The intensity of the pain... it burns, it hurts, it never relents. To stand there out in the frostbiting cold, yet to feel the unending throb of pure anguish and discomfort flooding over one's body; it is the single most mind-numbing pain of all. The wind blows, nay, it howls, yet all that one can feel is but the icy slashes of the dagger of truth slicing away at the worn down heart.
Amid all the discomfort and cold, a sole figure stands there, waiting, haunting. A quick glance at the eyes reveal a look most shocking and fiery---it seemed to be no less than that of the devil itself, burning with pure hatred and rage. The eyes glow red from the flames of dispassionate anger, and the snow all around melts as fast as they fall in the blizzard. In no way was this figure going to disappear.
She grabbed the hilt of her sword, her other hand clutching at her heart, trying to ease away the pain that she felt. She fought back the tears that were welling up in her dainty eyes, as memories of her beloved flooded back into her mind's eye. She could never forget the final moment, when her beloved faced off with the most vile of all evils in their time, alone, and succumbing to its treachery, right before her helpless self. His final glance of despair towards her before they closed into the finality of death lingers freshly in her mind, even though this was a scene that she had seen only a few years before.
With the cry of the wounded love, she lifted her sword up and lunged towards the figure with the fiery eyes. The snow fell heavily on all sides as she charged ahead, with little worry in the world other than to avenge the death of her love.
The figure gave a wry grin, and revealed its dark blade carved with strange runic symbols. The blade was bathed in a cold blue flame, a stark difference to the redness of its eyes. Without so much of a thought, it flung its blade in front of it.
She never did have the chance. The dark blade found its mark and impaled straight through her aching heart, its blue flame searing around it. Stunned, she looked with defiance at the figure, and summoning all of her last strength, she continued her charge. With each step that she took, her strength waned, and at long last when she finally reached the figure, she had hardly the strength to plough her sword deep into its chest.
Staggering towards the figure, she made a last ditched effort to embed her sword into it, thus having her revenge. The figure laughed mendaciously and gripped the hilt of the dark blade still stuck in her torso, and twisted it. Blood slashed all over the snow-covered ground as it retracted the dark blade from her weakened body, staining the snow a deep crimson red.
``You fiend! You... you will never get away with this!''
With the last efforts of a dying person, she made a final attempt at stabbing it, only to find herself falling towards the ground. She never made it, for with a swift stroke, the figure had decapitated her cleanly with its dark blade.
Against the blizzard, a dark silhouette stands with a fallen figure. Its eyes were aglow with hatred and pure rage. Today, the evil has won, but when will the evil be vanquished?
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