She leaned down and picked up the arrow, still intact. I sensed her pain as she observed it. Her betrayal. It had been her husband’s weapon, after all, originally intended for her heart. And it was a dangerous thing to offer a broken heart blood instead of love. Nyaxia’s tears fell, blood-red, to her enemy’s ashes. She cradled the arrow to her chest. Then she looked up at the blackened sky, endless ink from which endless possibilities could be written.
