Quatre
Chevalier
I
drew my claw up to the girl’s neck, the only kindness I’d left to offer the
ill-fated human.
“Reserve your
pity for someone else, Im,” Fleurette snapped, pushing my blades away and
raising her feeble sport pistols.
“The most
murderous of men still shutter at an Unman’s feast,” I warned.
“Be that as
it may, I opt to fight,” the girl replied.
“You fight insurmountable
odds.”
“Stop
talking, Jean Luc, please,” Fleurette
sighed. “I am not interested in the odds of survival, nor do I care about the
quality of my last living seconds. The terms of my demise will always be mine,
alone.”
I honored her
last request by saying nothing, not that I had the time to do so. The Unmans’
leering would soon cease, at the moment they deemed most optimal. Fleurette’s
conviction impressed me. She behaved oddly for one so near death. She embodied
honor and courage. A true hero… though perhaps born out of turn. I suppose
that’s what subconsciously led me to save her. The plight of those actively
rebelling against their expected interests softened me. Ultimately, humanity could not be saved, not
by me. Time ingrained this notion in me, and I followed it religiously. This
girl, as unremarkable as she was, inspired a small debate in me. A flower
cannot live forever, but you can water them. Beyond saving? Yes, no question.
But maybe… not beyond savoring.
“Heeeeeeeeeerrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…”
