I stare off into space as the euphoria slowly drains from my body. The blood dripping off of my daggers and onto the floor is the only sound in the room outside of my own rapid breathing.
I force my breathing to slow and reach into the folds of my cloak to pull out a cloth to wipe the blood off with. As I wipe the first of my daggers clean I see my reflection glint off of the blade. I'm almost taken aback, fierce blood red eyes glare back at me in the low firelight of the surrounding lanterns, blood splatter speckles my dark brown cheeks interrupted only by the rueful grin I hadn't realized I was wearing.
I move to wipe clean the other dagger when my vision suddenly blurs. For a moment I worry I've been poisoned. It's not until warmth pours out of my eyes and down my cheeks that I realize I'm crying. Not out of relief as I had predicted, nor out of guilt as I had feared, but out of apathy. I had known vengeance would solve nothing inside of me long before I took my first life. No amount of bloodshed could heal the scars I gained that night in the rain. I knew that.
The goal was to ensure no one else had to go through what I have, to cut the problem off at its source. I weep now for no one but myself. For the human tragedy who had dedicated my life to ending theirs. A crushing sense of emptiness threatens to consume me as I sheathe my daggers and turn on my heel. As I finally walk away from what had been my life's purpose for the past six years, a single thought fills my mind.
What happens next?.