s chest. “Your soldiers killed my wife and unborn child. And you smiled.”
“I’ve never personally killed anyone.” He swallowed, adding, “Unlike you.”
Death’s music crescendoed and Claevus lunged, thrusting the sword into the emperor’s
abdomen. “For Sephura.” He ripped it across. “For our unborn baby.” He twisted the cut
upwards, taking his time. “For me.” He tore it out.
Blood spilling, the emperor sank to his knees. Claevus leaned in, reveling in his agony
and the satisfaction that this monster was suffering as Sephura had. Then the emperor went limp.
Claevus straightened, his body splattered with blood. Yet he felt no revulsion, only
immense gratification. At last, the waltz was over.
His bloodied reflection in the mirrored wall caught his eye. He was smiling.
Just like the emperor always did.
Cut to the Heart by Jenny Chasteen
The bloody knife clattered to the tile.
Guards twisted Emori's arms behind her. She thrust her head back, tossing her green hood
from her face. Rebel Commander's orders: do the job. Let them know who did it.
The king's eyes, pinched, rose from the dark stain consuming his blue robes. "Why?"
Such a youthful king. Not a speck of gray in his beard. But emptiness echoed in Emori's
chest where her heart should've been. "You killed me first." She raised her toneless voice for the
whole banquet hall. "You steal peasants off the street for your twisted experiments. You stole my
heart but somehow extended my miserable life. There are hundreds like me. Now your throne is
ours."
The king leaned forward with a ragged breath. "Operate...on her."
Emori's muscles tensed. He wouldn’t end her half-life, just steal another piece of soul?
Guards rushed her through a door, down stairways, across streets--into a stone room that smelled
of grime and tickled buried memories at the back of her skull. They slammed her on a table, one
guard holding down each of her limbs. Another thrusted a putrid bottle beneath her nose.
A blade in the skin of her chest. A scream. Darkness.
***
Emori opened her eyes. Light washed the cellar through a window on her right. She
inhaled morning air. Surely the guards hadn't simply left her alone after their foul operation.
Lub-dub.
She gasped and jerked upright. A pulse thrummed through her veins. What--
The king stood before her, in clean blue robes.
Her heart--impossibly--pounded. She'd failed. She should be disappointed. Furious. But
her desire to kill had melted like snow. "What did you do?"
"I gave your heart back." He gestured to the mossy stone. "We found it here, used for
experiments--when we overtook this illegal laboratory from the rebels."
Emori shook her head slowly. "You're lying. You're behind the experiments."
"Am I lying about your heart?"
" I--" she gripped the front of her ratty green tunic.
"It's the Rebel Commander who lied to you, and to the others under his control."
An image flashed into her mind: a ball under the stars. Then a throne room ablaze with
afternoon light. Running through a forest with--
She jumped off the table, retreating to the far wall. Heaven help. It was all true.
His eyes brightened. "You remember now."
"I--” Her heart skipped a beat-- “was your queen."
"You are the queen. You deserted to the rebels, who took your heart and your memories.
I would've given anything to have you back." With a sad smile, the king turned to the door.
"Wait!" Emori lunged for his sleeve.
Her hand passed through the fabric.
The king stopped, looked back. "He said I could tell you goodbye before my departure--
and equip you to fight back against the rebels. You see, your assassination attempt succeeded.
The throne is yours now."
He ran his hand, light as wind, down her arm. He vanished. Emori’s heart remembered
how to feel.
Who We Really Are by Makenzie Gray
Her words echoed in his head alongside the screams.
“It takes a monster to destroy a monster. I hope you know that.” Blood had dribbled from the corners of her cracked lips as she laughed, choked, died.
He’d backpedaled away from the limp body, his knife dripping with her life. And three hours later, he was still there, collapsed against a cold brick wall. Waiting. The sirens of the Officials should have already arrived, and he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that they hadn’t. He almost wanted them to. She was a Marked, and he was an Unmarked. The Officials would kill him on the spot. No questions asked. She would have, too. Maybe she should have.
Monster. Monster. Monster.
His hands shook and he turned them over in the semi-darkness of the alley. The coppery smell of her drying bloodstains made his stomach churn. Sure, he took no pleasure in taking her life, but where was the line between a hero and villain? In the end, they would all be dead - Marked, Unmarked alike - and nobody would be left to take score.
In the eyes of his Camp, he had neutralized a threat that would have killed innocents. Women, children. His sweet daughter, Natalie, even.
He’d named her after his sister, Natya.
Oh, Adonai. Forgive me…this blood. This world. Her blank eyes. Why won’t You let me go? Let them catch me. I want to see You, to forget this all. Forgive me. He closed his eyes against the echoed screams bouncing in his skull, mingling with the victim’s last words. His Camp had faced so much loss in recent months. And yet, in the eyes of the Officials and the world at large, he had just senselessly stolen the life of a brave warrior. A woman driven to protect the government-ruled world at large. Would her squadron scream and mourn her like his Camp would have mourned his death?
Would he mourn her, too? Really, only Adonai should be able to decide who lived and died. He understood that fact keenly. Painfully. Humans weren’t meant to make this choice. And maybe that’s where his problem was.
The screams had always been there, ingrained in his mind. Now her words would be, too. And perhaps a monster was the only thing capable of committing this act. Only a monster could close the victim’s eyes, rise to his feet, tug his hood over his forehead so none would know he was Unmarked, and leave.
After all, only a monster could kill his daughter’s namesake for self-preservation.