Sinner

Every day, she sat there. From the first rays of dawn till nightfall she came to sit on the very same bench. At times, she looked up at the sky and smiled sadly. Mostly, though, she just gazed at her hands.

They were small, delicate hands, pale as snow - like her face. As people passed her by, they wondered - why was she there? Who was she? What was the reason she stared at the hands folded in her lap, occasionally fisting them and closing her eyes as if in pain?

--Countless lights around her, too bright, much too bright-- She couldn't breathe! Chanting a spell without even being able to hear her own voice, she desperately tried to reverse the situation. There still was a chance, there had to be! --

Once, a young man about her age sat beside her. Trying to start a conversation was futile. There was no response, not even a blink of eyes that in the splendour of sunset seemed nearly scarlet in colour.

--can't see, why couldn't she see anything... The darkness, the silence, suffocating. Only a moment ago there had been screams and yelling and clashing of steel, but now... Nothing. Nothing --

They all wondered if perhaps she was in some kind of serious trouble, or homeless. She never spoke, never looked at anyone. Only one word sometimes escaped her lips - a name. 'Izak.' She repeated it a few times, then lapsed into silence again.

Strange was that no one could ever forget her, no matter how many years it had been since they last had seen her. Those soulless eyes were forever imprinted to the memory of each and every person to ever pass her by.

--They said she could not be forgiven, could not be given the chance to rest. She would have to repent for her sins, aknowledge the mistakes that lead to the destruction of everything her people held dear. She would have to protect the reincarnated souls of those her careless actions caused to perish, to guard them and their children --

She sits there still, on the bench facing the ocean, looking at hands stained with the blood of thousands - blood that only she can see with eyes that witness the horrors of past every single day, repeated endlessly in her guilty conscience.








Blessings of the muse