A one shot of a hero’s moments becoming the villain
A hand was surely gripping his throat. Pressing hands so cold they burned into his skin, directly through him. Everything felt cut off.
He could not speak.
He could not hear.
And he would not move from this spot.
Because the one thing that still worked, had to be his eyes. Eyes she loved. Loved and cherished and watched for all the secrets he apparently spilled there. The only one to say so. When had she last mentioned it? Her love of his cerulean eyes. He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t certain if she was 5 ft 2 or 5 ft 3 either.
The burn moved, trailing to his heart. Settled in sharper than before.
He hated himself more as the sharpness increased. As his breath caught and choked as the sight before him buried itself deeper into his soul. It wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to make it out alive. The plan. His plan, wasn’t supposed to fail. But it had, it had failed her. It had taken her away.