The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
Black and White
I should have slept late. My overexertion the previous night left me exhausted, with hardly a drop of mana when I drifted off in Soltair's arms. Weakness gnawed at me, from the tips of my horns down to my toes. Even worse was the dull ache that emanated from the core of my soul, the constant reminder of the toll of abusing my mana.
Despite the inviting warmth of the soft cotton sheets, an insistent pull tugged me from their embrace, leading me downstairs into the inn's dimly lit interior. The common room was abandoned, save for my two companions. The curtains were drawn and door locked, sending a small frown creeping across my lips. What was going on here?
Soltair's gaze lifted to meet mine, his expression etched with a frown that echoed in the stern timbre of his voice. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" I nodded and slid into a seat, having asked myself the same thing several times.