Hector- Vincent

Vincent was a couple of steps from Hector when his leading foot caught the curled-up edge of the long, frayed rug that ran down the corridor. It propelled Vincent into a stumble, arms flailing as he lurched forward. Instinctively, Hector brought his hands up to catch his brother.

The two collided on the banister in an embrace, Vincent’s arms around Hector.

The doors of Bevan’s Tower swung open suddenly as Count Vega ran in unannounced. Ringlin and Ibal turned to him quickly at the foot of the staircase, hands moving to their weapons. Vega’s cutlass flew gracefully from its scabbard, but the Sharklord followed the gaze of the two rogues back to the drama high above.

Vincent and Hector looked into one another’s eyes, their faces almost touching. There were mirrored expressions of surprise and horror. They slowly pulled themselves apart, Vincent wheezing and snorting, spit dribbling from his mouth as he looked down. Hector mouthed the word no repeatedly, but nothing came out.

Hector’s fist was flush with Vincent’s left breast, the hilt of his gaudy dagger flat against his brother’s chest. The knife wasn’t silver but the injury was massive; little could be done for this wound. The blade was buried deep within Vincent’s heart. Their eyes met once more, tears welling as brother looked upon brother. Hector’s hopes for forgiveness were dashed as Vincent’s face contorted into an expression of rage and hate. He tried to speak, but he, too, was dumbstruck.

Vincent’s hands clawed Hector’s face, tusks jutting from his jaws as dark brown hairs struggled to emerge around them. He squealed and grunted, scraping at Hector’s crying eyes with darkening fingers. The onlookers below watched as Vincent leaned farther back over the balcony. Hector could hold him no longer, and released his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Please forgive me, brother.”

B2 P3 C8