Slaughter House

There was a rustling sound, faint but unmistakable. Instinctively, Islinda reached out and snatched an arrow from the air, her reflexes taking over before she even realized what had happened. She stared at the arrow in disbelief, the shock of what she had done spreading across her face.

A grin broke out, and she turned to Andre, her eyes wide with pride, as if to say, did you see that? She had just caught an arrow with her bare hands— her bare hands?!

Unfortunately, her celebration was short-lived.

In her moment of triumph, Islinda didn't notice the figure that had slipped through the crowd, silent and deadly. Before she could react, she felt a sharp, searing pain in her chest. 

Islinda's breath hitched as she looked down, the glint of a dagger catching her eye. It was buried deep in her flesh, and her hand reflexively reached for the wound, her fingers trembling as they touched the warm blood that began to flow.