Some people just love to watch the world burn.
This thought came to the young girl standing on balcony watching the smoke billow up into the sky while her village burns. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she turned, rushing out of her room and down to the main floor. She looked around for the servants or at the very least her parents, but to no avail. They were not there. It was only when she turned the corner where the front doors were that she smelt it. Stronger than the smell of burning wood stronger than the smoke itself. A metallic smell, almost like copper. She saw them then. Her parents, laying on the ground in a pool of blood, their eyes open wide and in horror. The doors were open and the fire reached them, setting them ablaze in a matter of seconds.
She knew she needed to run, to get out of there and to safety to avoid being burned alive, but she couldn't move. Frozen in fear, she stared at the bodies of her parents as they started burning. The smell that filled the greeting hall then was burning flesh and blood. She needed to get up. Needed to leave. She couldn't. In front of her, the fire came closer. In front of her, were her parents. Burned. Dead. Not here anymore. The young girl fell to her knees and screamed loudly.
She doesn't remember how she got to the river. She doesn't remember sitting down on the grass. What she does remember is her village. Watching it crumble. Watching her home crumble. She remembers seeing her dead parents on the floor, then watching them burn. That was all though. She didn't remember how she left her house or how she came to rest at the river while her village burned behind her.
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