Chapter 8 - 7 - A Beauty Cloaked in Blood
Riven approached the woman with slow, measured steps, his breath caught in his throat, and his dagger raised high in his right hand. The moon peeked through scattered clouds, its light reflecting faintly off the blade still damp with blood and the night’s humid air. His shadow loomed over the woman sprawled before the door of their home.
He knelt.
One hand reached out, trembling, to touch her shoulder—cold, like a stone that had long forgotten warmth. He pressed gently, pushing her with deliberate care to avoid any sudden sound.
The woman rolled weakly to the side.
Her hair—long and crimson like embers left to smolder in silence—spilled over her face. Yet the moon, as if showing rare mercy, parted the clouds and cast its light upon her features.
And the world stopped.
Riven’s heartbeat, quick and alert until that moment, froze. The hand gripping his dagger halted mid-air. His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight before him.
This woman...
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was beauty itself—an existence that should not belong to this cruel world. Her skin was pale, like polished marble, yet still held a faint touch of life. Her face was soft, but not fragile—like a god’s painting forgotten and left in reach of mortals. Her lashes curled delicately over closed eyelids, and her lips... crimson, moist, as if they had just whispered a final word the world was never meant to hear.
Her hair, a wild cascade of blood-red waves, shimmered with the illusion of rose petals and scattered gems. Though torn and stained with blood, her elegant black gown still clung gracefully to her form. Her necklace and earrings—chains laced with red stones—glimmered faintly in the moonlight and the stained-glass glow of their modest home’s window.
Riven couldn’t look away. His gaze was trapped, caught in a web of awe.