"Kuh—!!"
A gurgled choke erupted from her throat as a thick splurt of blood burst from her lips, splashing across Aestrea's face and soaking the frostbitten petals beneath them.
Her head swam.
Drip... drip.... drip.
Blood fell in warm, steady drops onto the ice.
She looked down, trembling, trying to make sense of the pain blooming inside her.
The dagger was there, its jagged blade had sunk in deep, twisted, cruel, buried to the hilt just beneath her ribs, sliding between bone and organ with terrifying precision.
Her eyes widened in pure disbelief. Not pain, not yet, but confusion. That sick, hollow feeling of not understanding how or why.
Her fingers weakly grasped at Aestrea's collar, her lips trembing as her throat struggled to form his name.
"Ae…stre…a…?"
Her voice cracked, thin as glass.
But he didn't answer her.
He didn't blink.
He just looked at her.
His gaze was a sheet of winter glass.
Then, slowly, his hand moved.
He tightened his grip around the hilt.
