Peter didn't know what hurt more.
The fact that he was being cut, or who the person cutting him was.
Claire. HIS Claire.
Not anymore, he decided. As his tired, confused eyes rested on her face, scanning the powdery-white and the experienced, hollow eyes for some feeling...
But all he could find was the death she'd seen – the death she couldn't feel anymore.
As the scalpel drags across his chest, the crimson blood spilling out of the wound, he blinked in shock.
Who was this stranger?
Claire had become... darker. She lost the innocence that she once had when he first saw her in the hall.
Those golden curls and sweet smile were gone, and was replaced by dark brown hair and a gloomy soul. In the back of his mind, Peter wonders if she even smiles at all anymore.
She wanted him to feel every single death from Costa Verde. Did it really mean that much anymore? 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth' didn't apply all the time.
Peter begged for a chance to change the past, but of course, she doesn't listen. She continues to use the scalpel to cut him open, the blood gushing and the rigid, distinctive scent floods his nose, and he tries to suppress his gag reflex. Her eyes have no emotion, only cruelty.
As his eyes clouded over, screams quieting from his mouth, chest heaving, he knew he couldn't let this happen to her. He had to take care of Claire when he returned back to the past, so she couldn't become this monster that was mercilessly cutting him open right now.
So what hurt more?
The second one. For sure.
