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"We're finished." Amelie doesn't inflict any emotion in particular to her voice as she speaks – in fact, it's rather monotone - she merely casts a melancholy look at the subject of her speech. "You must agree, Myrnin. We relied on you and the girl to find the cure, but now you are in here, we must admit defeat. I may as well hand my town over to Oliver now, for I shall soon have to relinquish control anyway; why not allow him what he has always wanted?" as she finishes, a defeated note creeps into her voice, one suggesting that death by Oliver's hands would be preferential to dying from the disease, and she slumps into a chair before her friend's cell in a manner most unlike her.
Myrnin's face appears through the bars of the cell suddenly, his own expression a mixture of the depressed, almost defeated one of Amelie, yet also a defiance that doesn't seem to be compatible with the other. He should be devastated, Amelie thinks, he should think that he has failed in a task for the first – and last – time in his life. And yet he isn't; he seems strangely ready to fight, to ignore the part of him that insists that his time is up.
"You're wrong, dearest Amelie," he says, his words contrary to those of his longest friend. "We very much still have the chance for victory, to destroy the thing that desires to destroy the remnants of my sanity. Whilst I am in here, I do not plan to sit idle; I plan to further our work…or, at least, in those moments when the disease does not reign."
It's with a wry smile that Amelie shakes her head, a sadness in her eyes unseen before; it's one that shows deep-rooted regret, one that portrays to her friend just how much she believes in the words she is saying…it's one that suggests she never thought she would be giving up.
She believed in him wholly. He's just let her down.
"She isn't learning fast enough—you've said it yourself, Myrnin." She's relatively harsh with her words, her hand reaching out to clasp his softly. It's nothing romantic, merely a gesture between two old, dear friends, and it's all she can do not to break down before him. Whilst it most certainly appeals to her, she is still the Founder, and to show her emotions to someone as dangerous as Myrnin…it could be what kills her. "She isn't able to do it, even with the Doctor's help. Desperation caused me to believe only her blood could sustain you, hence why I sent her to you, and that may have been wrong morally, yet it could be what gives us enough time to—" she's cut off by Myrnin, his own tone soothing and gentle as he speaks.
"Hush, Amelie, you know her brain would sustain me for barely an hour—the disease has advanced to that point," he reminds her, his eyes locked on hers to try and make her remember. "I couldn't kill someone so young, so fragile—not when she has the rest of her life to live. She can still help me from here, I'm certain; we can defeat this disease and recline in our chairs for a long time into the future. Just have a little faith, my dearest, oldest friend, and remember why you entrusted this job to me."
This makes Amelie smile ever so slightly—just one corner of her mouth moves a fraction upwards, yet it's enough for her to feel as though Myrnin will claim this as a victory. "You nagged me to let you take charge of absolutely everything, then blamed me for bestowing everything upon you when I visited you next. You were always so contraire, Myrnin, and you still are—I am sure that the next time you desire to speak with me, you will say that you wish I had given you Claire's brain."
"That is something I can guarantee will never happen," he says in response, and Amelie can't help but believe him. Something about his intensity reminds her of the days before the worry, the carefree memories she has of the two of them…all before the disease, before he killed Ada, before she became the Founder. It brings back the memories of when they were Amelie and Myrnin, nothing more or less than that, and she has to take a moment to blink back the memories.
"What do we do, Myrnin?" she finds herself saying, because whilst she doesn't want to believe that they're defeated, she can't help but think that they are. After all, he's in his self-imposed prison, and their potential saviour is a sixteen year old girl who has been aware of the existence of vampires for a little over a month. "How do we save ourselves from the darkness that has consumed so many of our people already? Can we even do it?"
There's a beat of time that passes which is spent in complete silence, not even the noise of the nearby traffic penetrating the walls of the prison; she never wanted them to remember where they're housed, she remembers her reasoning for the building being like this, she wanted them to die in the dark, like vampires. She wanted to reduce their suffering, to make them forget that humans exist beyond the blood bags that are passed into their cell every day.
She wanted to ease their suffering. Something about the ripped, damaged glint to Myrnin's eyes makes her realise that she's failed.
"We'll survive this; we have survived an age of issues, have we not?" Myrnin reminds her of their victories in the past, when their adversaries were in a much better position than themselves, "this disease will not beat us. Fear not, Amelie, if I am unable to continue, we could not find a better replacement in Claire. I feel the disease trying to take control, and yet I am not ready to leave you and this conversation behind, for fear that you will—"
"For fear that I will do what?" Amelie cuts him off, her tone amused and yet affronted simultaneously; part of her came here to be given a little of Myrnin's (often futile) enthusiasm, to be given a chance to believe again. "Pray tell what I shall do, Myrnin."
"For fear that you will overreact and do something ostentatious and idiotic," he tells her, his brown eyes deathly serious. "This town is an example of when you act rashly and without thinking; perhaps next time, you ought to take a moment or two to consider whether or not you should do something. Now go, hurry; you cannot stay. The monster does not consider you a friend, only a woman who is far too beautiful for her own good."
She understands that he isn't going to be her dear, sweet Myrnin for much longer; he'll revert to the man who doesn't know her, and that will only give her further ammunition to believe that they have no ability to survive this. Better to go now, when she is still slightly persuaded that Myrnin is right, than to wait and see him in pieces.
"May God be with you, my friend," Amelie says as she removes her hand from within his, before moving swiftly along the corridor. As usual, she keeps her eyes on the door in front of her, unable to bear looking at the faces of those she once considered allies.
She steps out into Myrnin's lab once again, recalling the conversation she had with Oliver mere minutes ago, the one that had her certain they had no chance at survival – "you truly believe in the disease, don't you?" he had said, throwing jibes at her as per usual, "have you considered that it is all in your heads, and that those of us who are fit are left well alone?"
She doesn't dare consider the possibility that he's right.
"Ma'am, there has been a disturbance at the Glass House," her favourite guard, Julian, says with a grave expression on his face.
"Have them call the police; I have no desire to interfere in their politics any longer," she says briskly, already moving towards the stairs to return to ground level. Being below ground for too long always gives her the feeling that she's dead and buried alive, something she's never shared with anyone—even Sam.
"It's just…she said to say that it's your Father who has arrived, and that he needs to speak with you immediately," he continues, and she freezes immediately, unable to believe the words.
Just have faith, Amelie. Just have faith.