"
Nevertheless, he did not deserve what he got, at least it was a warriors death."
Esmerelda thought back to that fatefull day, the same one that often haunted her dreams.
Esme never caught his name, but she knew his face, the moster that had slain her brother. She had seen the whole thing with her own eyes.
Her people had been at war for a while with the
Sidereal Elves of Jar'cilon. A nasty bunch they were, bloodthirsty and hungry for power.
It was as if it happened yesterday when it actual fact it had only been two years ago.
There Esme stood on the battle field, the brother she loved, doted on, adored, in his prime and more alive then ever only a few feet away.
Then tragedy struck, swords clashed and before she knew it...Phillips body lay limp on the floor.
A scream erupted from deep within her, Esme had rushed to Phillip and fell to her knees. The evil bastard that had slain him stood emotionless then simply turned and left.
Kicking and screaming, covered in sweat, blood and tears, Esme was dragged away from her brother.
In that split second, her life changed forever.
And now here she was, sitting peacefully next to a man who cared for her deeply and for whom she felt the same.
It felt like a sick joke.