"You're quoting from ET at a time like this?"

"I love that movie. But I love you… more."

Thrasher's last five words had slipped off his tongue, hesitant but sweet. He had practiced saying the words countless times before, in the mirror and to the stars at night and sometimes to the back of his master's head when he wasn't paying attention. He had hoped that he would confess his feelings at a different time, in a happier moment, not while feeling the throbbing pain of the sword digging into his brain; of course, he knew that if it weren't for the fatal injury, if it weren't for his mind's sudden resolution to go for it because there would be no consequences, he would've never told Vaurien his true feelings.

Although Thrasher would never get to see or hear his master's reaction, he was content; if his reveal brought Vaurien even a little bit of joy, a little bit of warmth in his dead heart, that was enough for Thrasher. He could die happily. Just as he began to slip away, however, the pain was lifted and he opened his eyes. Scapegrace stood above him, the sword in hand.

In the following days, the pain of the sword was long gone for Thrasher, but another pain resided. A deep, aching pain that was constantly nagging at the zombie every time he was around his master, some odd combination of sadness and discomfort and bitterness, but also dedication and the same, steady affection he had for Scapegrace for the past several years. Thrasher had tried to ignore the feeling, but it became too much for him a few days later.

"They wanted me to be their Zombie King, Clarabelle!" Scapegrace retold the story for what seemed like the thousandth time, "Me! I graciously refused, of course, but could you imagine? Me, a king?"

"That would be rather remarkable. But what would that make Gerald?" she asked somewhat absentmindedly.

"What do you mean?" Vaurien asked, "He'd be one of my servants, of course! Same as he's always been!"

The remark made Thrasher remember that day, the day they saved the world and got the offer to rule the underworld. Well, his master had gotten the offer to rule the underworld, not Thrasher. Thrasher had been next to Vaurien, just. There.

"You call me Master," Scapegrace's harsh voice was still clear in Thrasher's mind, "I was just being nice to you because I thought you were dying."

A wave of anger shot through Thrasher, though he was so unaccustomed to the feeling that he almost didn't recognize it. It made his hands tremble, like he had too much energy but not enough focus to release it in any constructive way. His mind was abuzz with the countless snide comments and harsh words that Scapegrace had snapped at him over the years, small aggressions that Thrasher had all but forgotten until now.

He had confessed his feelings to his master, and for what? Vaurien had taken back every nice thing he had said right after Thrasher was revived, threw away the tender moment they had like it was nothing. Was that what Thrasher was to him, then? Nothing? Did Scapegrace find no value in Thrasher's unwavering loyalty, in his love?

"Right, Thrasher?"

Suddenly the zombie was aware that he had tuned out of the conversation, so wrapped up in his overwhelming emotions that he did not know what Clarabelle and his master were talking about anymore. He tried to swallow his anger and hurt, not wanting them to know what he was feeling.

"Sorry, Master?" he gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Were you not listening?" Scapegrace asked him, annoyance in his tone.

"I'm sorry, sir," Thrasher apologized.

"What's been up with you lately?" Vaurien complained, "You've been distracted, is it because of the sword injury? Did it mess up your brain or something?"

"No," Thrasher responded. His voice was less meek and apologetic than it usually was.

"Are you sure? Because you're acting like a bigger idiot than usual."

Thrasher wanted to lash out at him then, to yell and curse and scream about how he was tired to Scapegrace treating him this way. He wanted to shake his master's shoulder and ask him why his loyal servitude meant nothing to him. Why his feelings meant nothing to him. But he didn't.

"I'm sorry," Thrasher tried to keep the anger out of his voice, "I'll listen better."

For the rest of the night, he sat quietly and listened to the conversation, adding to it when it was appropriate and agreeing with his master when the situation called for it, but all the while his emotions were slowly beginning to boil. It wasn't just anger, either- it was a deep, consuming sadness as well. Thrasher's heart, his loyalty, entire existence was dedicated to Vaurien Scapegrace, and for what? He knew his master would never return even a bit of the same feelings, not even a bit of appreciation.

After Clarabelle had wandered to bed and Scapegrace became engrossed in some program in the television, Thrasher quietly slipped outside. The night air was cool but not unpleasant, and if he concentrated his eyes he could see dozens of faint stars dotting the night sky- somehow, their presence calmed him. As he gazed at the stars, he slowly forgot about his anger and instead focused on how wonderful it was that huge balls of hot gas were able to shine their light across the cosmos, millions and millions of miles until the light finally reached Earth. For a moment, Thrasher wished Vaurien was next to him, so he too could see the peaceful lights, so he too could marvel at just how tiny he and Thrasher were in comparison to the universe.

But then he once again remembered why he was angry and why he was outside, and all of a sudden the stars were not able to calm him down anymore. Thrasher died for Scapegrace, used what he thought were his last words to tell him his feelings, but did the self-proclaimed Zombie King care? Not a damn bit! Thrasher wondered why he even bothered putting up with the constant abuse…

Why do I? He thought, He probably wouldn't even notice I'm gone.

A thought flashed into Thrasher's mind, like a lightbulb suddenly being lit. He had no obligation to stay and serve Scapegrace! He had no obligation to put up with the constant belittling, the verbal harassment, the mistreatment! Yes, he still loved Scapegrace- how could he not, after all they've been through?- but he knew the feelings would never be reciprocated, and he knew that the taunting and the bullying would never stop, either. Why should he put up with it if he wasn't getting anything in return?

His emotions still wild, feeling rebellious, Thrasher shoved his hands in his pockets and began walking down the empty street. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, but he knew one thing: he wasn't going to crawl back to his former master, Vaurien Scapegrace.