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A strange thing overcame Anselm as he stared at Viper's draining lifeblood spread out in a cherry pool. It wasn't hate, and it wasn't grief -- but it was strong and pervasive as it settled black roots into his heart.

His thousand-yard stare snapped back to reality as Etienne nudged him. He shifted, glancing to Odessia and seeing the fear that his actions  inspired in her. This didn't feel good to Anselm; his stomach knotted in a sick heave and he had to quickly look away.

Anywhere, except at the man.

I didn't -- He croaked as a man stressfully palming one hand with the next -- I didn't mean... It didn't matter what he had meant, and he was certain no amount of apology could ever fix the damning emotion he'd witnessed pool across Viper's pupils as he realized what transpired.

Slumping to an exhausted sit, Anselm's brow knitted as he stared at the ground in shame.