Work Text:
The short, almost arctic day had faded into night. Enveloped in darkness, the town lay, dim moonlight shining through fleecy clouds. A gust of icy wind howled, driving fallen snow through the narrow streets.
Her hand delicately closed the door behind her back, putting a lid on all the laughter and drunken chants from the inside. All the woman’s efforts to keep a blank face crumbled as soon as she heard the lock snap into place. Her brows showed concern, her lips distress, her silver eyes were marked by fear. She didn’t know if the slight shake in her legs came from her failed attempt to drown her sorrow in alcohol, or from all the withheld emotions, thoughts and doubts. The woman forced her weary body to move away from the inn, leaving the surface of the fresh snow broken.
The warrior’s mind was racing, her thoughts spinning. Her legs were at the verge of giving in. Fast enough to cut the wind itself, her hand unsheathed her claymore, drove its tip deeply into the frozen soil. Gritting her teeth in an attempt to fight her own mind, she went to her knees, her forehead leaning against the ice-cold blade. For an instant she closed her lids, then stared into the reflection of her deep, silvery eyes, her breath crystallizing on the swords surface. A still, unmoving expression glanced back at her, not showing even a glimpse of the inferno that was devouring her from the inside. These eyes gazed back at her like they were someone else’s. To her, they were something familiar that would never betray her. A cold shelter she could curl up in whenever the pain got too much to bear. Her last bastion. However, even this refuge grew hazy, as hot tears started running down her cheeks while her body was shaken by uncontrolled sobs. Her stomach in knots, she fought for self-control. She sucked in a deep breath, the air whistling through her gritted teeth, then once again closed her eyes, this time shutting herself away from the world and facing what she feared most. Herself.
Why was she in this deathtrap? She would die. Her comrades would die. Everyone would get slaughtered, ripped apart. Forgotten. Lost. Was she really so worthless? So weak? So insignificant? Who was to blame? Her handler. The organisation. Why would they send her to throw away her life like this?
She felt like a doll that had been left in the corner by a child, whose interest in her had withered. Her desperation quickly turned into mad hatred. The woman’s breathing accelerated, grew heavier. She didn’t want to die. Dark claws took hold of her heart, turning her thoughts into nothing more than a maddening blur. The organisation was to blame. Her world was tumbling. The organisation was to be held responsible for the massacre that lay ahead.
The warrior had been ordered, but she wouldn’t follow. She would return and repay them in kind, slice them into ribbons. An insane excitement was growing inside the woman’s chest, stirring her bloodlust. Yes, she would kill the-
A hand moved. A blade followed. A flash of pain answered.
Silence.
Her thoughts stood still, her head was swept clean of all thoughts. Blood was streaming out of a deep cut on her wrist, dripping onto the white snow, staining its purity. She didn’t focus her yoki, for the pain was all that kept her from crossing the divide to insanity.
She smiled gingerly.
The innocence of snow, the guilt of blood and the bitterness of tears to complete this trinity.
The organisation had ordered. The woman had answered her summoning and would now follow. No questions asked. Her cut arm now hung loosely at her side, her bloodied sword still raised in front of her. One last time her eyes locked onto her reflection.
I will stand. I will fight. I...will die.