Nightmare

Alexei woke with a start.

The smell of rust and smoke assaulted his senses, dragging him out of his slumber and back into reality.

His eyes opened with a snap, what he saw made his stomach lurch in disgust and horror.

The walls were painted red with blood, and at the foot of his bed was the dripping red decapitated head of Neave.

Bodyparts littered the room, scattered like the forgotten toys of a child.

“N-N-Neave…” Alexei managed to choke out, barely able to keep himself from throwing up at the sight before him.

He didn’t understand what had happened, how it had happened, or even why it had happened.

The assassins shouldn’t have sent anyone new out yet.

He hadn’t begun his attack on the slave markets of Alandria.

The prickle at the back of his neck intensified.

“The nilbog,” He seethed under his breath, “The nilbog did this.”

A peal of phantom laughter cackled from nowhere and everywhere at once, floating around the room, as disembodied as the head of his ward before him.
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