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
The Truth
Shadows gathered from the corners of the alley, drawing together into a tight cloak about the man's shoulders, draping down in wispy tendrils that curled about our legs. The summer sun darkened, growing distant and cold, the very air itself holding its breath.
"You're as beautiful as they say," the man murmured, eyes running over my body, lingering particularly on my gentle curves.
I shivered, drawing my cloak tight about me, letting out a soft whimper as the fabric dragged over the lacerations in my flesh. Most of my wounds had scabbed over, leaving my raw flesh sticky with dried blood.
"Who are you?" I asked, eyeing him warily. Although he had helped me, no one with pure intent would so blatantly leer at someone so weak and hurt.
Finally tearing his eyes off my body, he met my eyes and pondered the question. I fidgeted, gripping the hem of my cloak, afraid he wouldn't answer, until finally, he opened his mouth.