For the longest time since that night, when the stars became little white lies and when his eyes no longer bought into illusions, he dreamed.
He would first be standing in a lake, pond, ocean? The land recedes like shadows, and the water is still, speckled with reflected stars. She is always standing in the center looking up, always looking up, facing away from him. Sometimes she is young with her white dress billowing away from her thin legs. Sometimes she is older, skin-tight black suit and blades clipped to her belt, her long hair tied back into a ponytail. But no matter her appearance, she is always far away from him.
Then the mirror shatters. Bodies float to the water's surface, and the stars fall in a massive shower of light. She turns around, but he only sees his mask; the white face deceives even him from time to time. The bodies continue to float until they completely lift out of the water, blood dripping from unseen wounds, their mouths wide open mid-scream. Anguish. The lake turns cloudy and red. The stars continue to fall. Her voice haunts him.
"I made the stars fall again."
An overwhelmingly metallic smell hits him next, rust penetrating his nostrils. He gags and feels his throat close up. He reaches to his neck and there are wires. He claws at them, but the wires constrict even more. It feels like drowning. He looks for the other end of the wire, but he already knows who is there: That white mask covering his own face. The smile pierces into him like a dagger, and he looks down, the blossoming bloom of red already staining his shirt. It is his own blade slicing through his heart, wielded by her, no him, no them. He hears the crackling of energy. Her eyes glow red; they both glow blue. The electricity feels like a forest fire. His body convulses, and his blood boils. The wires tighten. She smiles at him, but he can't see her face clearly. It keeps shuffling, one contorted expression after another, victims by both her hand and his. This is where the stars fall to, this eternal evening and this clouded lake. The faces of the dead all look tormented, yet she is tranquil.
She is falling asleep. He reaches to catch her, no more wires to hold him back, no more bodies around them. Her weight in his arms brings him comfort. She sleeps. She sleeps. She sleeps. A beautiful payment.
"Contractors don't dream." Thank god.
He wakes.
His neck is sore. It has only been two hours. The false stars are still twinkling. Somewhere is hers, his, theirs. It shines brightly among the rest, a constant reminder of his continued existence. His breaths are shallow.