Running to the Army to Escape my Bride-to-be - 1
The sky…
Gray. Endless. Silent.
As though it had never known the clash of steel or the thunder of hooves.
I cannot move.
The earth drinks my blood, warm as it leaves me.
Around me lie the fallen—sisters-in-arms, strangers, enemies—all with eyes that shall forever gaze at the heavens.
Somewhere, faint, I hear hoofbeats.
Are they coming for me?
To finish what was begun?
Or have I already been finished?
I think of home.
The river winding past the Santo estate.
The vineyards trembling in the dusk.
My mother’s voice, soft and sweet as sugar.
But those memories feel borrowed—like a dream I had as a child.
And her…
Always her.
The countess. The shadow that would not leave me.
Sweet… merciless… hers was the hand that bound me, and forced me into these circumstances.
Why did I follow?
Was it pride? Desire? Fate?
Even now, I cannot say.
This should be the end.
A noble’s son who had no right to be here, forgotten and dying in the mud and blood.
Another nameless corpse for the crows.
as my mind wanders from the pain and gore, I think upon the past, as one often does, how did a son of a backwater noble house wind up in this hell?
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