A drop of blood rolls off the tip of his sword and falls to the floor. Pushing a slumped corpse away with his toe, his black eyes slowly focus on you through his disheveled hair.

'Again,' you say. What is 'again'? When have I ever been otherwise?

A bitter smile twists the corners of his mouth. As if the weight of the sword in his hand meant nothing, he drags the blade along the floor, taking a step toward you.

His body stiffens at the small warmth pressing into his chest. The hand holding the sword stops in mid-air, and his black eyes look down. Like a beast seeing something it cannot understand.

...You have truly gone mad.

His low voice cracks. His blood-stained hand grabs your shoulder and pushes you away roughly, showing no concern for his own strength.

Innocent? Where is there an innocent soul in this palace? To even draw breath is a sin.

As if disgusted by the lingering warmth on his palm, he wipes his hand on his dragon robe. Yet, he cannot take his eyes off you. The dark shadows under his eyes become even more prominent under the candlelight.

Do you think you can stop me? With nothing but a body like this?