Anitha sits among the wasted bodies of her tribe. She is in the Blackwoods, barren trees whistle in the wind as they bend and sway, heavy clouds dragging across the sky in a moroseness unlike any other. It is always dark here. Dark and heavy. The atmosphere strains at Anithas lithe body, pressing upon her heart the worst of memories— the memories that bear the rotten fruits of war.

Across the abyss are the ruins of Clearwater castle, the disheveled bodies of both king and queen, peasant and servant, all remnants of a fight that lasted little more than an hour. Those who had survived had fled. Not Anitha, she couldn’t bring herself to move, only to clutch the limp hand of her lover, his face that of one in a peaceful slumber and not in the strangling world of death (maybe it was a better place. Maybe Anitha ought to go with him.)

At Clearwater there had always been rules. Anitha and her kind would not be welcome, the bridge that had run across the abyss had been destroyed long ago and if they were to somehow breach the void, then they’d be hung up like sweaters for all to see. It was a sort of cosmic joke, the bickering of human kind. They’d had enough problems without bringing in the consequences of cruel and unusual punishment.

The war had started earlier this morning. Clearwater had decided Anithas kind were to be gotten rid of and brought out their best cannons, machine guns, daggers, ran through their herd like a slaughter, only it didn’t stop! No, it didn’t stop! For Anitha, it would never stop. The screams ripened in her ears in rising intensity so that she herself wanted to scream, wanted to drag her lover back to life and run off deeper into the Blackwoods until they found… well, whatever was beyond this wretched place, a place that had once been home and now lay a deserted land of the vengeful dead. She clutched her lovers hand harder. Squeezed his hand like it was her crutch to sanity.

Blood bleached the darkened grass in all directions, the wind whistled maddeningly. Bodies contorted in strange ways and limbs outstretched as if they were reaching towards something, unstaring dark eyes folding into oblivion.

And through all of this, Anitha could only sit and clutch her lovers hand, the last of her kind.