Chapter Text
My legs dangle casually over the railing. The kingdom's laid out before me. And the sheer size of it all is only slightly overwhelming. If I let go right now—
How many times have I come here, only to give up and leave? I can't really count. I glance down at the gardens sitting directly below. They're so beautiful and neat, and honestly, I think having my jam stained on the stone path would ruin it all. Well, not like it'll matter. They'll just— clean it up and pretend I never existed.
…Right?
I look up at the sky, my grip on the railing instinctively tightening. Stars are scattered all over the sky, like specks of white paint from a brush across a dark canvas. It's so quiet, so peaceful. It's pretty. Maybe I'd never appreciated the sky enough until now. Maybe I'd never appreciated anything until now.
All the more reason to, the voice in my head points out, gesturing at the hard stone below.
Is this going to hurt? Is this supposed to hurt? I ask back.
There's no response.
Cool wind blows at my face, and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation. Maybe I don't have to. Maybe— maybe I can just leave and pretend I'd never come here. Maybe— maybe it's not all that bad. Maybe I— maybe I can survive today, then tomorrow. Maybe I'm not all useless—
My thoughts stop. That's— that's complete nonsense. What are you even saying?
What?
You and I both know you don't think that way. So stop lying to yourself.
I look down at the ground again. It's enticing. Like it's calling me down. Maybe I want to be there too. At this point, I don't know what I want anymore. Who even am I? I only know how to pretend to be the all-perfect "Pure Vanilla". Maybe I'm nothing. If everything is fake, then… what's the point? Random memories of my failures flash in my mind, and I can't help but think that it's all my fault. Even if I've been told countless times it isn't. I guess I'm stubborn, in a way.
But if I can't do anything right, then what right do I have to be living in a luxurious castle— even thinking about it makes me sick— when others who can do so much more, so much better, aren't? I'm not enough. I'll never be enough. I'm sorry to the world for my existence. I want to end it. I want to end…
Me.
If you wanted to do it, you would've done so long ago, that stupid voice points out.
They aren't wrong. But— if I do it, I don't know if I'll be able to turn back. It's not something someone can do on a daily basis. Actually, that's stupid. I doubt most cookies even think about it on a daily basis. Guess I'm the weird one. That's funny.
I look down again. There's no one outside, and it's quiet. On the bright side, no one will notice. On the other hand, no one will notice. What am I even doing this for?
To escape from everything, I supply.
But— is that truly what I'm doing this for? Am I really just tired of— everything? Or— do I want someone to notice that I'm in so much pain that I'm being driven to do this? What even do I want?
What's wrong with me?
I realise that I keep looking down, but haven't let go yet. Maybe I'm just waiting for someone to burst in and find me here, and stop me. Then tell me that I'm okay, and give me a hug and comfort me.
The thought brings tears to my eyes. How pathetic. I'm supposed to be perfect. Not sitting out on a balcony and contemplating… this. Not crying at the thought of comfort, warmth and someone to help me. When you're supposed to be everyone's comfort, guiding light, the one everyone always turns to…
Then who am I supposed to turn to?
Myself?
More tears are falling down my cheeks now. How am I supposed to help others if I can't even help myself? I almost laugh at the thought. It's so unbelievably stupid. What kind of cookie can't even manage themselves?
Me, apparently.
I'm tired. I can't take it anymore. It's too much. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of smiling for the whole day only to lock myself in my room at night with my thoughts to cry. I'm tired of helping everyone and secretly, desperately wishing for help myself. I'm tired of not being able to be better. I'm tired of not being enough. I'm tired of everything.
I'm tired of wishing I could disappear, only to give up at the last second.
So I let go.
And let myself slip off the edge.
Wind roars in my ears. It feels like slow motion, like everything's happening too fast, yet too slow at the same time. Like time's been slowed, but I've been too. Which means I can't do anything to save my pathetic, dying self.
Not like I want to. Just a thought.
I close my eyes, and memories flash in my mind. Suddenly, I'm seeing White Lily. Both of us sneaking into the restricted section at the Academy for books she wanted. White Lily excitedly telling me all the new things she'd learnt by herself by reading while I was trying not to fall asleep in class, and me nodding and trying my best to pay attention despite having no interest in whatever she was researching. All that time we'd spent together when we were young— it feels so far and distant. A time where I'd never have to worry about much other than exams. A time where I could be carefree and mostly do whatever I wanted. A time where I thought my entire life would be so peaceful.
Guess I was wrong. Again. Well, I'm wrong most of the time anyway. It wouldn't mean much to have another wrong answer on the record.
You're going to be leaving White Lily alone for the rest of her life if you succeed, you know? The voice reminds me.
Don't torture me anymore. I'm done. Maybe she'll be happier anyway, not having to deal with me. Maybe she doesn't care enough to feel anything, assuming I succeed. Maybe I'm a burden. But I feel an overwhelming need to apologise to her. For leaving without telling her. Well, she'd attempt to stop me anyway, so telling her wouldn't help. But the last thing I whisper before I hit the ground is,
"…I'm sorry, White Lily."
Then,
Peace.
The peace of nothingness.