<span style="font-family:Philosopher">Isaac watched as the girl stood on her own, legs wobbling slightly before pressing forward. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000ff">Follow me</span>,” she had said, making her way down a road less traveled. His jaw tightened as they exited the city square, grip tightening around the hilt of his blade as a wave of unease washed over him. He could <i>feel </i>eyes on him; on the girl as his footsteps began to echo hers as wide cobblestone turned to mud and dirt. The path was serpentine in nature, winding about, folding in on itself -- allowing for long stretches of alleyway to weave in and out of the cobblestone path. It was quite, unnervingly so; their footsteps reverberating off dilapidated buildings, the loud clap of flesh against mud followed by the metallic ring of steel plate gliding over itself. Isaac dared not interrupt the silence. He knew that the commandant would assign men to spy on him, listen in on his words, his actions, what his plan would be over the next few days.<i> Three days</i>. Is that all his words could bargain for? Why not a week? A month? He cast his gaze up towards the sky, eyes wandering over the slight aberrations in the overcast clouds. <i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Gonna rain tonight</span></i>. He thought to himself. <br/>
<br/>
Three days wasn’t enough time to prove the girl’s innocence. A part of him screamed in abhorrence to his actions. Was he so vain and ignorant of his surroundings to try to save a girl? There were no heroes left in this world, especially in Grieshaffen, no chivalrous men to display valor in battle, honor in death. There was only envy, hatred, and greed. Lust for power and pride in one’s arrogance. Men whose qualities would make excellent kings were downcast and made fools of. Men who would cry out in the injustice would find themselves locked away in dungeons where their voices would be heard no longer; a prison where they would sit for eternity. Men who would save a heretic in an unfair and cruel world would only serve as ashes to an indifferent God. <br/>
<br/>
A part of him wanted to run away. The world was large, vast, filled with millions of people and thousands of languages. In a land where the people don’t know the face of their king, an outlaw could make a living. A fortune, if one put in enough effort. He could sell his sword, become a mercenary. He certainly had the skills for it. Isaac indulged the thought, perhaps a bit too much. No longer would he bound by the rules of the church, the morals of the bible. He could kill on a whim, take children from their mothers, steal food and coin from those less powerful than him, rape wives before their husbands. He let out a soft sigh. Such fantasies could be saved for a different lifetime; one where his morality was no more than a heaping pile of shit. His dedication to help those who were downtrodden, those who were oppressed was too grand to be cast away. Three days would be enough, he convinced himself. Should he fail… Isaac smirked to himself. There would be hell to pay. <br/>
<br/>
It wasn’t long before the girl’s house came into view. It wasn’t unlike the other residences of Grieshaffen, albeit a bit smaller in size. To the east laid one of the many city gates, giving way to an endless road that stretched to the horizon, rows of golden wheat flanking its sides, spanning as for as the eye could see. Isaac paid it no mind. Whatever monstrosities that lurked in the agriculture were not of his concern. Not in the daylight. Not yet. <br/>
<br/>
He nodded as the girl opened the door to her house, stepping inside shortly after. The house, if he could call it that, was no larger than a room. It was a barren confinement, enclosed by four drab and colorless walls, only interrupted by unadorned windows. Dimly lit and poorly ventilated, the air smelled of cooked meat and oak; proof of life in an otherwise lifeless building. It was a pleasant smell. Housewarming, even -- acting as if it were compensating for the desolating demeanor that lingered in the air. Isaac looked around briefly, careful to lock the door behind him as he ventured further into the girl’s home. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Thanks for having me</span>,” he said. His voice was curt and polite, eyes connecting with the girl before wandering elsewhere.<br/>
<br/>
The room was spartan in nature, albeit organized. Aside for the bed and the table in the center of the room, there was no living space, no area to lounge or relax. Perhaps the girl worked outside for the most of the day, only to return to her home to eat and sleep. Everything was in its proper place; wooden utensils situated neatly by their plates, metal prongs hanging beside a picturesque hearth. It reminded him of a soldier’s barracks: each corner of the house was utilized for a function, every item maintained and organized. Nothing seemed out of place. And it was that very thing that kept his mind on edge.<br/>
<br/>
Isaac dragged a finger along a window sill, rubbing his thumb against his finger. Not a speck of dust marred his skin. “Thank you for offering, but I satiated my hunger before arriving.” He let out a low chuckle, but kept his gaze affixed on his fingers. He narrowed his eyes and pulled out a seat for himself. There was something off about this place that he could not describe. It was idyllic, the prime example of what a house should be like. But it lacked… Humanity. Even soldiers carried around personal affects: pictures of their loved ones, heirlooms and family mementos. This girl had none.<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Oh that</span>… <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">That was nothing</span>.” He glazed over the subject, voice hanging over his words, long pauses interrupting his words as his mind ventured elsewhere. Did the girl live alone? A quick glance at the bed sequestered to the side of the house confirmed his suspicion. His eyes flicked to the girl as she spoke, glazing over her features, memorizing them. If it weren’t for the dirt that caked her face, or how her platinum strands of hair plastered her cheek, she would be an attractive woman. Isaac let his eyes rest on hers. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Foolish</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">huh</span>.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his armored grieves over one another. He let a long pause follow his words, pursing his lips as his voice diminished into the otherwise empty air. He sat with bated breath, as if he were about to speak, but let the words fall back into this throat. He would have to think out his next few actions carefully.<br/>
<br/>
Isaac exhaled, leaning forward. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Very well</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">girl</span>.” he undid the strap of his sword and drew his blade. It was a war rapier, almost a meter and a half of silver inlaid with Damascus. It was a tool he’d used to slay both man and beast, both innocent and guilty. It was his hubris, his uprising and downfall. It glinted in the candlelight, flames licking the air in the reflection of its menacing edge. He placed the blade at his feet, leaning its intricate hilt against the side of the table. It was a silent threat, a reminder that they were not the only ones seated at the table. Death. It followed him wherever he went. Be it his cross or his sword, the two seemed to come hand in hand.  “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">I have a question for you</span>.” He laced his finger on the table, keeping his shoulders relaxed and his gaze aloof. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Are you innocent</span>?” He kept his gaze locked onto the girl’s, waiting, searching for a reaction; something tangible for his mind to grasp and digest. He chuckled to himself, leaning back. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">I suppose that’s a rather rhetorical question</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Only a fool like me would admit to a heinous crime</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">so let me rephrase the question</span>.” His smile disappeared. <br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000b3">Are you a beast</span>?”</span>