You had a black dress on that day, with a dark ribbon on your back. Dark, raven hair callously swept over your eyes as you examined your work. You stared at your victims for the longest time, before you crouched down, and stabbed your arm in their chests. You dragged out their still beating hearts, and watched as it slowly succumb to death.
Reinforcements came. An onslaught of medical units hurriedly transported their charges off the battlefield. They saved everyone they could, mourned for those they couldn’t, and killed enemy soldiers you missed. Before I knew it, someone managed to shove a gas mask on my face, then dragged the two of us to the helicopter. Magic, they said. The air was laced with magic.
I remembered searching for you, wanting to thank you for saving the both of us. I saw you standing over someone, a body beneath your heel. You weren’t paying much attention, but that was fine. You were busy.
But I still thought to myself, “She looks really pretty.”
