In these, her final moments, Caterina Sforza reflected that time, when one had little of it, did indeed slow, and take on an almost liquid quality, slow and languid. Perhaps it was an illusion, granted by the slow burn of the poison she had gladly swallowed, battling with her weakened body and her still-strong will. Even now, when all she had loved and hoped for was irrevocably beyond her grasp, still, she found it difficult to give up. She had never known when to quit, had never been one to accept defeat. And yet, at the same time, she was so weary. Weary of the hell that life had become, a cold and passionless place, peopled with the ghosts of those she had loved and failed.
She no longer felt the bitter cold of the room, of the ice that gilded every surface. She leaned back against the wall, feeling the solid stone against her bare shoulders, odd comfort in this miserable place.
She had so much to atone for. Why? Why had she always been the one to cheat death of his prize? And at what terrible cost! Her parents had died, but her life had been spared by a dark-winged angel, and the power he carried within him. As she had grown older, she had used him, oh yes, she had used them all. Her determination never wavered. She had known what she meant to do, the peace she sought. Her AX, loyal to the bitter end, dear friends all. And she had manipulated them like pieces on a chessboard. Abel was her ultimate weapon, true, but they all had their uses, their special skills. She had played a fine game, dancing on the sharp edge of the blade. It had been a fine game, until she had stumbled.
Alessandro's death...she had not foreseen that. Of all the blood that she carried on her hands, she most bitterly regretted his. With the obliteration of Rome, she no longer had even the solace of haunting the burial grounds. She mourned Alessandro, Kate, William, Vaclev, Hugue, Leon, even Francesco with every breath. But the pain of their loss was as nothing compared to the bitter, sharp pain of Abel's betrayal, and the fact that he had died without a chance to redeem what had gone so wrong. She had failed them all.
Even in this, her last gamble, she had failed.
Dietrich, and even to an extent, Isaak had listened to her. They no longer completely trusted Cain, it was true, but they would never be so foolish as to challenge him outright. She had miscalculated. She had lost. It was time to give up. She felt rather than saw Tres, waiting. He would not complete his final mission until he knew without a doubt that she was gone.
She drew a shuddering breath, tasted something metallic in her throat. Was this what it felt like to die? Why was it taking so long...?
She drifted, whether in memory or in truth she could no longer say. Those faces, those voices...she knew them all. All she had to do was step away from that crumpled form, that cold place, and into the light of those she loved. Those she had failed. There was no judgement in those beloved faces, only welcome. It was not so hard, after all. She looked back, missing Tres. If there truly was justice, or mercy to be had, then he would shortly be at her side. Machine or not, he had loved her. His was perhaps the truest love she had known.
Isaak von Kampfer stared at the scene before him. He had not quite expected this. He had known, they had all known, that Caterina was ill, gravely so. Cain had refused her last ritual offering of blood, with a sort of saddened pity that Isaak had never seen from the Crusnik. He was saddened to see her so still at last, to know that he would never again cross blades with her, whether verbally or physically. He saluted her courage and showed it in the most appropriate way that he knew. Weaving one of the most powerful spells that he knew, he sealed the room, with the fragile shell she had left behind, and her faithful hound perpetually guarding it, using Magier skill and older magics. "Sleep forever in your frozen sleep, my lady." he murmured.
The world would be reborn in fire, this was true. But until then, Caterina would rest, finally at peace.