In my dreams, I’m haunted by war and blood and death. I see myself in the eyes of my enemies, standing tall over them with a wave of black hair blowing at my back. There’s blood dripping down my face, thick and hot and fresh, but I don’t wipe it away. I only seem to smile.
I looked powerful.
I looked horrifying.
Green eyes were intensely looking at them, as if weighing their life with a single look.
Ready to take it.
Ready to deliver them all to the afterlife with a smile oh so wicked.
“Queen Damienne,” A whisper says. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“Down with Helios,” It continued. “It’s never supposed to be him.”
“He’s weak. He’s a coward. He wants you dead. He's the reason you're in this place to begin with.”
These were voices I knew, voices I had heard in the past.
“Rhys’ a
