Lucias Belrume

WIP
 Winter's Moonlight  She’s watching down upon me. I could sense it, that gaze. The feeling of her cool presence shining through the darkness. She’s keeping me company just like last night—just like every night. This night…this one weren’t no different. She sat up high, not a single cloud to conceal her light. Not a single star shown more brightly than hers. It’s times like these that help me feel… ‘fulfilled’? Is that even the right word? Her light makes me feel…I don’t know. I’m not even too sure. Not anymore. Not this time This dance, she saw millions of times before: the high viridian grasses parting before me, the flowing of my ashen scarf within the crisp, frigid air, the beat of my heart rising in anticipation of what’s before me. Of what’s to come. Of him running, my query. His bounty wasn’t worth much of a damn. It weren’t enough to get me a good week-or-so’s stay at a nice inn. Hell, it weren’t even good enough for getting me a hot meal for that same week, but that’s not why I took it. No, no, no. This was of a more personal matter. One I’m damned ready to straighten out and dutifully pay him with proper hospitality. It weren’t too hard to track him. Just had to follow the crimson trail is all. The boy should have ducked sooner. Or maybe, just maybe he should have stayed right where he was. Right there in that damned, decrepit, louse-infested alley, pissin’ on the bricks, but no. No, no, no. Boy nearly got caught with his pants down, but something told him he had to run. Maybe it was some sort of sixth sense. Maybe he just thought a nice jog outside of the city would be fun. Hell, maybe he saw my shadow and got spooked. Not that any of it really matters anymore. Eventually, he stopped running and tried hiding. He thought it were safe to duck down underneath the groove of a large evergreen. Guess he was hoping the roots would conceal him from sight, but he ain’t so lucky. I can still hear him; the sound of his heart never once grew dim since we left the city, so as he took that one, singular breath of eurphoric relief, I took him by the scruff of the neck and dragged his mangy ass out into the snow. He gasped out as I slammed him against the tree, pinning the half-elf in place. I glared into his eyes, mine burning hot with the yellow fury of the new morrow. The one he’ll never get a chance to see. The one she’ll never… ”FUCK!”

The moon is watching me. I could feel her presence as she gazed straight through me; through my soul; through my now ashen heart. It is always there up high—observing yet never judging. The moon does not care about how I stake my claims. It doesn’t care of how I took his first kneecap or his second. It doesn’t care for how I sliced open his skin and scrimshawed her name into his bone. Nor does the light of the moon care for this man’s last breath, solidified within the winter air as his sanguine life ebbed and drained from without of his body. No. It doesn’t care. And neither do I.