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“Why don’t we do it your way the, huh?” He seemed mad. She wasn’t sure why. Her way was a good way, tried and tested. She just needed to know she could trust him.
“Murder him-“ A sudden appearance of a bright light caught her eye. She looked over at it.
“Murder her-“ It was a figure standing in a doorway. Recognition pinged in her brain, but he was a knight. Those fuckers were advertised virtually everywhere. At least this guy wasn’t immediately charging after them.
“Murder everyone!” Was her boss not seeing this? Was this guy on their side? She needed her boss’s input, but no, he was too busy scolding her. If they got caught by this guy, she was blaming her boss.
One last glance at this new contender, though, and Nimona’s breath was caught in her throat.
They looked nothing alike. His hair had obviously been dyed blonde, while Nimona had remembered her hair shining golden, like sunlight. His features were bold and knightly, practically designed to command. Hers had been soft, and sweet. They had only hardened over time after responsibilities had been thrust onto her. Any trace of what had once been her friend, then turned into her nemesis, was long gone.
But that look.
Somehow, in 1000 years, that look remained. Different face, but it was unchanged nonetheless.
The tear between what she once knew, and what was had just been presented to her.
The difference between what she knew her friend to be, and what her family expected from her.
The reconstruction of self-defense into violence.
The reconstruction of Nimona as Gloreth’s friend into a Monster.
The reconstruction of Ballister from a fellow knight into a Villain.
“Bal?”
The word — a question; a desperate attempt to hold on to what once was — brought her back to the present. It was all unrecognizable again. Nimona hadn’t had that. No allowance to explain herself. Then again, it wasn’t her this time.
Nimona missed what her boss said next. She was unable to recall what he had said, only remembering an odd assortment of syllables that meant nothing to her. “Gesundheit,” she said. Nonetheless, the man looked down, and Nimona followed his gaze to her boss’s arm. The robotic one, that her boss had been forced to make after it had been cut off.
Oh.
This was a story that had been told before.