"Why…?"

Is that all you have to say? Do you really think it's that's simple?

Those pierced by blades don't tend to ask questions. (I never did.)

So what makes you think you'd get a plausible answer? Haven't you realized the sheer lunacy of my role? Of yours?

"You remind me so much of Dios,"

I whisper with a voice like nostalgia and venom.

It's true, to a degree; but don't you understand?

Once upon a time, the prince was the light of the world…

Whatever light there was, it's gone.

Should I regret keeping it to myself?

I coveted it, and in doing so I destroyed it.

I suppose you'd like to think it wasn't my fault, if you knew.

Ever the righteous fool, always willing to help and save and forgive…

You really are just like he was.

And look what happened to him (to me, to us).

Did you ever think it would be my blade and not his, "prince"?

"But you can never be my prince, because you're a girl."

I crack a small smile at this; I allow myself a sardonic little lie.

The truth is, you are a prince-but you know what I am?

"Himemiya..."

You gasp out my name painfully, and I wonder distantly how exactly you can still move as you clutch at my dress like a lost child begging for its mother.

Really, you are incorrigible, I think to myself as I disappear from your grasp.

The swords are here, so I can't be bothered to dwell on you right now.

The revolution is at hand, of course; it will be time soon.

And the witch receives her justice (It will only hurt for a little while, right?).

You're confident, guileless, charismatic.

I'm quiet, demure, just a punching bag for anyone who'll have me.

You were different, I'll grant you that-but not by much.

Thanks for the memories, at any rate.

When you're me, the reprieves don't come often and they don't last long.

I know this from experience, something you don't have. (And I hope you won't.)

You're the prince, I'm the witch.

Who gets burned when the story ends?

The first sword hits, and I don't even flinch.

So many misguided revolutions, so many swords, so much hate…

(Why?)

Another sword.

Another.

"Why…?"

I feel a twinge of pain, unrelated to the new ones embedding themselves in flesh second by second.

We've failed, haven't we, Onii-sama?

He'll sit back and watch for a while, and I'll try to ignore the pain.

(Ungrateful bastard.)

Through the rush of metal, I hear someone crying out.

"Himemiya!"

I'll have to applaud you for perseverance, but I already know how it ends.

I've read this story before, of course.

"Don't open it, you have no idea what will happen!"

(Onii-sama…?)

He sounds desperate.

(He's never desperate.)

This is different. What do I do?

"The only time I was ever truly happy…was when I was with you…"

It's a strained whisper, one that shouldn't reach my blood-filled ears.

Oh well, many have said the same thing.

They all thought they knew what they wanted- in the end, though, they cursed me with their last breaths, each and every one.

(Maybe…)

What are you doing?

My brother is screaming in a rage (at you? At me? At no one?).

(It's open.)

"Hey, wake up."

(Who…are you?)

"I'm here to save you."

(What?)

"I've come all this way to be with you."

There's a light where there's never been one before.

Dios?

"Himemiya! Take my hand!"

I won't.

You face is covered in sweat and tears, your hand is raw, your fingers are almost broken.

To take it would be to believe.

Do I even have the capacity to believe in anything?

Even something as ridiculous, as impossible as that you ask of me?

(But…the swords…)

"Himemiya, please!"

Your eyes show you've wanted nothing more in your whole life.

(If it's you…)

My hand goes forward.

"Someday, surely…"

I believe.

(I believe, Utena.)

~La Fin.