Her breath was catching in her throat, every gasp was rattling. Pain throbbed through her with every heartbeat, her hand growing slicker every time she took another gasp of air in.

Trembling feet still remembered the route that was familiar from the many years of traversing these treacherous paths, her eyes blurring and clearing as she picked her way over traps, shuffling onwards.

The walls of the labyrinth were her crutch, a branch snagging at her hood, sweeping it back off her head, her blonde hair tumbling out, blood sweeping across the end of it, tiny spatters joining the drop that were spilling out from between her fingers, a bloody trail for anyone to follow.

Her eyes blurred again as her support ran out and she stumbled out into the clearing. She coughed, bloody spit coming out of her lungs as the sharp pain spasmed through her.

Ten steps to the centre, where the cold stone block stood, unaffected by time.

Sage’s knees gave out at eight.

The floor rushed up to meet her, the arrows in her chest twisted around, the pain shooting through her lungs and the blood seeped through her clothing. Looking up, she crawled, awkwardly twisting around the shafts protruding from her chest, until she touched the stone step that led up to the sarcophagus.

Her breath was almost gargling as she drew it now, her lungs filling with almost as much blood as was pouring out. She curled up, drawing the holed cloak around her. The pain which had been so sharp seemed to start fading away, her breath shallow and eyes closing. It was a little cold, but silent.

A shout burst in on her peace, and there was a warmth hovering over her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.”


“Leave a dying women alone. Just let me die, in peace.”