It was only a secret to Kayle as to how her lover exactly died, and the image of it never leaves her mind. She still remembered how the man was hung roughly on a tree, his body abused, arrows shot everywhere, axes and swords stabbed everywhere his being, and in one final act of mockery, his own sword sewn right through his palm, as a remembrance on how his “so-called skills” did not protect him from such fate.
"Are you sure you want to know what exactly happened?" It was the question that Kayle was kept on being badgered on. Only in death, unfortunately, did she knew.
The wind picked up in strength, and her dangling feet was carried along, her hair that was not stuck to her skin covering what little of the gore it can as the wind passes through. However, her hand stayed in place, being encumbered by the sword sewn through her skin and around her bones, too heavy for the wind to carry.
Markus was convinced that all of this was his fault, but a question was still asked to him by a voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, questioning his entire sanity.
"Are you sure you want to know what happened?"
Another gust of wind, and the Judicator’s body swings with it, carrying bloodied feathers with it. Markus reaches out and caught one, the image of it burning in his mind, remembering how silky white it was when he last saw it.
"Are you sure you want to know what happened? Are you really, really sure?"
The world turned to darkness in the magus’ eyes, and therefore failed to notice the butterfly that perched on the judicator’s sword hand, as if mourning with a fellow one.