The Dead Marshes
It happened fast. One breath he stood, facing darkness, the second breath fallen, trodden in mud. One moment and reality turned.
Grief was choked by war and death, blood and broken bodies scattering the ground. There was no time to feel, I was King. And beyond the mud and blood and broken bodies, under rain that fell for weeks on end, the war was won.
I returned there, thinking to see my fatherís grave. I found a marsh, where the dead had lit their candles, luring the innocent into their graves. Is this what came of the defeat of evil?