"Glass is a strange thing. It's so fragile, so common, so cheap. It can withstand immense force when dealt with accordingly, but can also be shattered into a million pieces with the slightest rough touch. It glitters just as good as other materials and metals, shines even brighter, but it has such little value. It's smooth and cold, and when broken, can cut. It's translucent, it's flawed, and it's delicate."

I'm breaking. I'm cracking. I'm shattering.

Deep breaths filled the emptiness of her lungs. Tears stung like poison in the back of her eyelids, so she pressed the palms of her hands harshly against her deceiving orbs in means of stopping them. Her shaking knees gave away her resolve, and she could practically feel him smirking at her crimson face. She dug her palms harder into her eyes, to the point where a plethora of fireworks exploded on the black curtain of her lids.

I'm translucent. I'm flawed. I'm delicate.

"People are a lot like glass. They come in different shapes, sizes, colors, textures, history. They are strong, they are weak, they are fragile. They are cold. They are made in an explosion of passions, and some are works of art; others are mistakes. They cut when they are hurt. They're common and hold little value, because we're so abundant."

I hold no value.

Her breathing slowed, the pain in her heart spreading like needles of fire across her body. Her stomach flopped, and she felt light headed and nauseous. She finally removed her palms from her eyes, and glanced up at his unmoving form. He was still watching her, calculating his next move carefully. To her surprise, the usual look of amusement was washed off his face. The handsome visage a now cold, pale, dangerous expression.

I'm a mistake.

"You see, people and glass do have a lot of things that are different as well. Glass is not alive, but," he chuckled. "Some people aren't either, really, eh?"

I'm not alive.

"So this is it, huh?" she swallowed hard, giving a dry bark of a laugh. "The end of the line?"

He said nothing.

"It was you all along." she shook her head in disbelief. He still stood there watching her; forever watching. "I didn't want to believe everybody, but they were right. I'm always wrong."

He kept in his position, a stone for a face and his form like a statue. She walked forward with more confidence than what she felt. She grabbed at her waist and pulled on her leather strap, not looking, but knowing her sword fell with the audible clink that ricocheted in the quiet of the forest. His eyes widened as she continued to advance forward, and was a mere four inches away from his body.

"Do it." she licked her lips nervously, the breeze tousling her hair, and the loose strands getting stuck in the new moisture. Her cheeks wore a crimson from the icy winds. "Do it."

He continued to watch, his face giving no signs as to what he was thinking. The tops of the leave-less trees swung in the near winter air, creaking quietly. Her head was tilted up, giving her the advantage to look into his eyes. The weakness was always in the eyes. That's how he read her so clearly, like he did now.

She was serious.

Kneeling down cautiously, she grasped his large hand in her much tinier, cold one and lead it to the handle of his own silver weapon. She curled his fingers around it and pulled it out gingerly. A large snowflake fell from the gray heavens, placing itself on her long lashes and melting, sliding down her cheek like the tears she never shed. She had to be strong. At least on the surface.

I'm translucent. I'm flawed. I'm delicate.

Sliding it next to her slender neck, she dug the blade into her soft skin, not enough to break the flesh, but enough to give a sense of danger. She felt her pulse on the metal, and she knew that he did too. He still did not move.

"Do it." she urged, letting her arms fall limp to her side, giving up all fight. Her eyes set in stone. "Kill me."

He pulled the sword back, lifting it up in the air, as he had done so many times on the battlefield...