A/N: Don't ask where this came from because I have no clue. That's a lie.
I (as Lucy) was roleplaying with biomerc (as Desmond) on iscribble when Lucy died romantically in Desmond's arms, and biomerc told me about a story she was writing based on the song "The End" by Silverstein. So I listened to the song, and this happened instead of my four-day-late English reflection on the juxtaposition of The Crucible and literature written by Puritans.
Is it bad that I'm glad I wrote this instead?
Anyway, I don't own Assassin's Creed. Ubisoft Montreal does because if I did, I would have given our modern Assassins a lot more lurve~
Enjoy (or be sad) and leave a review if you love me or hate me. Either way. Oh, and don't ask me what it means because I have no clue either.
The screams outside were muffled by the walls of the car as the riots raged and surged, alive and burning with panic and regret. The heat flowed off the people like blood pouring out of them, half-dead and fallen bodies already lining the streets. The earth growled beneath them, and the fear was rising and rising to its climax, climbing its Mount Everest in the combined minds of the people. In the car, the two sat, rigid in their pretenses. His dark hands gripped the wheel as they drove slowly through throngs of people into a bleeding sunset. Her hair shone red like blood.
They arrived at a house in the woods outside of the city, far away from the chaos and redness in the silent black heat. The echoes of the screams rang towards them, the red bled into the edges of the black. They sat in the shadows of the car, the moon a sliver of light blotted out by the smoke in the sky.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked to shatter the silence through gritting and gritted teeth. The red from the city brought her face aglow when she turned her head.
"Yes. Of course," came the whisper.
"I've never been able to fully stop thinking about you since. It's like you're some sort of virus inside me. God damn it, Lucy! Lucy the Puppeteer, Lucy the Liar, Lucy the-"
"Shut the fuck up!" she screamed suddenly, clamping her hands over her ears and shutting her eyes to the blackness. "You didn't have to do it! I gave you a choice, Desmond, gave you a-"
"A what, Lucy? An ultimatum! A fucking ultimatum in disguise, in pretty eyes and looks and gestures, and God damn it all, Lucy, now look at it! Look at your glorious conclusion! A city, a nation, a world red with panic and blood and fire on the last day of our lives, and you, sitting there. You, covered in it all, bathing in blood-"
"Stop it! Just stop it! Make it all stop…" her voice rose and fell like a fledgling in flight.
"I can't, Lucy. Neither can you. Neither can Shaun, or Rebecca, because you know what? They're dead. And you know why? Because we followed you to the guillotine, held the knives to our throats and their throats, pulled the triggers of the guns you handed us while you blindfolded us with wool. It was all you, Lucy. Always has been, always will be," he growled and spat and hissed. She sobbed the entire short run from the car to the front door.
"At least I fucking did something, Desmond! At least I took us somewhere! All you every did was run away and away, and even now, you're running away. You ran away from your life, from Abstergo, from safety, from me. You fucking broke my heart, Desmond, and you just ran away like it wasn't your fault! And you're still in there, playing with the pieces, stabbing me with them from the inside, and if the world weren't about to kill me, I'd have already done it!" she screamed from the porch steps. He followed her like a specter.
"I'd miss you if you did," he murmured, and she looked up at him with eyes as blue and wide as the once upon a time sky.
"Do you love me?"
"I love you."
"But how? When I've managed all this, when I've managed to destroy all of us, when you still hate me, and I hate you-"
"Because I can't tell the truth now. Because when the sun rises, we will die. Because we loved each other in a fairytale. Because we need each other now as much as we did then."
Their lips came down to meet in fire and ice. Their pretense molded itself into the truth in their embrace with nostalgia as its catalyst. Fingers tightened in hair, tugging with passion and hatred and sorrow and fear to create whimpers of regret in their mouths. The tears poured out of her eyes and onto his cheeks.
In the shadows tinted red and at the fringes of the blood and fire, they made the music of the night with a symphony of lies and fear and an orchestra of regret and sadness. They lay exposed in the pregnant darkness for all the world to see the soap-scrubbed stains of their snow white sheep's clothing. The emotions ran between them like two conflicting currents of air, like a tornado to tear down all the concrete walls that had hid themselves, that had prevented the love, the lust, the acid, the nicotine that they had craved. They became one bloodied being on the edge of insanity as hands from the sky pulled death up from the horizon.
The sunrise brought rays of death that scorched the climaxing land while they lay in each other's arms, holding to the last paradox explained, the one thing that seemed normal anymore. They teetered on the edge of Mount Everest, looking down from the black sky into a whiteness unknown to them. Winds whipped through the woods, scorching winds that carried fire upon them, blistering skin and muscle and bone and marrow. The winds of their defeat and the hands from the sky blotted their existence as they in their union followed the light of the sun.
This union a battle fought and lost
This union was not about the cause
This union was never about love