Lifespan - Vaults
You took what you wanted to take
and yes you never wanted nothing from me
Mika had walked with his head held high for everyone else's benefit, and had maintained the grim but righteous look on his face. His hands were numb and his thoughts were running fast, jumbled and blurry. He drew in a shallow breath, desperate to keep his composure. The worst of it all was that he understood why this was necessary, but he didn't want to understand it, because he didn't want this to be the only way things could have turned out. Logic was failing him. Kurda didn't deserve to die, but what did he deserve?
A crowd had gathered, and the guards were occupied keeping the raucous vampires from coming too close. There were hundreds of them, some red-faced and furious, calling for the end of the traitor, and some sullen. Paris had no wish to draw this out, and for the first time in a long time he abandons tradition, perhaps not able to think of anything to say to condemn the man he had trusted and believed in. Before the drop, before the end – his throat tightens at the thought – Mika steps forward, because he can't not know.
"Was it worth it?" he asked. His voice was thin, strained and wavering. It had been a long time since he'd felt so uncertain. He craves I'm sorry, craves the reassurance, wants one last scrap of hope to hold on to because he knows he's going to need something to get him through.
This time, Kurda raised his head to meet the Prince's eyes. His cheeks were tear-stained but there was a glimmer of something in his bright eyes, defiance perhaps, and he let out a hopeless, broken laugh.
"No," he said eventually, as if he was stating the obvious. Like a final knife in the back, unapologetic, he adds; "but it would have been."
