My vision was blurred by my tears. My mind was hazy. I think someone caught me and the man—too late, though, as I believe the man already died. Even if he didn’t, he had no chance of recovering. Medical treatment is expensive, right?

Well, at least he wouldn’t be able to do something like that to another girl.

When people found us, he was taken away for caring—or burial, I’d like to think—and I was arrested. Ironic, if I do say so myself. It was purely self-defense, but I was the criminal here. I was convicted for murder. There was a trial and all those lawful stuffs—ironic, in this city of lawless—and I got a death sentence.

I thought, well, that was it. I couldn’t afford a lawyer. I couldn’t prove my innocence—there was neither witness nor evidence of him assaulting me. All there was to it was his cold body lying on the pool of his own blood—and me, bathed in his dirty blood. It doesn’t matter, though. Nothing matters anymore. My fate has been sucking for a while. Putting an end to it would be the best, no?

They held me in a cell, alone. I was a murderer, so I was an outcast even in the cold prison. I counted my days until the execution, watching as the sky turned color every day from the luxury of a window I had in my cell.

Out there, Hera was free. Out there, Hera was roaming. Out there, Hera was going about her day like nothing ever happened.

It was unfair—but, curiously, my mind recalled our moments together. The first time we met, the time she took me on a tour around the neighborhood, the time we went to a rooftop to gaze the sunset, the time we shared a portion of food together, the time we ran away together. I remembered her brown eyes, her dark skin, her curly hair framing her face, her soft lips. I remembered her, and I realized how much I missed her.

Even then, I couldn’t resent her. Even then, I still long for her. But, I knew I wouldn’t see here ever again. So, maybe, death wasn’t so bad after all.