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[Isk]

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A cold wind came in from the north and passed through the quiet island of Magincia with no interruption. There were no buildings or trees to block its path, no animals to turn their noses into the breeze with hopes of picking up foreign scents. Where once there were many citizens, now only one solitary figure existed among the rubble. One faltering figure bent with strain and sitting atop a chunk of rubble that used to be the bank.

The recent months had been hard on the Magnate. With Angelique gone with the Hand of Evil, Isk had been mostly alone. While his many children provided him comfort at home they could not understand the emptiness he felt inside. His city was gone and with it went his power, his wife was gone and with her went his heart and the Hand of Evil was gone and with it his destiny.

“I have nothing” Isk moaned to himself with a tremble. Even his emotionless porcelain mask was heavy on his face. “Just rubble” He stated as he placed his eyes on the desolation. With a shaking hand he reached for a long dagger from his belt and placed his envy green gaze on it. The dagger which held the lion emblem of the House of Isk was beautiful and sharp. His chest grew tighter around his heart as the muscle expanded and contracted pulsing blood through his system as he turned the blade in his hands. On the verge of tears he caught the look of his mask on the blade and began to think if anyone aside from his children would even come to his funeral, would he even be remembered in the years to come should he take his life now?

Slowly the depressed Magnate pulled off the glove of his left hand and massaged his wrist with the flat end of the dagger. He stared at the blade pressed to his skin for a time giving himself a chance to change his mind. In his head he pictured pressing the tip of the dagger to his wrist and piercing the skin. As crimson blood poured out Isk could see digging the dagger into the abductor pollicis brevis, cutting the sinew of the muscle. He imagined himself screaming in pain as he twisted the instrument of suicide until it sliced deep into the pollicis longus destroying him for ever. A loud and noble death.

He imagined his body not found for days being pecked at by birds. Imagined that someone would peek under his mask to unlock the mystery there and smirked. He rubbed the emotion from his eyes with the back of his bare hand and presently pressed the sharp point of the dagger to his wrist where he held it for what seemed like hours. Without emotion the Magnate stared at the sharp point and the little bit of blood that was forming at the tip of it. Chilled by the wind, with his hand trembling and his thoughts racing he tried to press the dagger in just as he imagined but he could not. Whether through fear or weakness he could not do it. Dropping the dagger to the ground he cupped his mask in his hands and wept for everything he no longer had.

[Cear Dallben ZOG]

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Art Rendered by Ceinwyn Ab'arawan
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