Descriptive Essay: The Cold War

His ruthless heart on the ruby-splattered blade of its guiltless bearer, he dropped like a stone to the bloodstained turf, letting a cry of anguish blend in with the rapidly retreating footsteps of his cowering soldiers. He knew he would survive, but they didn’t, and at that moment in time them not knowing was what really mattered. He stared through his supposedly closed eyelids at his killer. A girl, this time, with blonde, wavy hip-length hair and startling cyan eyes. That was what got him that time, he thought–the eyes-so much like his brothers’ that it seemed it was his kin that was grinning down at his crimson stained corpse. He grinned at her, opening his own piercing grey orbs. Unlike all the others who had tried to kill him, she stuck out her callused hand and pulled him up.
“Right, now that they think your dead; the sword?” she held out her hand expectedly, wanting her end of the deal.
“I don’t think so, I want one more thing,” he replied, grinning at her with the knowledge that he had the upper hand-she couldn’t harm him.
“That wasn’t part of the deal Mr.Sanctus.” She retorted through gritted teeth, letting her arm fall down in defeat, already knowing this battle was lost.
"Oh Emma, always thinking you can win the battle when really, you and I both know that
Did you ever think that, maybe, I might gain something from your army thinking that you’re dead? Did it ever accure to that I might know exactly why you need your heart and, even with all those pathetic lies you have thrown my way, I know that I really do have the upper hand here and that you need both me and your heart for this sadistic experiment? No, you did not, because you are a conceited fool who is going to live forever never getting exactly what he wants for one reason -you believe that you can have anything you