He falls to the ground, dead, just as she had wished it. Not an injury graces his body, and not a glimpse appears on his face. She admires these men; not because they've set out to kill her, but because they would give up their lives to for their cause; to destroy her. She bends down to check his pulse, not because she expects it to be him, or the hero, but because it's become habit. There is none, and he is dead, his heart stopped the moment he came within her accursed presence unwanted.


Supposed to be extremely short.