He hadn't meant for things to end like this.
He was the Robin Hood type—stealing from the rich to give to the poor—and she had been the damsel in distress.
They had met only a few weeks before, but that was all it took for their love to blossom. She was a young, pretty thing, but with a father who had a heart of stone, and he was a wanted criminal, with only the rough but loving Little John to call his family.
No, scratch that last part.
He never would have guessed that Little John would have fallen for her too; it wasn't like that in the storybooks.
"We're brothers!" The plea was desperate, unbelieving, denying, and was met by a single word, spoken so coldly that it could have frozen Hell over.
Could it really end like this?
Her hand tightened in his, and it was hard for his tears not to join hers. He was the hero, and he had to be strong, even as everything was falling apart; he had to be strong, for her.
"Please…" The thief gave a slight shake of his head, his light blue eyes never leaving the gun. "Please. If not for me, then for her."
The weapon shook, in the betrayer's hands, and then was lowered. The world froze for the space of that one moment, then the moment was over and the barrel of the gun was shoved into the smaller boy's chest.
The thief closed his eyes.
Would it really end like this?
In the silence, an echo came, of the retort of a gun.