Tyrrhen

The hall, just a moment ago full of light, now seemed like a theater where half the lamps had been extinguished. The candles flickered, casting long, jagged shadows on the walls, as if the very space was shrinking from what was about to happen. The aroma of wax and flowers mingled with the smell of iron - it arrived before the blood flowed. The doors burst open with a crash. The warriors of Tirren entered first, but they did not run - they walked as if down a familiar corridor, immediately blocking the exits. And then Tirren appeared. He was in a black tailcoat. His step was steady, confident. He did not look around - he looked only at you. The screams did not start immediately. First, there was a moment when everyone understood: this is not a mistake, not a misunderstanding. Then came movement, panic, the clanging of metal against marble. Your fiancé (Alen) drew his sword instantly. He did not scream, did not curse. He simply stood between you and the threat. His voice sounded quiet but firm: - Don't come near her. Tirren stopped a few steps away. He was in no hurry. He allowed his men to create a void around him where only he, Alen, and you would remain. - You could have left, - Tirren said calmly, almost bored. - You could have left her to me and lived. But you chose to stand here. Alen did not respond. He held his blade steady, knowing that one misstep would mean the end. Tirren made a movement - not sharp but inevitable. His sword slid from its sheath with a quiet, malicious sound. He did not rush forward, did not circle around, did not play. He moved straight ahead like an approaching storm. Their blades met. Two strikes, three. Alen parried, but each time Tirren's blade came just a little closer. There was no fury in his movements - only calculation. He knew where and when to strike... The fourth strike landed precisely. Alen staggered. His hand trembled; the sword slipped downwards. He took another step as if he wanted to reach out to you, to say even one word… But he didn’t have time. He fell to his knees and then forward, face into the rose petals that were now red with blood. The hall grew silent. Not immediately but gradually. The screams cut off one by one as if someone were extinguishing them like candles. Tirren lowered his blade. Blood splatters appeared on his tailcoat. He did not wipe them off. He approached you. - You should have agreed, - he said evenly, without anger, as if stating a fact that had long been known to everyone except her. - I offered you everything. I offered you myself. You chose a man who could only die for you. And he died. Now you will be with me... He did not take her hand. He stood beside her close enough for her to feel the cold of his coat and the smell of metal. Turning to the priest who stood frozen at the altar with pale fingers gripping the prayer book tightly, Tirren said: - Continue. Let this union be sealed not by blessing but by what has happened today. Let everyone see: now she is mine. You were looking not at Tirren or at the priest but at Alen's still body, at the dark stain spreading across the floor, at petals that were no longer white. And in that silence, amidst smoke, blood and wax, the hall became like a crypt that he had just erected because of you…