Alright, here's part two. Not much to say, other than that I've redone small parts of this, and hopefully improved it a little.

Disclaimer #3: The word "tetelestai" does not belong to me; it is the property of the Bible and the Greek Language. Secondly, the hymn alluded to in the last lines of this chapter, "All That is Hidden" is copyrighted to Bernadette Farrell. Also, as always, Sailor Moon does not belong to me.

Chapter Two - The Choice She Did Make and the Story Only Her "Sister" Can Tell

The tall woman hardly gave the applause time to die down, but id died a very quick death, when the audience became aware of what she was doing – more correctly, when they became aware of what her intent was. Having moved to the front of the stage once more, she unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirt, and rolled the sleeves up past her elbows. It was a familiar gesture, but one which had not been seen since the beginning of her sophomore year. And, it turned out, with good, if misguided, reason. A network of scars, both old and new, crisscrossed the woman's forearms, but that would not be the most shocking thing that night. Suddenly, there was a knife – a switchblade, which she had concealed in her sleeve and let slip into her palm before rolling up her sleeves – in her right hand. It felt weird, to her, sitting there, resting between her bony fingers. Though used to using it for purposes which were now made obvious, she wasn't used to carrying a knife on her person, as if for self-defense. No, she was much more content to use her own body for that purpose, as her black belts in at least three different martial-arts attested. Still, she knew how to use it, and she knew what to do to achieve her goal; her goal was The End.

She wasn't afraid of pain because she'd been through so much of it, and physical pain did little for her these days. (The half healed scars that she hid from the judgmental eyes of people who would never understand her perfect reasoning were proof enough of that.) So, when she lifted the blade to rest in the hollow of her wrist just below her hand, only to press down and drag it up towards the junction of her elbow, she felt nothing more than a numb, stinging sensation. It was one she'd felt more than a thousand times before, but one that seemed to help so much in the beginning, now to be merely useless and habit.

It was the mental pain that she couldn't take, the mental sting that drove her mad, and she was weak because of it – Haruka knew this, and she was ashamed of herself. She never told anyone that the pain inside her head drove her mad. Not now, not ever, because now it was almost over, and she was proud that she'd never told anyone. (And in her mind because she'd never told anyone, no one knew or even had the slightest idea that the pain existed.) Soon the end would come, and she wouldn't have to worry about her being sad or weak or pathetic anymore. She was fascinated with the sight of her own blood, at the way it pooled in so much red in the center of her palm before it dripped through her fingers towards the floorboards of the stage. And even though there was a lot of blood dripping from her left arm (too much to recover from) it was not enough, and so she placed the knife in her bloody palm and pressed the blade to her other wrist, watching in fascination as another beautiful crimson line appeared against the pale underside of her arm. It was almost identical to the first, (if a bit crooked from the knife slipping in her hand because of all the blood) and Haruka was proud that she got it almost perfect.

She was leaving nothing to chance, and she knew that if falling off the stage didn't kill her – her bones were something they had never before been, now; frail, so the fall should break a few ribs at least – the blood loss would, but she was going to make sure that there was no way in Hell that anyone would be able to revive her. The End was planned, after all, and although it wasn't supposed to end like this, she was prepared and ready for it none the less because, after the last couple months, the last few years, she wouldn't ever leave anything to chance ever again. Not that it would matter anymore anyways, of course. She'd lost a lot of blood, but it still wasn't enough, and even though she was beginning to feel just the slightest bit dizzy – oddly no dizzier than certain other things had made her before this – she managed to keep her balance on the edge of the stage for just a few minutes more. It wasn't that she didn't want to jump the proverbial fence or anything, it was just that she had to make sure to "dot her I's and cross her T's" before she did, so to speak.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, must be left to chance. So when she placed the switchblade beneath her left ear and held it in bloody hands to drag it across her throat to the right side of her neck, Haruka didn't do anything but smile faintly, one that only the judges could see. She'd officially passed the point of no return, and she was glad that she had. Amid the screams of panic, the blonde woman's final words could be heard. Those who heard thought them – it – a parody, sick and twisted, of where they were spoken at a previous death. Others, not understanding because they were either too young, or simply had not read the passage referenced, knew only that they were Greek. (Maybe, someday, depending on where she ended up, she would thank the teachers that taught her where the word came from, and the language it was spoken in.) And still others felt it had some sort of symbolism, which they would never truly know. No matter how many accounts of this story circulated later – mostly thanks to the rumor mill's efficiency in reporting things like this, gruesome as it was – after everything had been completed, all agreed that blood stained her lips as she spoke, even if no-one had really been close enough to see, and most had turned away long before that. (Those whom had been close enough to catch a glimpse of it, i.e. the esteemed judges themselves, all also said that a faint smile had been in place upon her lips.)

"Tetelestai – it is finished."

With these words spoken, like a mirror of him whom she quoted, she bowed her head and commended her soul to God – the differences, however, were glaringly obvious. She had not been martyred, was not the ultimate martyr, but merely a girl whom had had enough of the internal pain and struggle she endured daily. She hung not upon a cross, but slumped forwards – despite her thoughts, she hadn't fallen at all – upon an empty stage, at the disastrous end of a high school talent competition. And, most glaringly of all, she was not the Light of the World; however, to three, perhaps four girls, she had been the light of their worlds.

It had been two days, since the catastrophic night of the Spring Talent Competition. Only two, and yet it felt like a lifetime had passed. The steady, rhythmic beep of the life support machine, and the woman's deep breathing were the only sounds in the room. The semi-dosing brunette in the chair beside the bed was the only other occupant of the room, but she would be joined soon enough by three other girls, all of whom had just as much right to be here as she did. Eyes of the same dark near-ebony hue of her hair were half-lidded, gazing almost blankly at the blonde on the bed. "You baka…" the whisper was somewhat bitter, and held the odd tone which indicated a long bout of tears had proceeded it. "How could you be stupid enough to leave us all here like that… You're selfish, you know that, right Haru? You're not the only one with issues… What am I doing, talking to someone in a coma… I must really be losing it…" The last was accompanied by a wry twist of the lips, which indicated the fact that she assumed she had already lost it much prior to this.

Her musings were broken, not five minutes later, by the door to the hospital room sliding open. The brunette turned to look, and a slow, sad smile spread from her wryly twisted lips. Two of the girls – women, really – standing in the door way were blonde, their hairstyles and heights being their only difference, and the third was aqua-headed. The aquanette, and eldest of the group, was Kaioh Michiru, Haruka's girlfriend of two years. The second, and tallest of the two non-comatose blondes, was Evelyn Steele; she and the brunette, Aakane "Kane" Chiba, had been best friends since freshman year. They were both now juniors. The third member of the trio and by far the shortest of the group – she stood at 4'11", possibly 5'0" – was Tsukino Usagi. She was also a junior this year. Her long blonde hair was held in two matching buns atop and to either side of her head, with tails streaming down nearly to the floor. Her eyes were cerulean, while Michiru's were sea-blue, and Evelyn's the color of blue ice.

While Aakane and Evelyn shared a long hug, Usagi and Michiru took opposite, but mirrored, positions on either side of the bed. Both grasped one of the prone track star's hands, careful of the bandaged wrists and forearms, as if the comatose woman could feel them. When the other two parted, the best friends made their way over to the large bay window, seating themselves side by side on the window seat. Usagi's whispered query, which came after a moment of silence, went almost unheard.

"Do any of us know… How this happened?" Another beat of silence followed, before the usually-peppy blonde reiterated, realizing how her question must have sounded rather stupid. They all knew how Haruka had ended up here, after all. "I mean, what lead to this… What events and actions eventually drove Haru to… to…?" She fell silent; none questioned her, as they all knew she would have a hard time ever saying those words. None commented upon how she wasn't normally this wordy , or this conscious of the seriousness of things; now wasn't the time.

Aakane sighed, rubbed her eyes wearily, and rested her head upon Evelyn's shoulder – the 5'10" blonde being taller than she by a good two inches – before speaking. "That would be I… I can tell the story in detail, if you wish, but that'll take some time… A few nights, I'd expect." When she had finished speaking, the brunette gazed at the cross she held; it had once hung about Haruka's neck, but had been removed and placed in a bio-hazard bag when the blonde was admitted to the hospital. Now, the martial-artist feared that it would join the other cross which hung about her neck, the one which had been her grandmother's. Said woman had also been like a surrogate mother to both the brunette and the emerald-eyed blonde, but that piece of information was neither here nor there at the moment.

"Well," Michiru's speaking came quickly and crisply. "We do have that time, as it looks to be that Ruka won't be waking up anytime soon. Why not tell us, to pass the time?" It was a reasonable, rational request; however, if any knew the aquanette violinist, they would see that she did not want to be reasonable or rational right now. If any knew her as closely as these three did, they would see that as soon as she was alone, the eldest of their group (save Haruka) would crack, her mask of composure would fall away, and she would sob and be weak and distraught for hours after.

They would try their best to prevent that.

With a sigh, the brunette pulled her legs up onto the chair, crossing them before herself; Evelyn shifted to accommodate her friend's legs without a word, being used to this by now. Once they were both situate comfortably, the martial-artist looked at each of her friends in turn, speaking deliberately, no room for argument in her voice. "First and foremost, you guys need to know that, or a good portion of what I'm about to say, Haru would kill me if she knew I had told you. When she finally does wake up, and we reveal that the tale has been told, I'm not going to take sole blame for this. Though I may sound like a broken record by this point, you all are going to have to share the blame as well, since you asked for the tale to begin with. Are we clear on that?" She spoke again only when she had received nods from all assembled there. And so, with a sigh from the brunette, the tale of how things had reached this point was begun. Just as the hymn went, all that was hidden would be made clear. All that was dark now, would be revealed.

"Right, well, here's how everything started…"