She is watching them from afar, watching the victories and the losses, the pain and the hatred. She is watching deaths upon deaths, rotting bodies upon rotting bodies. She is watching the war, and all she is able to see is destruction.
Shaytan, almost automatically, raises a clawed hand and wipes her tears away, gently.
She hasn't even realized that she has been crying.
"Layla, for whom are you crying for?" he asks her.
Her only reply is a shake of her head. She does not know the answer.
"Do you hate them?"
He looks at her steadily. "That is a question that you must answer yourself."
She looks back, confused and uncomprehending.
Even now, Layla does not truly understand why she accepted Shaytan's hand that day, why she accepted Shaytan's promise of eternity.
Their encounter had been pure chance, coincidence. Layla had been shot by a stray arrow and had fallen into a dungeon--the same dungeon where Shaytan had been imprisoned.
Memories of that time are disjointed--convo