Dead.

She danced, just out of his reach, eyes alight with malice. It was an emotion he'd never seen in her eyes, never expected to see. And the worst part?

She was so alive.

Deceased.

Her lips parted in a grin, and her teeth flashed under the blazing sun and his breath was taken away but how she looked – dark hair mussed and wild, blue eyes flaming, skin turned gold by the light of the Holy Land, cheeks flushed as she used slim fingers to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes.

Departed.

"I wouldn't marry you in a million years!" she cried, and she threw her head back and laughed. Some small part of him marvelled at how beautiful she looked even as she began to tear his heart into tiny pieces. Love was unfair that way.

Lifeless.

"I love Robin Hood!" and she laughed and laughed and laughed. She was so amused by whatever she saw in his face, and the relief and ecstasy that poured off her made him realise just how much of him she'd taken. Taken, and thrown away, with those slim fingers and dancing eyes.

Dead.

It was enough. Enough to make him lunge forward, to make his pain her pain and to stop that mocking laughter. Her eyes widened just a little bit as he sword made a soft sound as it gracefully slid through her. She made a hacking sort of sound, and some sentimental part of him thought that even that sounded more beautiful than anything he'd ever heard.

DEAD.

But as the dancing light faded from her eyes, and her hair settled and those slim fingers loosened their grip from his sword, he didn't feel as though he was sharing pain with her. Rather, when she died her pain became his. And she was dying.

And so was he.