• The tree was wilting. The poor leaves had dried and become thin crisps of plant matter. The crinkling sound the made as I walked away, stepping through so many, caused my heart to ache. I had just killed this tree.

  • The sword slid easily into its sleeve. Being slick with blood as it was, it could probably fit into a crack in the floor. He didn’t feel any remorse for it though.

  • He smiled and tossed in the next piece of his old friend. One body part after the other. Arm. Leg. Ear. Each tooth individually. Each piece went into the pit. Nothing would be left of him in the swamp by the time people could find it.

  • He just wouldn’t listen to me. I was trying to train him, to prepare him for what he needed to become. How could he be the hero if he was so narrow-minded and selfish? Did he even have the right boy? What if he’d messed up?

  • The whole lot of them were fools. Fools of belief and hope and trust. He had gained their trust, their love and secrets. It will be their own fault for the blood he will shed. They shouldn’t of opened that door.

  • She lied there in the bushes, bruised, bleeding, and frighteningly confused. What had she done wrong? Something was amiss, something wasn’t right. But figuring it out in the state she was in, hurt and scared, wasn’t going to happen.