Corruption

The boy’s fingers traced the outlines of Felicity’s corpse, lingering on the neck of her coarse robes. Unlike the times of the past, she did not stir at the intimate touch. He remained there for several minutes, hoping silently that she would wake up and show him that it was just a bad dream. But her body never moved, still warm as she hadn’t been dead for very long at all.

Mikhail suddenly yanked the collar of her robes violently, jerking her lifeless body upwards before hitting against the stone with a dull thump. “You can’t just go and die on me like that!” he screamed, his voice cracking. The dagger he had planned to kill her with sat sheathed at his side, never been given the opportunity to be used on its target. How many countless times had he fantasized slashing her throat? He no longer had the sight to see the look of anguish on her face as he did it, but oh, he could imagine it so clearly. The look of shock and then pain as scarlet welled against her neck and her green eyes shut eternally.

But that wasn’t going to happen now. She had been stolen from him, slain at the hand of another. Anger hissed in his ears, compelling him to draw the dagger from its sheath. This is for my sight, he thought bitterly while swinging the blade down. There was no sound beside the blade’s movement through the air, but he knew his aim at struck true, as warm and sticky blood clotted his hands. Not satisfied, he yanked the blade out and brought it down again. Mikhail kept stabbing her lifeless corpse again and again, all the while tears streaming down his face. Why wasn’t she fighting back? Why was he so angry?

What happened to their love? That question was what drove his blade again and again into her flesh. It was what sent the salty tears running down his cheeks. It was why he had a warm ecstasy coiling in his stomach. Deep sadness wrapped tendrils around his throat, constricting his swallowing. Running a thumb over her cheek, Mikhail could still see that Felicity was still as gorgeous as when she had stood over him with that dagger. Before she had taken something so incredibly dear to him.

He should’ve felt nothing but anger. He knew as much as that at least. But yet…why was there so much sadness inside of him? Felicity was dead to him long before her corpse was laying on the ground. She betrayed him and stole everything: his future, his sight, his heart, and more. But yet, Mikhail knew he still loved her. He loved her yet he hated her.

The girl’s skin was smooth, not a single imperfection detected by his fingertips. He recalled the mole on the corner of her mouth with aching familiarity, running his hand across the beauty mark. Soon, his hands had traveled to her lips. I wonder if they’re still that pristine, coral color. His lips pressed against hers, savoring the soft sensation. For a moment, he was taken back to that night a year ago when everything was perfect. When he could see her smile. But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

In a moment of frustration, he bit her lip. Blood spilled out, staining his mouth. Instead of spitting it away, he tasted the red liquid. It was salty and tasted metallic, much like his tears. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, but that still didn’t aid Mikhail in seeing her face. The dagger that had taken his sight was now buried deep in Felicity’s breast, rivulets of blood pouring out around the base.

More of her blood was on his hands. Wet and warm, it stained the skin. He lifted a finger to his mouth and tasted it. Even though the boy knew what he was drinking, he shoved away the revulsion and gagged it down. Part of her would always be with him this way. Blood dripped down his chin, now starting to become cold. Even though it was disgusting, a sudden laugh burst from his chest. His body shook, unable to handle the wracking peals of laughter escaping. All the training he’d done in the past year was for nothing. Felicity had been stolen from him, her blood staining his skin. All he could do was take her with him in the only way he could.

Feeling her cheek one last time, Mikhail recognized the cold wetness staining her face. It wasn’t blood, but rather his own tears that had spilled onto her when they kissed. Perhaps if this had been some fairy tale, she would’ve been brought back to life by them. But the dagger was still buried inside her, rigid and unmoving. No amount of magic could save her from those previous wounds.

“I’m so happy,” he murmured to no one in particular. Why not be happy? This way, Felicity’s suffering had finally ended. It was a pure shame though that it wasn’t by his own blade. He would’ve given anything to see the expression on her face lying there with his dagger buried in her. Most likely, she looked peaceful. That was what the corpses he’d seen before had always looked like. They looked like they were asleep, lost in a land of happy dreams.

Is that really what the afterlife is like? One day, he would find out. But that day wasn’t today. There was still unfinished business. The bastard who killed her needed to pay. After all, he had stolen Mikhail’s prize. In one, swift motion, he had taken Mikhail’s love, pride, motivation, and grief. But he could not take the hatred. No, that was ingrained too deeply inside the boy. Hatred was an integral part of his soul. In the midst of his fluctuating emotions, it was the only thing that remained constant. Hate for his family, hate for himself, hate for Felicity, hate for everything.

Yanking the blade out, he felt her body jerk upwards before falling back to the ground unceremoniously. He ran the blade across his tongue, relishing the acrid taste of her blood. He was alive. And in a way, so was Felicity. She was as close to him as possible, yet eternally distant. Somewhere in the corner of his heart where hatred had not spread, she was waiting there for him. It was only a matter of time until they met again. But until then, Mikhail had a sage to kill.