Chapter Text
preface
Even the best plans have flaws. That is the inevitable problem with plans.
Once, I would have walked away from this. The people, the expectations, even from myself—I could simply have disappeared.
I would recreate myself, I have done it before—becoming someone else. My past is washed away with all its associated traumas and I start fresh. I am alone, but I am fine.
Now, against all odds, life has seen fit to change my story. I am no longer so free, but neither am I alone.
My lover, my other half, the man I have called husband, gazes at me. I can read the raw emotion in his eyes. He may consider himself hidden from others, but it is not hard for me to see him. He is, after all, the only one who has truly understood me and, in turn, I am the only one able to truly accept him—all of him.
It is strange what this connection has led us to. Though we ought to repel each other, instead we are drawn together—moths to a flame. Time and time again we have come together, even unto our mutual destruction, and yet I have no regrets.
He knows that we are trapped, he believes this is the end. I know, as always, he will do everything in his power to protect us—but there is nothing left to do. Our daughter looks to me as well, her eyes wide, but ever trusting. Even now, when there is no other recourse, she believes in us—waits for us to provide an impossible solution. Yet this time it is beyond even my skill to fix. The teacup that is our future has already dropped—and I cannot stop its fall.
I do not want them to be afraid. I do not want this to be how our family ends. But, it is not my decision to make. Time cannot reverse, no matter how much I may wish it to do so.
My lover takes a half step towards me and even without words we understand each other. I reach out, cupping his cheek, drawing him close. I inhale his familiar scent, grounding myself as his arms wind around me. It is an embrace we have shared before, yet this time it is different. It is as intimate as it is simple—it is our goodbye.
I hear my daughter’s stifled gasp and know that, once more, nothing has slipped past her. She is too aware, we have honed her skills too finely. I do not regret the woman she has become—she is our protégée.
My lover presses his lips to mine, capturing my mouth, demanding my attention. I give it to him one final time. Our gazes remain locked as I slide the blade into his belly. It is almost too easy to pierce his skin, but it is different to know that this time my victim is not some lesser being. He is my everything. I bring the knife up in a sharp movement, honed over years of experience. He lets out a gasp, of surprise? —impossible. Of pain? —perhaps. I cannot know for certain as I cradle him to me. His blood seems to burn my skin as it fills the space between us.
Our daughter gives a little cry of mingled horror and agony as we fall together and I cradle my Heart as I let him descent to the ground. It is no place for him, this dispassionate floor. At the very least every part of him should have been honoured, not left bleeding on the ground like garbage. But, I have no time. His eyes lock onto mine, and I know he understands. He forgives me, I think.
Regretting the tears in her gaze, I extend a bloodstained hand to my daughter. I find her acceptance of what is to come. She is trembling as she lets me draw her to me. Despite knowing what is to come she seeks the comfort of my arms. I hold her as I have before, but this time we both understand that I cannot protect her.
“I am sorry,” I whisper, as I turn her gently away from me. She faces the figure on the ground as I raise the blood-stained weapon again—this time to her tender throat.
I lie her beside my lover. For a moment I l am captivated by the growing pool of crimson—their blood co-mingling. I have seen more blood than I can recall, but usually it does not strike me. I have seen bodies, honoured many of them myself, yet I cannot grant that last rite to those I call my own family. It is the worst sin I will commit. Even the rude have been honoured, elevated with my respect. But there is no time and I cannot give those I love most what they deserve.
They seem to reach out to me, beckoning for me to join them, begging me not to do what I must. I cannot go to them though, not yet. Instead, I turn to face the cause of this agony. The Agents observe us with horror—proclaimers of protection and righteousness. In their eyes they are not tearing my family apart. Rather, they deign to believe that they have saved us.
I smile coldly at them as they point their weapons at me, shouting orders I have no intention of following. They are scared, but they do not know of what—not really. They tout their half-baked ideas, clinging to their twisted morals. They have never understood us and they never will.
As I face them, I know that we may not be Gods anymore, but we are far from powerless. This is my design.