It's done... finished. I can't possibly find my way out, not out of this tangled hole I've dug myself into, further and further, never looking back. My sins are a web of blackness that outstretch out of my heart, weaving their way into my mind and filling my eyes with their darkened lies. I should be dead, I don't deserve to live. Already I am sinking, down and down into the pit of despair as I furiously try to ignore the stares of betrayal and hurt.
The worst part was... they were all my friends. They all trusted me, leaned on me if they needed support, and I would never be able to have that again. I let my crania hang low as I close my orbs, feeling the burning sensation of tears tickle the back of my eyes. No, the tears would not fall... they would never fall again, if I had anything to do with it. Gritting my teeth, I give a roar, unsheathed claws gouging wounds into the crumbling dirt wall.
"Papa?" I hear the word before I actually process it. Stiffening, I turned around, thinking of how I must look. Crimson stains of dry blood dying my claws, and my amber eyes wide, crazy in despair and bloodshot with lack of sleep. Wincing, I try and make myself presentable as my eyes rake the surroundings to find a small kit, orbs wide and reflecting the whole world back. I feel a twinge of pain in my heart as I remember my kits... the ones who had died at the hands of my allies.
"I'm not your father," I manage, the words choking up my esophagus as I try to prevent myself from breaking down in front of this kit.
"Oh," she mews, looking away. Her ears twitch for a moment, before she looked back up at me with those shining little eyes of hers. "Do you know where Papa is?"
I pause, before I shake my head reluctantly. "I apologize but I do not."
"What is 'aplogyz?'" she asked, and the pronunciation was both absolutely horrendous and enough to make me smile.
"An 'apology' is when someone is... sorry." I say, smile fading a bit. How those two words could change everything... "Come, now. Let us find your father." I nudged her shoulder with my muzzle, starting down the tunnel.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.
The two words run in my head, but when I feel the kit come up next to me, eagerly asking questions and not minding the blood... or the scars... I feel a pulse of warmth in my heart. Maybe I'm not too lost, after all.