I gaze at my hands, the blood fresh on my skin. I've killed many times before—maybe not just once or twice, but now it feels like something has changed. The usual exhilaration I feel when breaking a neck, when bones crack in my hands, is absent. I ought to experience contentment. However, there is a void consuming me, scratching at me internally, and endangering to tear me to pieces.
Elara, the name.
I remember her name and my chest becomes tense. I prefer not to dwell on her. I don't want to experience whatever this is. What is love? Negative. I am not in love. I do not form emotional connections. Since she was captured, I have been feeling confused and directionless.