The pain shooting through her arm was unbearable. She couldn't move it, and the black patterns of her magic were beginning to fade. The bone had been completely shattered. Without her left arm, she was useless. Her only other form of protection she had, the rose gold scythe gifted to her by the girl she had fallen in love with lay on the ground, just out of her reach. Desperately, her fingers reached for the shining handle, slick with blood. Tears began to trickle down her face, mixing with blood and sweat and dirt. They stained her cheeks, her shaking cheeks, her shaking body. The cold, cruel hand around her neck was beginning to tighten, cutting off her windpipe. A single choked sob escaped her lips. She couldn't breathe. She was going to die. No. She couldn't die here. She had to live. She had to... she had to warn them. She had to warn her brother.

She had to warn her.

One last burst of adrenaline shot through her veins, and she began struggling. She wasn't just struggling for her life. She was struggling to protect the lives of the people she loves. She had to. Kicking, biting, scratching, she just had to loosen his grip a little bit. A grin spread across his face. It was an ugly, horrible thing, but it was oddly charming. As the black began to dot her vision, she realized this would be last thing she ever saw. Her oceanic eyes seemed to glaze over, a shiny whiteness of acceptance finally taking over her.

The Princess of the Kingdom of Vermiculo was going to die at the hands of this man.