Alex.J.Cobalt

“Justice,” Grall whispered into the ear of the corpse, sliding her dagger from the body with ease.

She dropped the body, which had once been Sitter Trin, on the floor. It flopped on top of the other bodies, the other Sitters, that she had dragged into the centre of the floor.

“Is served,” Grall said with a grin. She could feel the blood sticking to her skin as it dried, her clothes were stained black with the Vasea blood. Sitter Been had been a particularly hard kill, Vaseas were always were hard kills.

Whether or not it was right was not the question. These ten Sitters had ordered the burning of her village, they had ordered the deaths of hundreds of people.

All because they didn’t want to negotiate. Grall’s people wanted to negotiate.

They had been murdered as a result.

Grall stepped around the pile of bodies, sheathing her dagger once more. The alarm would be raised soon, no one would miss this.

But then, that was kind of the point.

Grall took one look at the bodies on the floor. They couldn’t tell her no now. They couldn’t tell her that her people deserved to die.

Now they were dead, like her people.

Justice had been done.

This flashfiction was first posted in 2018

Featured Image by Alice Hampson on Unsplash

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