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I opened my eyes to a curiously dark room. In the darkness, I could feel someone near. I reached out into the depths of the gloom, searching. I felt a hand take my own and I heaved a sigh of relief. As I took a step forward, I could begin to make out grey eyes, so grey as to almost be silver. I smiled joyfully, but there was no joy in these eyes. They stared at me, almost as if looking through me. Or, perhaps, it was as if they could not see me at all. The vacantness of them drove all joy from my heart, and worry began to fill me. My voice echoed eerily in the consuming dark, "Krol...?"The hand in mine was strangely cold, no warmth emanating from it at all. I took another step forward, and the elf began to pitch backward. I caught him in my arms, and I could suddenly feel something sticky all upon my arms. I laid him gently upon the floor and cautiously summoned a light spell. As the orb came to life above my left ear, it illuminated the grisly scene.
Krolaun lay in a pool of his own blood. Nearby was the Dagger of Mystics, also covered in the elf's blood. I looked down at my hands, which were also drenched. I looked around, wondering what had occured. Desperately, I searched for some sort of clue. Finding nothing and no one, there was only one thing I could think of to explain this.
Did I slay Krolaun?
I shook my head, disbelieving. I would not have done such a thing. I could not. No matter what, I could never hurt him. Yet, as I took in the evidence, I became more and more convinced that I had done this vile deed. I fell to my knees, burying my face in my blood-stained hands. Oh, gods, no...
"K...at?" came his weak voice.
I crawled to him, "Krol?"
"Kat..." he said a little stronger.
"Yes...?" I whispered.
"Kat!"
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© 1999 E. Angeli Mansfield