"Please, don't do this!" the weathered headstone read.

Simon sighed and turned away. The rows upon rows of gravestones stretched on into the night, disappearing in the fog somewhere far away.

How long had he been wandering through this accursed place? Time seemed frozen, the very air feeling still and stiff, like in a crypt that had not been opened for hundreds of years.

Simon had to have seen hundreds of graves by now. In the beginning, he'd stopped to read every single one, but now, his weary eyes barely lingered on each word for a moment.

"Don't kill me!"

"Take my money, whatever you want, just spare my life!"

"Please, why are you doing this?"

It was just so exhausting. He'd had his share of the war, seen countless villages burned to the ground by the Queen's forces, heard the mourners cry over the bodies of those he could not defend.

Was this some kind of illusion? A magic trick, sent by the Queen to show him his failures? A reminder that for every second that he took to find and kill her, more and more people were dying?

Simon knew that already. Every breath he took, he knew, was one that others were robbed off. Every time he blinked, he saw another face with lifeless eyes, staring into a starless sky.

Dammit, did that blasted witch really think another reminder of his failures would shake him? Did she really-

"I love you, my dear. I always will."

Simon froze.

The gravestone that had caught his eye was plan, looking no different than the others. Just as its neighbors did, it was carved from a light grey stone, with no fancy patterns or motives carved into it. It had no name, no birth, no death- only this one quote, those eight words.

Eight words, yet they contained so much. Love, loss, lingering death, seeing a lover by your side and a blade over your head, knowing that your death was coming, and yet only wishing to reassure your heart's treasure of your love one final time.

Simon's heart started to pound, and he turned away.

"Run, sweetheart, and don't look back! Listen to your mother!"

No.

"Mommy? Why are you sleeping?"

No, no, no.

"What did you do to my sister, you scary meanie?"

"Leave my papa alone!"

"How could you... my bride..."

Children. Parents. Siblings. Friends. Lovers.

This war... it wasn't just killing people.

It was ending lives.

Every single gravestone in this endless field of horrors was once someone's child, someone's brother, someone's sister, someone's parent, someone's lover.

Every one of these unremarkable grey stones was once a living, breathing human being with their whole life ahead of them, someone that other people loved and cared for and thought about.

Bile pooled in Simon's throat. The graveyard began to spin around him, and he staggered to one knee.

All these stones.

All these people.

All these lives.

All his failures.

And everything went black.