@ofdeomnes asked: “Dark things have a way of slipping through narrow spaces.”
Zelda glared down the length of the spear to the man she had impaled upon its sharp, iron tip. She had thrusted its long blade into his eye with enough force that it had caused the socket to snap, and his eyeball to rupture with a crunch. He convulsed, his mouth agape with horror, hands pawing uselessly at the spear; he was still alive, and she hated him for it. She saw the terror in his good eye, pleading for his life, and she paled. A coldness washed over her. Tightening her grip on the shaft, she pressed the full weight of her body upon his head and drove the blade deep into his eye. The bone gave way, shattering, caving. She felt the blade pierce his brain, softer than meat, blood bubbling like foam from what had once been his face. She stayed there until he stopped twitching, then flexed her sweaty palms about the wooden shaft, spread her feet square apart, and gave the spear a great tug. The blade dislodged itself from the man's head with a loud suck. Immediately she threw the weapon down and stepped away. Her hands were like ice, so she rubbed her palms together until she could feel them again. She felt distant, detached, like she was floating. She needed to be able to feel her feet on firm ground again.
'Dark things have a way of slipping through narrow spaces,' Skylar said.
Zelda did not openly acknowledge the other woman. Instead, she turned her attention to another body, slumped lifelessly against the wall, and walked silently over to him. Just for a moment she stood over him, staring at him. He was a poor man, or had been. She could see his chest through his shirt, skin stretched tautly over his bones. He had the emaciated face of a man who was so starved that he would do just about anything to get something to eat, like attacking a witcher. His feet were swollen and black, and he had lost a few toes on his left foot, probably from frostbite, or disease. She looked at the rest of the men they had killed and saw that they were all the same. Desperate. Her expression soured. Who had made them do this? Why?
She crouched over the body and started rummaging through his pockets.
'Help me search them,' she said coldly, turning out every filthy pocket she found.
Nothing. She moved onto the next body, only faintly aware of her friend doing the same thing. Dark things have a way of slipping through narrow spaces. It was true, for all things, and it scared her to know that in this world it was inescapable.
She would need a nice, hot bath after this.
