[ WP ] You 're a heroic warrior who just came back from bloody battle . Write a short story glorifying the horrors of war .

Rosamunda took the sanguineous sword from my blood covered hands and ordered me to sit down on the empty throne-sized chair. Her voice, as sweet as the birds that used to sit on our balcony to wake us up as the sun rose, commanded me to relax my shoulders and I watched her move swiftly around me, catching glimpses of her black dress whenever my alerted senses would feel some unrealistic danger. Around Rosamunda, there was war but not the butchery knights that I fought everyday of my life and the sanguinary battlefields that my feet would always tragicly remember as the most wicked of homes. I watched the damsel place down the sword by the bed. My mind was seething with blood and my memories seemed to be nothing but a book written only by the hands of the dead. There were bloodprints all over my history as a warrior but Rosamunda was there, sitting by the derranged bed and the brown and black bear fur, cleaning my sword and uncounsciouly guaranteeing that there were also flowers where only weeds and dead stems could once grow. 
 
 If it was to happen that I had to come in front of some superior entity as to justify my actions, I could only rely on the sweetness of my lady to perhaps redeem my sanguineous sins. Bloodthirsty was my mindset but my actions were a million times more vicious. I have killed men. I can still picture, as clear as the tragedy that is to be our future, the might that fed my soul while my sword wrecked a father ’ s heart, forever dooming him to a solitude where only darkness could reign. Trapped in an eternity of silence, I watched him close his eyes for the last time. To never again be opened. There were souls inside the dead eyes I created with my hands. With my will and might. How sumptuous it was to be the one that could that the life of another man. 
 
 I could remember previous times when blades were provided with rest; wine and a warm welcome were fed to everyone that was to enter through the massive gates. What once was a monolithic palace where behemoths of joy walked from sunrise to sunset, could now barely even be called a home. There were no feasts of delicacies but the constant sound of vultures flying between the darkness fed my ears with an evil will. There were two people here but I could not see even one soul. Rosamunda kept smiling but I knew she knew even if the light of the candles shed only upon her closed lips. Deep inside her silent devotion, covered by the mirage of what seemed to me a smile, she knew the fate that was soon to be laid upon us. 
 
 I clenched my fist and watched the moon climb through the gray clouds to set itself on the highest point of the most loneliest night. The castle would perish in a caliginous future and I only had my love to be grateful for and to confide in. What can a man do when nothing but pain and death seems to blossom? Grow into a savage. How ungodly of a man that not once was assisted by those who claim to protect all. I kissed Rosamunda's forehead one last time, sweeping away some black hair to look into the blackness of her eyes. I violently took my sword in my hand and faced the nightly vista, finally coming to terms with the hostility that was to befall our land. She would be there. She would wait. My Lady in the Waiting.
