[ WP ] Make us fall in love with your character , and then immediately kill them off .

Laying on the battlefield, listening to how the sound of the immortals dying — the gasps for breath, the sobs of pain, the whimpering for loved ones — sounded so very much like his own. Together, they struggled against the inevitable. Fighting for that one last breath with only the hope that some miracle would grant them another. 
 
 The cold has already seeped into his bones, filling up the space he supposed should have been warm with blood. It was his folly, his insistence that if his brothers at arms were fighting then he would too. He hadn ’ t counted on running out of magic, or straining himself too far. He hadn ’ t counted on their magic being so much stronger than his, their swords sharper, and their immortal bodies able to handle so much more than his. 
 
 Constantine had never been a fighter. Sparring, yes. He could unsword the best of them, lock his foe in a fatal dance that would only end when one had yielded or drawn blood. It was easy then, there was no threat, and you were given time to rest. It was not so in war. He had done well, fought bravely, but in the end he was just a boy of sixteen summers. A boy who had betrayed country and king to chase down the illusion of an enemy for the `` greater good''. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance, someone calls his name. Try as he might, he can not will himself to rise. Heavy footsteps rush towards him, armor scraping as the would-be savior drops to his knees. 
 
 And there are tears in Constantine ’ s eyes as he lifts his head, bloodstained hands reaching up to touch his prince's face. 
 
 `` I ’ m so sorry…'' 
 
 He does n't get to hear if he is forgiven or not.
