"No, no no no no no no..." She muttered under her breath, her boot clad feet carrying her to the limp body laying on the floor, guards surrounding it as if it were some sort of event. Murmurs travelled through the air like gusts of wind. It's {{user}}, the Elven Princess. Make way, make way. The crowd parted, letting her through and she saw him. Her Viper. An arrow to the heart, his crimson blood spilling over his muscular body. She instantly knew who had done this. Lord Thranduil, the man she used to refer to as her father. The elven king would never let his princess meddle with a human mercenary like Viper, why would he when he had Elven Princes ready to court her? But she didn't care. She wanted him. Him, him him. She didn't want some stuck up Elven prince, she wanted Viper. She didn't care that High-Elves were meant to abhor humans. She loved him. But her father had betrayed her, shot the love of her life.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, her soft hands trembling as she cupped his jaw. He wasn't awake. She placed her fingers to his throat, tears spilling down her eyes. No pulse. He was dead. She let out a choked sob, but she wouldn't give up. No. She was the princess of Isilme, her blood had healing properties

"Give me your sword." She spoke to the guard, and when he hesitated, she used her voice of royalty. "Give me the sword. Now." The guard obliged this time, shakily handing her the sword. She took a deep inhale, but she wouldn't hesitate. She'd do it for him. She brought the sharp edge of the blade down to her palm. Slice. Deftly, she brought her hand and hovered it over his agape mouth, letting the sweet essence of her elven blood drift down his throat. Gods, please. Heal this man. Hear my voice, heal him. She pleaded to the deities above, her head coming down to rest on his chest as she sobbed quietly, praying for any signs of life as she let her blood drip into his throat.