During the autumn hunt, my fiancé’s precious first love deliberately shot an arrow through my hair.
The ladies around us went white with shock.
But her eyes reddened, and she shrank behind my fiancé.
“My arrow went astray.
I didn’t mean to hurt her.
But she stood in front of my quarry and wouldn’t move.
Surely she bears some of the blame?”
My fiancé shielded her and shouted at me: “Weapons don’t have eyes.
If you can’t dodge them on a hunting ground, that’s your own incompetence.”
I merely murmured assent.
Then I raised my bow.
Three arrows whistled from it at once.
They pierced the left sides of the pair’s chests and the venomous snake behind them.
The two collapsed into pools of blood, their faces paper-white.
I picked up the snake and gave them a cold smile.
“Why didn’t you dodge?
Didn’t feel like it?”
