He’s sheathed in golden armor and mounted on a white steed. At his back is a bow and quiver. His blond hair is pressed down by a crown of gold, and his face—his face is angelic, proud.
He’s almost too much to look at. Too breathtaking, too noble, too ominous. I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t expected to forget myself or my deadly task. I hadn’t expected to feel … moved by him. Not with all this fear and hate churning in my stomach.
But I am utterly overwhelmed by him, the first horseman of the apocalypse.
Pestilence the Conqueror.
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