Having done this before, I convinced myself that nerves were unusual but not unexpected.

But as I reached for the sword, I hesitated. I don’t hesitate.

My gaze traveled to the person on the floor. I hate him, he’s done terrible things and deserves this… But then why is it so difficult? Why can’t I kill him?

He looks up at me, on his knees with his arms chained to the walls on either side of him. A terrible, evil man, chained before me without defense — and I have the power to rid the world of him.

And yet, all I can think of is how… powerless he looks. How vulnerable, terrified… and so godsdamn beautiful, even covered in sweat, dirt, and blood. Even with his brown hair stuck to his forehead, his face streaked with dark red, and his gorgeous amber eyes filled with so much emotion I can barely place them.

No, no, no. This man has killed countless people for his own gain. But haven’t I been doing the same? No, I tell myself, Don’t compare yourself with this monster, you are a hero.

But the sword in my hand feels unusually heavy and my thoughts less clear. What if I am not the hero? I walked into this cell ready to kill a man I barely know, and I had no doubt in my mind I would be able to do it. Does that sound like a hero?

“If you’re going to kill me, I suggest you get it over with,” his voice is quiet and rough, but steady.

Startled, I say, “You aren’t going to beg me to spare your life?”

His eyes drag to the stone floor, currently decorated with his blood. “What good would that do? I beg and you’ll kill me anyway. My dignity is all I have left, I plan on keeping it in my last moments alive.”

“You may act all tough, but I can see it in your eyes that you are scared. Everyone believes that they won’t have fear when it is their time, but it’s different when you’re moments away from death, isn’t it? People tend not to realize the value of their life until they’re about to lose it. You don’t want to die, Wilson.”

“Wise words from a killer,” he bites.

“You’re a killer, too,” I respond.

He scoffs and winces immediately after. “That I am but at least I’m not a murderer parading around like a savior. You are no angel, no hero. I own up to my sins, I admit my hands are covered in blood. But you pretend like you’re a fucking hero. I may be the one in chains, but you are the one that’s trapped.”

Prick. He’s right. No, he’s not. You’re a monster. Shut up, I’m a hero.

I was tired of hearing this. I gripped my swords handle tighter and pointed it at his heart, pressing just enough to draw a small stream of blood.

There was no satisfaction in the act. He met my eyes and I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t. I was trapped.

“Bianca,” his voice was rough as he said my name, “They told me you were going to kill me so why haven’t you?”

I press harder into his flesh, the blade drawing more blood. He doesn’t even flinch.

“My name is Maz. Wilson is my last name, first names are too personal so I only ever tell people my last. My name is Maz Wilson.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I grind out.

“Because I want someone to know. Tell me why you haven’t put that sword through my heart yet, killer,” he cocks his head to the side in an arrogant manner but I can see a glint of fear as my sword pushes ever so slightly.

What a great question. Why haven’t I?

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper.

“It’s because I remind you of you. And if you kill me you’ll be back to being alone, misunderstood. Stop pretending to be a hero when you’re destined to be a villain. I think you’d make quite an evil one,” he grins so widely you couldn’t guess I had a sword halfway to his heart.

I’ve had enough.

I slash my sword harshly and barely catch the panic flare in his face.

Then it’s done. I did it.

The chains fall to the floor. But two prisoners are freed as he takes my hand and we escape.