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LG49/AN3: Hour 11 - Nothing Makes Sense Anymore It was never supposed to be like this, Adolin thought. This night should've been a night of a celebration and flirtation. He'd been looking forward to tonight for days. Maybe weeks. He wasn't entirely sure. Certainly ever since his latest conquest had started ignoring him. He'd been hoping he'd have some luck in replacing her, but instead of spending the night smiling carefree at any (and every) girl even close to his own age, he found himself forced not to show his grief. Brother, dead. Father, dead. Uncle, dead. Aunt, dead. Cousin, dead. He'd had to kill his cousin's wife. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. But he couldn't show that. Not even now, while walking through the palace halls where he'd spent years of his life. He had to be strong. He was one of the last of the Kholins. A dying breed. Storms. He heard a noise behind him, and he spun around, instinctively summoning his Shardblade. When did that become instinctive? He couldn't see anyone, but he was still relieved when, ten heartbeats later, he felt the sturdy feel of blade in hand. Better to be cautious than...well. Dead. Continuing down the corridor, he stayed alert for any sounds other than his own footsteps on the stone. And heard another noise. He spun again, but there was still no one there. He thought for a moment that he was just hearing things. Maybe the grief was finally getting to him. Maybe he was cracking. He'd seen that happen to his father, after his mother's death. His father, the powerful, awe-inspiring Blackthorn, broken from a single death. Adolin knew he wasn't his father. He didn't have that same strength, as much as he'd tried. The Blackthorn broke under one death. Adolin had five to break under. Six if one counted Aesudan, which Adolin didn't, since he'd never really like the woman. Killing her had been distressing, but it hadn't been heartbreaking. Nothing like seeing Renarin fall, or the Blackthorn himself dead. Another noise, from the other direction. Now I'm just spinning in circles, he thought, looking ridiculous. Just before he dismissed his Blade, however, he heard a soft patter of feet. Running. Towards him. He spun again, knowing this wasn't in his head, and sure enough, someone was running toward him. He couldn't tell who—the face was covered and the clothes were nondescript—but identity was the least of his concerns, he realized, as he saw a blade swing at him. This time, his moves were truly instinctive. He blocked the weapon, and immediately made an attack of his own. Which his opponent quickly parried. Adolin fell into Vinestance to defend himself from the counterattack, and then spun into Windstance. His opponent seemed barely able to keep up with Adolin's attacks, coming one after the other, so when the man (at least, Adolin assumed it was a man) was disoriented, Adolin fell into Stonestance, raising the Blade up high to deliver a final blow. But the man moved fast, not truly shaken, swinging his Blade at Adolin's torso. Faster than Adolin could bring his own Blade down to block. He fell to the ground, unable to feel his legs. He dropped his Blade, and it turned to mist. He would've thought there'd be more pain, but instead, there was just numbness. And as his opponent advanced, ready to kill him, he realized he wasn't completely opposed to death. He could join the rest of his family in the Tranquilline Halls. It had been too long since he'd seen his mother. It would be nice to be with her again. With his father without the draw of drunkenness. Perhaps death would make more sense. Adolin Kholin has been killed. This turn ends on Sunday at 11:30 PM MDT