Author's note: This is now the second second-personish angstfic I've written during class. Awesome. In any case, no, as far as I'm aware this makes no sense, but I wanted to write it anyways and it's not like the series canon can claim being plothole-free to begin with. So nya~

Remember the time we would have been a family?

Funny thought. I mean, you? Me? A sociopath and a serial killer; I guess it was meant to be. By Them, of course. To think the divine would offer us such an opportunity. The judgement of chaos and order, biased toward the latter to the point of shunning those who dwell on the other side. No, the ones who ensured our fate aren't the forces with the sense of balance and order, or the ones with the right to judgement. But they play God, and they make Hell. But it's strange. They shouldn't be able to make our lives, but they do. They made us. Disputably intelligent design by men who wound up with too much power just because of a random genetic mutation. Hardly seems fair. Doesn't it?

We felt like we were normal without our inhumanity in the way. Just people, finally, just humans for the first time in our lives. It seems wonderful, but it's not. It's not, because it isn't normal; not for us. This…this hunger, or the pain. That is normal, and at the end of the day it's what we will defect to. Because we know nothing else, because it's all They taught us. We can try, but how far will it get us? We couldn't run from the eclipse, or keep its effects forever. So how do you think we could run from what it had to offer?

Remember our son?

I named him Noah. I don't know why. Seems a little ironic right now, actually. But I know how I loved him. Loved. I was capable of it! I was capable with, with you, if even for a little while. He was an anchor, kept me here, as me and not the hunger. With him, I guess, the empty space the hunger was trying to feed was filled. It was gone, because I was complete.

Remember how he died.

So many others died that day, too, the day that's yet to happen. Because it was empty again, and it wasn't a hunger that came to compensate. It was pain. Supreme, blinding pain…I became numb, after a while. Pain never bothered me, but this was like nothing. There was nothing. I spent those years repenting, and when finally I didn't have to kill anymore, I wound up murdering more innocents than I would ever imagine.

I've tried, before. But every cut and wound, inflicted by me or you or someone else, would always heal. I thought maybe if it happened enough, the healing would stop…but I know it doesn't work like that. It always heals, for me. Never them. Never anyone else. And not him.

My skin heals. But skin is superficial, when you're manufactured. A doll, who children in the minds of adults pass around and play with, arguing over who gets to have the next turn. No more. Their game is over. I'm not playing along anymore.

Unfortunately, you were part of that game, even if you didn't want to be. That's how they wrote the rules, after all. And it feels right, doesn't it? It feels like the only thing you've wanted to keep. I guess that was the point. We can't play along anymore, but we can't quit. That's why it's come to this.

Understand, I wish there was another way. But you should know by now that there isn't. There never is. So sorry about what happens now, but we don't want them to win, right? Our happiness kills a city. I see that, now. That's how they made it. Want it.

I don't want to feel happy anymore. I love it, but if I feel it, then pain will only be worse when it comes. If I become a hero, if I try to change, then they win. And we can't let them. It's such a backwards way of thinking, isn't it? But you see it. One of us has to go on, but I think it's going to be me, no offence. Not that any of it's your fault, of course, but in me they tried to create a weapon and got one. Oops, on their part. I can't wait to see how it backfires, and I wish you could be there, but I guess that won't happen. But it'll be great. Maybe you'll see later. Or not. Depends all on how this works. The rules of death don't apply to me anymore, so I won't find out, but you will.

At least this way, you'll meet my mother. You know, the real one. I think you two will get along just fine. Send her my regards.

It feels funny to apologize. Petty, really. As if that can make it better. But I hope I'm doing the right thing. I'm not expecting you to forgive me, but at least wait and see where this will lead.

I have to go now. There's not much time left. I have to kill again, but maybe it'll be so that I won't have to anymore. And I don't know about you, but I can't wait.

…I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. It won't be enough. But I'm sorry. And I'll make him sorry, too. Maybe this'll turn out alright. Not that it'll make a difference to me, though. When it happens…I'm not going to feel a thing.

Not a thing…

…Goodbye, Elle.