Her body lurched towards a door to the side.She felt as though she would faint out here.
No.She tried to counter.
You must kill him.
Her hand reached for the door handle.
Behind her, she heard the door open, followed by footsteps.
"Azul?"
The pain intensified.Spreading from her chest outward.Her knees buckled.
My body won't let me.The realisation hit her and tears threatened to well in her eyes.
"I can't—" she gasped, her back slamming against the wall as she tried to stay upright."I can't—"
"Azul, what's happening?"Borji was in front of her now, hands on her shoulders, his face pale with concern.
Then I'll die.The thought was clear.
I refuse to kill my own father!I'd rather kill myself.
Her hand shot out, faster than Borji could react, and closed around the hilt of his sword.
She yanked it free from its scabbard in one smooth motion, reversed the grip, and pressed the blade to her own throat.
"Azul!"Borji's voice cracked with panic.
The edge bit into her skin.She felt the sting, the warmth of blood already welling.
Her hands shook, locked in place, unable to advance or retreat.
"Let me—" she whispered, her eyes wild."Let me go.Please.I can't—I won't—"
Borji's face was white.His hands were raised, placating, desperate."Put down the sword.Please.We can—there has to be another way—"
"There isn't!"The words tore from her throat."Don't you understand?They sold me!To a warlord!And I can't even—I can't even kill the man who did it because of this body—" She choked on a sob that was half laugh, half scream.The sword pressed harder.More blood.
His eyes darted between her face and the blade.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Then he lunged.
His hand struck her wrist, forcing the blade away from her throat.His other hand came up in a sharp blow to the side of her head, and her vision exploded into stars.
Everything went black.
It hurts.
Her throat was dry as sand, her eyes were rimmed red, and her wrists and shoulders ached against the wooden frame of her bed.He had tied her arms back, and so she could only stare absentmindedly at the ceiling, watching the thin curtains sway in the breeze.
What a pathetic life.
Truly, she hated it.Why did she have to restrain herself?Why fight with her own body?The more she considered the meeting, the more she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
What exactly have I been doing?
