Love and Loss

The dark knight was atop his black horse under the rain, silent as the moonless sky shed tears on the wickedness of man and woman, for one in particular. He had been away, wandering amid the nearby forests, and madness had taken her. She had bathed again, in the red water. When he had reached the gates, the youngest among her maids, all female servants, had run to him crying. He had not needed their explanation to know what had happened.

Young Zila, she loved to sing and dance. Nalya shared my love for books... She would ask me for a tale before sleep. Lyla loved the horses, especially Whisper. And Arianne... Oh Arianne.

She had been older than the rest, taken at fifteen when most maids were taken at twelve or younger. Her nineteenth birthday had passed. While he loved them as daughters, from time to time, one would have another kind of love, would bring light back in his old dead heart. He always sent those away, or changed them, but still sent them away nonetheless. Elizabeth was a jealous woman, even if they were no longer lovers, even if he hated her. She must have found out about Arianne and she... And she...

I failed her, I failed them all. They were looking for me for protection against her, but I was not there...

Yet even had he present, his oath would have demanded that he step aside, or worse help Elizabeth, his Bloody Lady. He had forgotten much of the knightly vows of the old blademasters, the only he remembered now was Duty. Duty demanded that he hold his oath... no matter the cost.

How I hate her, how I yearn to tear her black heart from her chest! Yet I must remain faithful... Only duty remains.

After her bath, Elizabeth would be appeased, for a time anyway. He had taken their bodies in stone tombs, working the stone to make a statue of the girls lost, seemingly sleeping upon the stone slab. After millennias, it was one of the many skills he had mastered. It was the least he could give them. The others had come with him, had watched him work, sobbing amidst the tombs, for there were many.

Now he was outside, under the rain. He had avoided Elizabeth's presence after seeing her naked, drenched in the blood of the innocents she had bathed in. Now more than ever, he risked breaking his oath, and if he did...

Would it be so bad? To give her the mercy she deserves? To be made without purpose, for the sake of the girls?

Yet the living had lost some of their value for Raziel after he had watched so many die. Death seemed more often than not a gift to those that lived, a mercy...

He made his horse advance, walking alone on the abandonned roads. Few traveled upon them, the Haunted Way it was called, where the Ringing Death was said to kill all travelers and take their young daughters to his Bloody Lady. Another tale had him as an unfortunate slave to the Lady's will, the Knight of Sorrows. Both were closer to the truth than any imagined. Still he rode on, away from the castle, away from her.