She was met with a look of utter shock and terror.
"Y... you..." the man stuttered, "You k-k-killed him?"
She smiled. She had never seen the man so distressed, so afraid. He had always been the strong one, the shoulder to cry on, the steady voice in the face of trial.
"But of course, one of you had to go," she said, matter-of-factly. But then, playfully, she added, "And it is much easier to cut fat than muscle."
He was still in shock, mouth moving but stringing together only sounds, not words.
"But that is all behind us now, m'love. His death is the very thing we need to start afresh, anew. The phoenix rises from the ashes, and so shall we."
She took a few steps closer to him, but he only backed away, unable to comprehend who -- what -- was standing before him.
Unsteady emotions caught her off-guard, bringing tears to her eyes.
"Ah, m'love," she wept, "Why do you ignore me? I have done so much for you! I have sacrificed so much, I have killed for you, as you have done for me..."
Her words trailed off into soft mumbles, the occasional sniffle escaping her silence.
Finally finding the words to reply, he made his retort: "That was to protect you, I killed men because I had to, because they were enemies, invaders. You," his voice grew angry. "You killed in cold blood."
"No!" she cried. "My blood ran hot, the fire of love ran through me as I plunged the blade into his chest."
He shook his head, disgusted.
"Don't you love me?" she whispered between sobs, wet eyes looking up at him in longing.
"No," the cool reply came, followed quickly by wails and tears. "I loved a woman once, but she died beside a fat merchant, awash in his blood."
Her cries diminished as she fell to the floor, replaced instead by anguished moans.
"I cannot look at you any longer," he spat. "And so I must---"