The girl laughed. No, what she really knew she was, in her heart of hearts, was a creature. The creature laughed, never knowing exactly why she laughed. The creature knew
it made her feel better. She didn't know exactly when she started to laugh, either. Anyway, the blood was so funny as it coated itself down her leg. And it was also funny how
nobody was there in the lonely hall she bled on, to cheer her on. It was a fucked up kind of funny. Because in stories the hero or heroine was surrounded by amazingly wise
and talented people who adored him or her. And SHE, well, she was very alone. It was fucked up. But it was the only funny she got with regularity, so she cherished it in a
fucked up casual way: she laughed. The un-shed tears pushed at her eyes, but didn't come. The creature laughed again. She limped another step. Another spasm of pain in her
leg. Instead of wincing, she laughed again. Skuldugery had told her to leave him. He was dying and she needed to go on to save a bunch of people. He asked her to leave
him, but that didn't make the guilt eating her inside lessen. She dragged her foot another step. The pain responded likewise. The pain wasn't bothering her as much as the
cause and effect it represented. Skuldugery would die because of many reasons, mainly because she listened to him. Because she left him, he died. Cause and effect. Step
equals pain. Leave equals death. She clung to the hope that if she took a step and it didn't hurt, Skuldugery wouldn't be dead. She was delusional. She hurt, and was drained
emotionally. She allowed herself to cling to the idea that it wasn't her fault because it hadn't happened. Because what if this was the thing that pushed her over the edge of
sanity? A little dilusion couldn't hurt today. And just like that, admitting the delusion made it break. The girl limped to a patch of wall and became a ball of cloth where she
heart had already been broken to pieces earlier in life. She didn't have the energy to let out all the tears over Skuldugery, because she was still in shock. Her
damaged heart couldn't take a cry-beating. After an hour she went into a defensive sleep to escape the cold corridor and Skuldugery. She woke up when something brushed
the left of her back softly. Her eyes peered from crinkles and wrinkles into the hollow sockets of the man she loved. She reached instantly for him. For his hands, his face, his
ribs. Who knew how long this moment would last, or when he suddenly wouldn't be there? Her heart was dead, but what was left of what wasn't numb was reaching, reaching
for him. "I thought you were dead." She whispered, smiling genuinely and also crying. Skuldugery held her awkwardly in his skeleton form. She couldn't blame his awkward
hesitancy. She was really out of sorts. Feeling safe in his presence, under his "eyes" she allowed herself to relax. The breath she didn't know she'd been holding escaped her
throat before she knew it existed. The pain was flooded away by utter relief. Her head quieted, her pulse slowed, her frantic reaching for him become more gentle and tender.
"Don't." She moaned hollowly. Her fingers knit to his ribs. "Don't."
Skuldugery laughed. "I'm not going anywhere. I came to help you grieve."
And then she cried the ripping, honest, feelings she'd been holding back. The true terrible shadow Skuldugery's death had cast on her psyche. She was barely aware of
Skuldugery staring at her making a scene, or pulling her hair back from her face. The last thing she remembered was passing out on Skuldugery's lap. He was warm and soft
and home. He was hers and he belonged right here with her, because it fit. Her heart was put at ease, and rested. Barely a second of time seemed to pass before she was
jumping up, pushing messy hair in her face away, and wiping her eyes with both pinkies. She looked around her, frowning. She shivered. The cold had penetrated all the
way to her bones in the night.
She looked around. "Skuldugery?" She murmered.
The side of her mouth pulled down comically and she narrowed her eyes. The confusion in her voice was replaced by suspicion.
"Skuldugery?" She saw no one.
Her body glitched for a second, in understanding. It had been a dream. She had conjured him up inside her head. She had borne a lie and she had believed it. She had
betrayed herself. Instead of anger, or sadness, or a maniacal laugh, her face went limp. Her eyes darkened until the blackness became a solid thing. Numbness closed
over her heart like a fist. She jumped up and carried on with her trial. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to examine or understand. Skuldugery was dead and
she needed to get a move on. Her heart could go on breaking as she traveled down the road. As she went, even though she never looked back, a piece of her ripped itself
and broke off and fell on the unforgiving cement. She had changed, she knew that. And the change wasn't entirely pleasant. It was mostly prickly and uncomfortable. She
never looked back. But she lost a piece of herself, the part that had loved Skuldugery. The part of her that felt real and valuable.