So, it's not really like me to update this often (or to be home on a Saturday night), but I spent the whole day suffering from cramps and a headache, with a special participation of my gastritis due to the pain meds I took for the first two... Delicious, huh? So, since I was pretty much incapable of leaving my bed today, I took the time to do some writing, and now I can actually present you with this. :)

What have I done?
Sweet Jesus, what have I done?
Become a thief in the night,
Become a dog on the run
And have I fallen so far,
And is the hour so late
That nothing remains but the cry of my hate,
The cries in the dark that nobody hears,
Here where I stand at the turning of the years?

I should not be here. I should not be alive. I should not be allowed to keep breathing. I guess that's why it's so hard for me to breathe now, that's why every air intake only comes after much effort, and never without a sharp pain. That's why my lungs refuse to expand to allow the oxygen to enter. It's my body telling me that I do not deserve this, I do not deserve air I breathe or the soil I step on or the food I eat or the water I drink. I do not deserve the beats of my heart which refuses to stop working even when I beg it to. I do not deserve life.

To say that I am a waste of space would be far too kind. I am not something whose existence is indifferent to the world; I am not a dead weight. I am a force. I do things and I change things. Hell, I transported a whole land to another world. A waste of space is something that simply occupies it without serving for anything at all. That is not me. No, that is much, much better than what I am. I would be relieved if ever I could tell myself that my existence makes no difference. But it does. God, it does, and that is what makes it all so terrible.

I am a force of evil. I hurt. I destroy. I kill. That is what I do. And that makes a difference. That causes pain and misery, that leaves people broken on the floor, makes them a sobbing mess, takes away all their hope. That is what I am. That is what I do. I am not a waste of space; I am the worst possible use of space. The mere fact that I am alive practically subverts the essence of things. Because oxygen is good... but if oxygen is what keeps me from suffocating to death, then it is horrible, because it is what keeps a monster like me in the world, it is what forces everyone else to have to deal with me and the destruction I cause. Water is great, it washes away the thirst and allows plants to grow and makes sure there are fruit and vegetables and so on; but if there were no water, then three days would be enough for me to reach dehydration and not be here anymore.

I could go on forever, listing each and every of the things that keep me alive when I so clearly should not be. Each of them makes the world a far worse place by allowing me to continue existing. Each of them should be cursed for being so easily accessible to me, just like they are for every other person, for not denying themselves to me as they should. Food should fall out of my hands and refuse to enter my mouth until I would reach starvation; heat should stay away from my body and make me freeze to death; my internal organs should jump out, ripping my skin apart on the way, so I would have absolutely nothing working inside me.

It seems unfair that the elements of nature, biology, botanics and whatnot should treat me the same way they treat good people, people who actually deserve to be here, people who actually do good things and help each other and build friendships and families and spread love around. It seems even more unfair that they would treat me even more kindly than they treat some of those people. Because some of them stop breathing, their hearts stop working, their lives go away. Some of them lose their souls to dark creatures that suck them and trap them for eternity... like that poor prince did.

He died in my place; the soul that wraith took should have been mine. A soul of light like his, one that could have done so much good, one that effectively did good, for a dark, corrupted, evil soul like mine. That trade does not seem reasonable at all, much less fair, and all I can think is that it is all my fault. I should have let it take my soul, every last bit of it, piece by little piece. It's not like my soul is worth a damn thing, after all, and neither is my life. It's all worthless, just like I am. So why couldn't I have simply allowed it to kill me?

No, I had to be a coward. I had to be afraid for myself, I had to try to save my own skin without bothering to think about how or at what cost. No matter how many times I tell myself that I couldn't have known there was anyone left in that old land at all, I couldn't have known that man would be there because, as far as I knew, that world had ceased to exist... it's not enough. It's not enough that I didn't know. I should have made sure that it was safe, I should have made sure that no one would get hurt by me sending that monster away.

But I didn't. It never even crossed my mind. Because that's just not what I do. I don't care about anyone else. I don't even think about anyone else besides myself, except when it is to hate them and try to figure out the best way to destroy them. I never care about not hurting anyone; quite the opposite. So of course I never bothered to check whether there was still anyone left in Fairytale Land that would suffer the consequences of my cowardice, or of my selfishness. I killed a good man, I killed a prince, I killed an innocent young girl's true love... because I could not be bothered to think about anyone else besides my own self.

That is what I am. "What", because "who" would imply a person... and that is a term far too kind to refer to me. I lack everything that turns a being into a person, everything. Although I cannot be called an animal either, because those are most usually innocent, only killing to satisfy their basic needs, without any sort of malice. Animals are much better than me. A monster, that would be the only accurate way to describe me. Evilness and hatred and anger and jealousy and revenge turned into a living thing. That is all that I am.

I wonder how I came so far, how I reached this point. I wasn't always like this. How come this is all that's left of me? Of the little girl who wanted nothing more than to please her mother? Of the child who loved playing with dolls, but also enjoyed just as much climbing trees and horseback riding? Of the young woman whose dream and only desire was to be allowed to have a life beside the man she loved? Where did that all go? Where did I go? When and where did I get lost, how did I lose myself that much? How did I allow myself this descent, this level of wickedness? I was a person once, and a mostly decent one at that, in spite of my mistakes. I once had light in me, joy, music; I was able to genuinely smile, to love, to embrace someone to show affection, and not as a mean to rip their heart out. But that person is gone now, and I doubt there is anywhere, in this world or any other, that I can find her again.

And this one? This thing that occupies the body that used to belong to that hopeful young girl? This does not deserve to be allowed to draw one single breath more, or live for a single second longer. So how come I am still here? How come the cosmos has not yet organized itself to take my life? How come no one has held a public execution for me yet, or even a private one? The curse is broken, but apart from one half-hearted try easily contained by Sheriff Swan, no one has done anything to fix the fact that I am not yet dead. They could have; after all, soon after, she was sucked into that portal – also by my fault – and the interim sheriff would have been more than happy to see me dead. In fact, perhaps he would have enjoyed taking care of that himself; it wouldn't be the first time he'd have tried. But not even he did anything about that.

I honestly do not understand. This is at least the second time that they have had me right within their reach, and still they have not killed me yet. The first time, they simply let me walk away, when I was completely prepared and more than ready to face death. This time, I could at first blame it on the fact that I have my magic back and could have easily not only defended myself, but also caused some serious damage to whomever wanted to take me down and the whole rest of the town... But by now everyone knows I am trying to avoid using magic. In fact, David has known this for quite a while, and he had at least a few chances to have me killed. Hell, he could have simply allowed Daniel to do it, then he would not even have had to get his hands dirty. But instead he was actually hesitant to as much as leave me alone with him... it was almost like he was afraid Daniel was going to hurt me.

And that... that is something that I just cannot understand. As far as I know, he does not care for me at all, and would much rather get rid of me. He would have let the wraith take me if it had not been for his daughter and her promise to Henry... and right now, I honestly wish he would have. I wish Miss Swan would not have interfered in my favor that day... not when the mob came for me, not when the dark creature did. Then this could all have been avoided... then that young girl would still have her prince, she would still have her heart intact, her true love, her hope of a happy ending.

I try to think of a way to revert that, I go through every single book in this empty house trying to find a spell to revert time, to change how things happened, to make that wraith take my soul instead... I look for anything that can give me a clue on how to get a soul back once that happens, anything that can tell me that not all is lost, that that princess can still have a good life, that things can still be fixed for her even if it's far too late for me... but it's to no avail. I spend two whole days doing that, with trips to the library included, even if, by the time I resort to that, I know it is simply out of despair. The only one who owns books that could possibly hold answers to my questions is my own self, as well as Gold, but he would never help me... and I would never ask, considering it was he who sent that thing after me. That young man's death is almost as much his fault as it is mine, and he does not seem to care the slightest bit about it either.

By the third day, I am completely hopeless. I let myself fall onto the couch in a completely undignified way. I have not been able to sleep since I talked to the princess; none of the few things I have tried to eat lasted more than a couple of hours in my stomach; I have not been able to take a deep, or even a regular, breath since that day either, and yet I have also not stopped breathing completely as I would have liked. I am completely exhausted, and way past the point of caring about manners. So I simply allow gravity to best me and my own weight to take me down; I end up something between sitting and lying down on my back, with far too little energy to move and settle myself into either.

I rub my eyes for what's probably the millionth time, trying to make them stop burning, even if I know it's useless, just as useless as my research. The only thing that will make them any better is sleep, but I doubt that it is going to come anytime soon. I run my hands through my hair, and it is also far from the first time I do this; it's almost as if it would help my head work, as if it could shake my thoughts and give me an idea, anything at all that I could start from. But of course it doesn't work, as it hasn't in either of the many times before.

At some point, my mind gets sidetracked. That's not hard to understand, considering how tired I am; it's a miracle I have been able to focus so far. But actually allowing myself to relax my body, to stop moving, to stop frantically flipping through pages and more pages of useless information, to stop going from one set of shelves to the other, somehow makes my mind slow down and take a life of its own as well. I stay there and, for God knows how long, I barely have a notion of anything. I don't know how long it's been that I've been lying here, or what I have been thinking of for that time; it's like I have gone out of my body and of my mind, like I have ceased to exist for those moments... and that thought is oddly comforting.

When I come back to myself, though, I am instantly aware of where my mind has drifted to... and of the tricks it's trying to play on me. Somehow, in my absence, it has started remembering my whole life, examining bit by bit, trying to figure out all the turning points that accumulated themselves one on top of the other and ended up turning me into this... Above all, it started wondering what I would have to do to fix it all, to change again, to go back to the girl I used to be, or at least to become the woman I would have become, had I not been so weak and allowed myself to turn into this monster instead.

And, for a moment, I indulge in the images that my brain is showing me, even if it is just to humor my own self. I give my mind permission to keep its track of thought even now that I am conscious of it, because it is soothing, in a way. It's almost like a movie; a sappy one, the kind you watch simply to distract yourself from your own misery, like a silly romantic comedy that you know even before it starts that is going to end well. I watch the film playing inside my head as some form of entertainment; it shows someone happy, someone who can do good things and be a good person, someone who is actually worth something, who can be loved and forgiven in spite of everything... I allow myself to enjoy that for a few moments. But that's all I can do.

There is nothing left of the life I could have had, or of the person I could have been. There is no way to change things, because there is nothing to change to, there is nothing to go back to. That girl I once was is long dead and buried, and nothing of her remains anymore; there is absolutely nothing I could hold onto, nothing I could use as a guide or example to follow, nothing I could reach for or use as a goal. I have lost everything, past and future, what I had and what I could have had. And it's no use dwelling on fantasies or dreams.

I tried to change... I honestly tried, as hard as I could, with strength I did not even know I possessed. And it did not work. I still destroyed two lives, two lives that could have been filled with love and joy. There is no hope left for me. Whatever it is that my life could have turned out to be like, whatever it is that I could have turned out to be, that is long lost. The only way for me to fix anything at all is to stop existing; and not even that will actually fix anything, but it will at least make sure that I do not ruin anything else anymore. And that is probably the only dignified thing I can still do.

It brings me some pain to admit that, to realize that I am so far gone that I have completely lost the capacity to do a single good thing, that the only act of kindness that I can still perform is to rid everyone else of my existence. I am lucky that I am in this state of complete exhaustion, I guess. It makes me numb enough to not care too much... otherwise this conclusion, and the consequence that figuring this out brings, would have probably made me cry.

As it is, though, I simply feel my heart contract for a while, as if there was something tugging at it, and my breathing becomes yet a bit more ragged than it already was before. I know, however, that, if I allow myself to dwell on it for much longer, a breakdown will be unavoidable, no matter how tired I am. So, before that can happen, I try to shut down. I try to detach myself from every emotion, every feeling, everything that is not strictly practical. That is what I have done for the last almost four decades of my life; one could say it comes almost as a second nature to me. That is what I have resorted to, so that I could bear everything I had to bear when I could not say a word about it; that is what has helped me through everything and allowed me to remain standing when everything in my life collapsed; that is what made it possible for me to do everything I have done, all the atrocities I have committed, and still get to sleep at night.

This behavior is exactly what I should be trying to avoid, to distance myself from, if there was any hope of change for me at all. But since there isn't... then this is all that is left for me to do. All it takes are a few minutes of building my mask again and adjusting back into it, and soon everything simply ceases to bother me. My feelings go away, as quickly as if with magic, and all I'm left with are the sensations of my body, since I have still not learned a way to get rid of those too. Right now, they tell me I urgently need rest, so I force myself to get up from the couch, against every muscle that insists on protesting, and direct myself to my bedroom. I must have overestimated my capacity, however, because the last things I am conscious of are the distinct feeling that I am falling, and the vision of the steps getting closer and closer to my face as I do.

If there's another way to go
I missed it twenty long years ago
My life was a war that could never be won

Hmm, I think this can officially be considered the first cliffhanger of this story... ;) To be honest, I don't like this chapter too much... I don't think it ended up being the way I wanted it to. But maybe that has to do with my mood today, so... I hope you like it better than I do. I'd be very thankful if you could let me know what you think, as always! ;)

The song is "What have I done?", also from the Les Misérables. I'm sure you can notice a theme by now. ;)