The Only Time She Felt, Better Said Allowed Such Sorrow Bubble Freely From Her Chest Was When Her Beloved

The only time she felt, better said allowed such sorrow bubble freely from her chest was when her beloved horse was poisoned. She lost so much already and simply couldn't hold back it anymore, screaming bloody vengeance against whoever dared to hurt her precious with river of tears pouring into Villám's black mane. A miracle she wasn't tried as a witch, never in her life and afterlife she'd been that unstable. Until now.

Karma felt...something expand on both sides of her spine, the painless gashes growing in size until suffocating darkness was also pouring directly from them. Her eyes, scar glowed in the unnatural abyss, his voice managing to break through the increasing turmoil.

Part of her hoped he would shoot her. Instead came reassurance, which at last halted her sobs. Abyss lips parted slightly, her mind unable to wrap around the words...yet here she was as this abomination wishing the worst but she never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. Except for him.

His half question, half declaration rang true and she decided to not answer to that. They both knew the reply anyways. The next shock came at the gesture of handing back the weapon she almost killed him with, the cursed energy piercing through the blanket of darkness with sinister finality. Yet he was unharmed, as always.

Her movements slow, careful as she at first clasped his hand around the grip, holding just for a few seconds with care till her fingers were touching bare skin instead of the gloves he always wore.

“You're wrong regarding one thing.” Karma managed, gently taking back her revolver

“You don't remind me of a terrible past. You remind me to the only time in my life when I was happy and...alive. I can't hate you for that, believe me I've tried.” the entity lamented with sorrow, thin eyebrows knitting together on porcelain face as her mind pulled an another sentence fragment from his words

“Despite everything, you...like me?” asked with such contradictory innocence, a glimpse of humanity from the grim abyss

True Hell. How ironic, how fitting. It was also spoken with a certain timbre, something that made the gunslinger arrive to the conclusion he had a similar trauma. Head hung in defeat, why did have he to be right? She listened to the admissions pouring freely, such sorrow instead of relief stemming from avoiding many close calls with death.

Karma couldn't free him from the guilt, it wasn't her place nor duty. Instead sat as a pillar of crumbling marble with understanding occasionally shining through too bright eyes surrounded by darkened sclera.

At first she didn't recognize the animalistic sound as her own voice, a mixture of a muffled scream and a serpent's agonized hiss; she never felt complete. His loss only worsened the everlasting feeling. Her hands moved faster than sound, the revolver she carried on her left pointed straight at him.

“I made a promise to never tell this to anyone. And if I did, I'd kill them.” her voice didn't hold its usual melody, jagged, frenzied almost.

“Your survival guilt is enormous. You don't fear death, you invite it. I'd be doing both of us a favor.” Yet she didn't convinced the slightest.

“I was- I was hired to kill him. He wasn't a good man, much more the opposite. Caused suffering everywhere he went...yet he brought something for me. The widow of his recent visit hired me. We were in bed when I told him. He wasn't surprised, only asked whenever I accepted it. I said I'd let fate decide. Left one bullet in, spun the cylinder. When I cocked the gun I could hear it load. And I couldn't. Despite everything, I couldn't.” And it wouldn't be the case here. She no longer could empty the chambers in the afterlife, they were always full. And again she heard the bullet sliding in place as she cocked it.

“His name was Angel Eyes. And you.” one might mistake the flare in her eyes as anger but it was purest form of agony “You remind me of him. It hurts, you have no idea how badly so. The way you look at me, our little contests, the way you move, the timbre of your voice; I hear and see him in you. How dare you be so alike yet different.” a tremble traveling through her hands. Her hands never shook. Nor did ever wetness partly blur her vision when about to pull the trigger. Fractions of millimeters, she could hear the intricate inner mechanisms sliding together, closer and closer to an another death.

Instead of a bang it was a soft thud. But not the body of the serpentine imp but her revolver hurled way out of reach. Soft, muffled sobs soon filled the silence, perhaps the very first time Karma allowed herself to fully mourn this loss. Part of her wanted to apologize, for putting him through this after such honesty, perhaps she even would've if not for her overwhelming grief.

“You don't deserve death. And certainly didn't deserve what I've done to you. Shoot me, leave me here without guilt; I'd understand. Worse: I'd survive.” her laugh unstable with shadows ever growing, closing in and suffocating any other sound or source of light, only her cursed revolver glowed sick green in the sand.

True Hell. How ironic, how fitting. It was also spoken with a certain timbre, something that made the gunslinger arrive to the conclusion he had a similar trauma. Head hung in defeat, why did have he to be right? She listened to the admissions pouring freely, such sorrow instead of relief stemming from avoiding many close calls with death.

Karma couldn't free him from the guilt, it wasn't her place nor duty. Instead sat as a pillar of crumbling marble with understanding occasionally shining through too bright eyes surrounded by darkened sclera.

At first she didn't recognize the animalistic sound as her own voice, a mixture of a muffled scream and a serpent's agonized hiss; she never felt complete. His loss only worsened the everlasting feeling. Her hands moved faster than sound, the revolver she carried on her left pointed straight at him.

“I made a promise to never tell this to anyone. And if I did, I'd kill them.” her voice didn't hold its usual melody, jagged, frenzied almost.

“Your survival guilt is enormous. You don't fear death, you invite it. I'd be doing both of us a favor.” Yet she didn't sound convinced the slightest.

“I was- I was hired to kill him. He wasn't a good man, much more the opposite. Caused suffering everywhere he went...yet he made me feel like no one else could. Like I was alive. The widow of his recent visit hired me. We were in bed when I told him. He wasn't surprised, only asked whenever I accepted it. I said I'd let fate decide. Left one bullet in, spun the cylinder. When I cocked the gun I could hear it load. And I couldn't. Despite everything, I couldn't.” And it wouldn't be the case here. She no longer could empty the chambers in the afterlife, they were always full. And again she heard the bullet sliding in place as she cocked it.

“His name was Angel Eyes. And you.” one might mistake the flare in her eyes as anger but it was purest form of agony “You remind me of him. It hurts, you have no idea how badly so. The way you look at me, our little contests, the way you move, the timbre of your voice; I hear and see him in you. How dare you be so alike yet different.” a tremble traveling through her hands. Her hands never shook. Nor did ever wetness partly blur her vision when about to pull the trigger. Fractions of millimeters, she could hear the intricate inner mechanisms sliding together, closer and closer to an another death.

Instead of a bang it was a soft thud. But not the body of the serpentine imp but her revolver hurled way out of reach. Soft, muffled sobs soon filled the silence, perhaps the very first time Karma allowed herself to fully mourn this loss. Part of her wanted to apologize, for putting him through this after such honesty, perhaps she even would've if not for her overwhelming grief.

“You don't deserve death. And certainly didn't deserve what I've done to you. Shoot me, leave me here without guilt; I'd understand. Worse: I'd survive.” her laugh unstable with shadows ever growing, closing in and suffocating any other sound or source of light, only her cursed revolver glowed sick green in the sand.

“I was actually thinking about target practice” it was only a half joke

The atmosphere somber and calm, a combination never thought possible between them since they crossed paths. For some reason, Karma wanted to preserve it. Let it linger a little longer. Silence was something she was perhaps too familiar with, more than content with letting him talk.

“I don't and even if I wanted to, can't put you in a box. Maybe there isn't a...large one for you but more smaller ones. Don't think that's a bad thing.” Karma said carefully, taking into account all that was said, the actual meaning of the celebration. No wonder he felt this way.

Society's judgments were also among the things she never understood and didn't even want to. So feeble, fleeting ways to waste already short lives.

“I think-” maybe she shouldn't. But...he opened up too, genuinely.

“I think I loved a man once.” she needed to sit for this, the admission already feeling like a raw wound further deepened

“It wasn't like in the tales, wasn't even supposed to happen and I never...never said it to him. Of course neither did he to me.” a shaky intake of breath, ivory strands of hair pushed back perhaps a bit too aggressively “He made me feel like no one could. And I killed him.”

Karma remembered that day so sharply, amost as if more than a century hadn't passed since. The fear. The rage. The silent then hysterical pleas. The vast emptiness after which never left.

“He came to me gravely wounded. How he tracked me in that state is still a mystery. He wanted- wanted me to do it. I couldn't, could've never but he forced my hand. Knew I wouldn't have done it in self defense, of course he knew. Then with his last strength smiled and said ‘Now you're able to kill anyone.’ ” she recited, shoulders tense as a bowstring pulled tight. And how right he was.

Karma didn't speak about how he knew her before she got her famous scar. How they were rivals in the same business of death. The way his eyes looked like an exotic predator's. How his features softened when he smiled genuinely or let those sharp contours of his face relax. That he saved her horse after she was poisoned and he came to her on that dusk for that favor to be returned. How she tracked down the one who wounded him and murdered both with utmost drawn out cruelty. And now how she was contemplating shooting the man who occasionally reminded her of him sitting next to her.

“Which box does this put me in?”