I'm so sorry this took so long and that's it's so pitifully short. I'm going to try to get the next chapter up asap. And things should be getting much more exciting in the next chapter or two. Thank you so much for reading and as always, homestuck and related characters belong to Andrew Hussie.
The house was cold and empty, as it had always been. The only sound was that of the rushing water beneath the house, an ever present reminder of the changing tides.
Rose Lalonde knew what it felt like to fight a loosing battle. She had felt the loss of every drop of blood spilled, had crumbled under the weight of constant hopelessness. And, having access to the world beyond, she knew what it felt like to know that every death would be a life lost in vain.
He had warned her against consulting the oracles, but caught in the adrenalin of the blood and the water, she had not listened. And when he asked her, hours later, as to what the outcome would be, she lied.
She said they would win.
She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but she was powerless to take them back, powerless against her own will. And it was as if she could physically feel every soul that ceased to exist, believing that they were dying for a worthy cause, believing that things were going to change because of the sacrifices they made. Believing in her. They who have died so that others might live.
And Dave, the one person she knew she could trust. He was gone now too.
Rose Lalonde knew what it felt like to fight a loosing battle. But even she had not foreseen her only friend leaving her to fight the war alone.
"The tides are changing," she muttered bitterly to herself, but there was no one around to capture her words.
It was dark inside. The curtains had been drawn closed, a veil over the various blueprints and battle plans. There were a few books, books penned by her own hand, scattered on the coffee table, as well as some Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff movies. She remembered teasing him for the preposterous amount of transparent 'irony,' but in the end, she had to admit that it was brilliant. The messages within them would be clear only to those who needed to hear it.
This was all that was left of her life. Her own name on a few book jackets, an empty house. Perhaps it was better this way. It was always easier to leave when there was nothing left behind. She stared at the floor, a tear coming to her eye when she imagined the little feet of her daughter running across the hardwood floors. She would be safe here. Alone, isolated, but safe for the first fifteen years of her life. After that, she would be on her own in a world she shouldn't belong in, forced to fight a war that shouldn't be hers, but was. That was the way the cards were dealt. That was the was it had to be.
An image came to mind. Her daughter, fifteen or sixteen years old, slaughtered by the trident that her enemy wielded.
In was then that the sole tear disappeared, replaced by a fierce defiance. She would not let this happen.
It was time to abandon the plan. If Dave wouldn't help her take down the High Chaplin, she would do it herself. And from there, she'd go after the Condesce. She would kill her, or be killed. And this time, it was her who had the dangerous apathy, her who was being reckless. She didn't know what would happen. And she didn't care.
Rose Lalonde looked once more around the room, took her knitting needles, and left without another thought.
