A.N: No happy endings here - trigger warnings for self harm. Character death. Don't like don't read.


The knife bites into her skin and she swallows the hiss that rises up into her throat. There is no satisfaction in giving voice to her pain, she has learned this in recent days. To her surprise there is no relief to be found in the reality of the action rather than its anticipation. The pain means nothing to her but she finds clarity in the spill of her blood, in the way it trickles into the palm of her hand, glittering like spilled garnets in the moonlight.

Teeth set firmly into her lip, she waits for the stinging pain to subside, for the warm rush that she knows will follow. This isn't her first time bleeding beneath the night sky; it isn't her tenth. She waits for the euphoric high to wash over her. She lives in the pain now, arching defiantly beneath the moon as her blood flows or her skin is bruised by the hands of her enemies.

Tonight it is different though, tonight it is her own hand that does the damage.

The blood flows steadily and she closes her eyes, adrift on the sensory pleasure of the experience. She breathes in the smell of it on the air, out of place among the familiar scents of the forest, and she takes in a deep shuddery breath. She never imagined going like this, never imagined that she would be alone.

Blood is the river of memory and she spills hers in supplication and in penance for her perceived failures. She makes her dark offering, commits her final sin, because really she has nothing left to live for. Her work in this world is done and she would rather follow her brother than live her life as a long and elaborate eulogy to his memory.

All it took to bring their partnership to an end was one arrow. One single arrow fired by an enemy that pierced flesh and muscle, coming to rest deep within the soft tissues of his chest. His fear was communicated in the widening of his eyes, a mental 'oh shit' that she had felt physically as he staggered and fell, a metal spike of panic in her chest that drove the air out of her lungs. She can still see it when she closes her eyes, the memory replaying on a constant loop, depriving her of even a single happy memory of their lives together. He cried in the end, a fearsome mix of tears and blood staining them both and soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

She remembers the words that wouldn't come, the way he looked up at her as his body trembled in her grip. She remembers lying to him and telling him that he was going to be fine, his grip on her hand that grew weaker by the moment.

Hansel took his last breath in her arms. Her own scream, wordless, primal, was the only sound to accompany his passing.

Alone, quietly bleeding, Gretel waits. She has always known that life without Hansel is no life for her, that in losing her twin she would lose a part of herself. They have always been together, from their earliest days wrapped around one another in their mother's womb to the years spent fighting back to back and shoulder to shoulder. Without his presence to guide her, she is lost. Without her protector, her hero, she feels as if she cannot breathe.

They are twins, they were meant to live and die side by side. One of them was never meant to be left behind when the other fell.

The throbbing in her forearms finds cadence with the beating of her heart as she watches the stars. All is calm, inside and out. Darkness beckons, calling to her in the voices of those she has lost; her mother's voice on the wind, her brother's voice in her mind. She surrenders to it, staring up at a moon that has played witness to so much of her suffering and offering up a silent prayer though she knows that God hasn't listened to her for years.

Darkness comes like the end of the world and she embraces it, feels her heart stuttering within her chest, fluttering like a bird as she grows cold. Palms up in supplication she smiles and closes her eyes. Waiting.

It isn't the first time she's bled beneath the moon, it isn't the tenth, but it will be the last.