A beautiful girl

She stood once more on the edge of the ashen plains, her white gloves stained red—not from her enemies, but from herself. Beauty from the East was beginning to break.
Not in body.
In purpose.
She had killed too much. Seduced too many. And now, even her reflection began to scare her.
That’s why she came back.Not for protection.Not for silence.
But for him.
He was there. As always. Kneeling. Still.Like a monument of grief.
“You knew I would come,” she said, arms crossed, not hiding the trembling.
He didn’t answer. Not yet. The wind passed. The flames of the earth danced. Then finally—
“Even ghosts know where to haunt.”
She stepped closer.
“I… I don’t know what I’ve become.”
He didn’t look at her. But his voice came again, not like fire—more like smoke curling through ruins:
“You were once a song.But envy clipped your notes.And now you sing with knives.
Trade your chorus of bloodFor the silence of meaning.
Even the dead can dance.But only the forgiven can fly.”
She fell to her knees. She didn’t know why. Maybe guilt. Maybe tiredness.
“Do you forgive me?” she whispered.
Another long silence.
Then, like an ember pressed into the soul—
“Forgiveness is not mine.It’s the grave’s.
Visit it.
Or build one for yourself.”
He stood up slowly. The first time she had seen him rise. The weight of his sword scraped against reality itself.
And he walked away.
Leaving her not with answers.But a direction.
She stared at the grave he always kneeled before.
She never dared look at the name.
But now…She would.