(Completed)
Two assassins were set to kill a girl. No questions asked. Just kill her and claim their prize. That was their mission. Except one of them was not supposed to visit Volney, the land of the dead and the other fall in love with a girl and...
Hey there! I actually found that it is easy if I have an updating schedule. My most favourite quote below! :)
Colours
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He moved his eyes beneath his burning eyelids. They advised him to open them, but he refused in fear of what he might see. The colours terrified him. It was like a moth's fascination towards a flame. Vibrancy of the hues enticed but it made him confused. And out of that confusion and misunderstanding, fear grew.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His hands was fisted. He parted his lips to take in air, and that was enough for the unpitying cold air to tarnish his throat. Involuntary coughs left him, tears collected behind his eyes, yet he refused to yield to his eyes.
As though someone knew he was suffering, soothing basil scent invaded his nose. He sighed in bliss. Entwined with it parsley and dill made their presence known.
He stopped breathing. The herbs meant one thing; he was under a healer's care. Though he knew Trystan knew about the herbs, he would never hoard it in the place he stays.
Young swallows hummed as they flew above the Fangforn. The realisation hit him hard. How could his ears hear them?
A woman sang. Her voice was not sky shattering sweet. Her notes were out of order yet it had a calming sensation over him. She sang for herself, not caring what the world would think of that.
"I know you are awake," her voice said. He heard her place the cutlery somewhere near his ears. "What is preventing you from opening your eyes?"
Was she the healer who cured him?
"Thank you," he whispered, his throat straining even more.
"You know, drinking water might help you, son," she chuckled.
Was she older than him? He frowned; most healers were indeed old enough to let their crafted hands work.
"I can't," he said, his hoarse voice sounding offbeat to his ears.
"Why can't you?" she questioned.
"I will have to open my eyes and that means..." he trailed off. Should he say what happened to him when he opened his eyes to the one who saved him?
"If you don't drink water, then you will die from thirst and Chavva will kill me if I let her patient die," she said, lowering her voice towards the end. "And I asked you drink water. I never asked you to open your eyes."
So she was not the one who saved him? Curiosity plunged into him, forcing his previously shut eyes open. He regretted once he did it.
Right on top of his head, a bunch of dill was hanging from the ceiling. Dull sunlight gave life to the matte brown above. The green herbs had a shade of grass green, a tint of brown and some black shrouding them.
