Zhartas (zhartas)

My severe injuries had healed and the sweet taste of blood coated my mouth. I kept walking, my goal vague, trying to dispel the building unease in my chest. Upon entering an open area was the scent of rotting flowers and in the middle of the flowerbed, he stood. Without anyone saying a thing, without his name given, like an unsolved puzzle falling into place by itself, just by seeing that figure, I understood exactly who I faced.