(a/n): I had a lot of Clockwork Princess feelings today. I wish this was longer, but I like to think that I understand Jessamine better now. Enjoy!

Ropes

It was coming. She could feel it in every bone, in every vein, the pain stemming blazingly from her heart.

You cannot save me now. Please don't save me, not now.

"Will - if you cared about me at all, even a bit, put me down," Jessamine managed to ground out, clutching onto something that she could not feel or see anymore. Colours flashed across her lids as she shut her eyes, a sickening warmth draining out of her rapidly. Her chest was closing in on itself, as though a hand had plunged into it and had taken her soul. It was so close, so close.

Ropes bound her wrists and feet, pulling her towards the ground. They loosened, just slightly, and she could briefly taste a relief to come. She saw blue and black and red before her and she questioned why he remained. She had no time to be glad.

Jessamine thought of home, a word so lost to her that it momentarily numbed out the world around her. Her fingers trembled and she wondered if she would see her family, the first image that came to mind. She could feel a fire in the fabrics of her skin as she thought of what her parents would think of her now. Can you forgive me, when I cannot forgive myself? She remembered a girl, so young, so unlike her now, that would have been desperate to see the only faces that loved her. No, she decided. She could not see them, she wouldn't be able to. They were strangers now, and she would have not a word to say to them.

"I am dying, and I am glad of it," she could hear herself saying. Her scarlet lips tasted like copper as she bit into them. Liquid rose within her and she knew it would not be long now. Despite the pain that was blackening her vision, she felt lighter somehow. Dying was easy, it was safe. There were no betrayals or complications or heartbreaks with this death; it was purely hers and she was - for once - content.

She thought of the Institute, of Charlotte and Henry and days of chilling loneliness. She remembered the bitterness that clung to her, drowning out every other emotion. It had consumed her, the rage she felt as she was forced into a life that she despised beyond anything else. It had silently damaged a part of Jessamine that would never be filled again. She had been so desperate to be complete, so determined to have what she needed. She recalled weapons and arguments and broken diamonds and found the urge to laugh, but not having the strength to. She tried to smile.

"I want to be seen as I am." After all, it was what she had always wanted. She did not wish to be remembered for what she wasn't, but she knew no words would come close to representing who she really was when she was gone. Nothing could mirror her and all her misery.

And finally, she thought of Will. She felt something for him, she knew. It was not romantic, and nor was it particularly friendly. There was an understanding between them from the very beginning, one that made her dislike him as he disliked her. Yet she could say she did care for him, after all these years. He was the only one that would remember her in a way that was closest to what she wanted. Their hate and their strength was a similarity best never discussed, but it was there. That conversation would not have ended well, she imagined, were it ever to take place. His anger had drifted, she thought, weakened. He was not without hope.

He had much to live for.

"You are a terrible Welshman," she tried to say.

Would he think of her? It was a strange thought.

At last, the ropes came free, and Jessamine felt a tugging within her.

Death was much simpler.