(Flash)
Blood.
Sounds of innocent screams..
A courtyard of corpses.
People incinerated… Running.
A fair virgin… dead… butchered.
Oligarchi woke up halfly in shock in his room at the Sanctuary Guildhall.
He was cold… colder than usual.
He walked from his bed to a bowl of water standing on his table and squirted some water on his face.
He dried his face with a nearby towel, hanging on some nails close to the main door.
He gazed into the mirror beside his bed, saying with a whispery voice: “What have I done….?”
It was late at night, most of the Guildhalls inhabitants were asleep.
Oligarchi however could not sleep, nor rest.
He dressed up in simple, casual clothing and walked silently out of his room, trying not to wake up any of the other inhabitants in the Guildhall.
He walked down the stairs and peered inside the living room. There was no one to see.
He silently opened the main entrance door and went outside, closing the door with care.
It was cold outside, but Oligarchi didn’t mind. The wind whispered in the air, as if it was a tune. But a tune of sorrow. At least that was how Oligarchi saw it.
Oligarchi walked down the road, minding his surroundings. It was dark, but the moon lighted up the road enough for him to see. After a while, he sat down on a big, mossy rock, sighing. Thinking.
A flashback came to his mind, a voice, a female voice. Whispering.
“Cowardly warrior vents his rage… His lust for blood cannot be appeased…. What fickle angels are we? Our divided brothers we slay… His lust will erase all”
Oligarchi roared, almost frantically. “NO! Not…. again!”
He grasped his necklace, the necklace he loved preciously. The necklace which was the only thing he had left before the transformation into a Forsaken.
He held the necklace, as if praying. “Forgiveness… Forgiveness from all those… unfortunate. From all the innocent… From all the…. maimed and tortured… I seek forgiveness… So I may be at peace… Forever”
A substance that may resemble a tear ran down Oligarchi’s eye and cheek.
He gently took his necklace and put it back inside his shirt and dried his face with a dirty handkerchief he had in one of his pockets. He looked onto the sky, whispering: “A thousand Gods could not comprehend my regrets… I pray that some day… That I may rest… And be forgiven.”
Oligarchi closed his eyes.
(Flash)
Blood.
People incinerated… Running.
A courtyard of corpses.
A fair virgin… dead… butchered.
Oligarchi looked at his hands, whispering: “Will I ever find peace…?”.
The moon faded away.
Written by Oligarchi