Alone and forgotten, she stood, a lone figure on the bridge.
She stared down into the waters, watching sheets of water fold over themselves, ripples caused by an unknown hand.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and Lena glanced up at the rolling grey clouds in the velvet night sky. Unconcerned, she peered back down.
Would she ever forgive her? She wondered, staring at the silent water. Could she ever forgive herself?
Lena rolled a rose stalk between pale fingers, reminiscing. A thorn pricked the edge of her thumb, but she didn't notice. Crimson blood dribbled down, staining the grey stone ledge she rested her elbows upon.
Water under the bridge, Lena had told her with a dagger held behind her back. And then, Lena pushed her over the bridge, into the dark, unrelenting waters. Her skull cracked against a stone, she broke her spine and the body turned up at Westbridge three days later.
Lena loosed a harsh laugh that rang in the quiet night air. What irony!
And instead of hurling the black rose into the riverwater as a sad tribute to her as planned, Lena let it fall to the floor. She grinded it into the ground under a booted foot, the black petals breaking into soft fragments.
She stepped back from the ruined flower with a wolfish grin turning up the corners of her harsh mouth.
Lena turned back to the side of the bridge, placing her elbows upon the ledge once again. But the smile was gone now, replaced by a vague emptiness, a feeling that was nothing at all.
Suddenly, it began to rain.