The three weeks of hell, as I now remember them, dragged on longer than I would have liked. True, the end of those three weeks was heartbreaking, but suffering slowly was not preferable to suffering all at once.

I spent time in the study, arranging papers and replying to letters, in an attempt to busy myself. The doctor was with us during the day, provided he didn't have to be elsewhere, so I slept next to Papa's bed at night, in case anything happened.

I had to wake him for meals, during which I was there to talk to if he chose, but most of the time he was sleeping. Occasionally it would worry me, that he slept so much, but I would voice these worries to the doctor, who would assure me that Papa was old and sick, and sleep would do him some good. I tried to believe him, tried to convince myself it was true.

But then it got worse.


Two weeks after he collapsed, Papa's breathing grew heavy and labored. I was never told anything was wrong, but I knew it wasn't right, and I saw the expression on the doctor's face. One day, I decided to confront him before he left.

"Sir, I need you to tell me if he's worse. I need to know. Please."

He didn't want to say anything at first, but when he saw my face, he sighed and replied, obviously taking great care to pick his words.

"Prince Logan is...not better than before. His breathing is difficult now, but it could...it could be fine. His age makes me less certain, this is true, but he was still fairly strong before this."

"That's not the answer I was looking for."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness."

"Don't give me false hope. False hope never helps."

"If you know it's false hope, why did you ask?"

He had a point. I couldn't respond, so he left with a bow, and I returned to my place at Papa's bedside.

I fell asleep that night with tears in my eyes.


Papa woke me up the next morning with his coughing. I shot up from my slouched position, and when my eyes adjusted to the morning light – apparently the maids had decided to open the curtains – I turned to see if he was alright.

He was sitting up, with a tray sitting untouched next to him. He looked so old and tired in that second, coughing and staring at the blankets he was buried under. I got up from my spot and sat next to him on the bed, careful to be gentle and quiet.

He moved to take my hand, and I held his frail fingers in mine for what seemed like an eternity. His gaze had moved to the windows, his expression sad. I stroked his hand, and he managed a low grunt in response.

"You worried me, Papa. I came home and thought I had lost you."

He said nothing back, so I continued.

"You've been in bed for three weeks. The doctor has been here; I'm sure you remember that, though. I've been making sure everything is in order in the study, and I've been sleeping in the chair over there, in case you need me."

He still said nothing, his eyes fixed on the snow-covered world outside. For a moment, I thought perhaps he couldn't hear me, and in an effort to prove myself wrong, I started to ask him a question. He cut me off before I could start.

"When you were a baby, and I took you from your parents, I had such hopes for you. I wanted to see you happily married, I wanted to have grand-nephews and grand-nieces...I wanted you to be happy."

"Papa–"

"Sometimes I wished, as you were growing up, that I had married, and had children of my own. I wished you could have more than just me, and Jasper."

"You were good parents, Papa. I was happy."

"I should have taken you from here. I should have hidden us away, or taken us to somewhere Miles couldn't find us. Damn him and his rules; you deserved better. You should have had better."

He started coughing again, and my hands tightened around his. He seemed so frail, so weak...so old and broken. And the things he was saying made me nervous.

"You were different from your siblings. Even as a baby, I realized it. You were so precious to me..."

"Papa, it's alright. I know. You need more rest; you need to get better."

"Adaryn."

"No, stop. Sleep."

"Adaryn. Listen."

"Papa, you need–"

"Adaryn! I'm not getting better."

"Stop it. Of course you are. You aren't that old, yet, and you've been doing alright."

"I'm not getting better. I can feel it. Today, I think..."

I felt tears. My eyes stung, my lips quivered, my chin scrunched up. I knew what he was trying to say, and I didn't want to hear it. He turned his head to look at me, eyes still sad and tired, and leaned over to kiss my forehead.

"I've always loved you. You were my daughter. Miles can claim you as much as he wants; you were my daughter. I raised you, I loved you..."

He sighed and turned to face the window again. I moved closer to him, my hands practically crushing his now. A sad smile came to his face, and he laid back on his pillows.

"I was a tyrant. Not like Miles, but still a tyrant. I think I made up for it."

"Of course, Papa. Of course you did."

"I'm happy. I've made my peace with the world. And I may not have any children to outlive me, but I have you."

He closed his eyes, and his sad smile turned happy.

"I've made my peace."

"Papa... Uncle Logan... What am I supposed to do without you?"

"You live your life, Little Bird. Your eternal life."

"You know?"

"I've known."

"Papa..."

"It's fine. You'll outlive everyone of us. And maybe you can use it for good. Not like Reaver."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. My precious girl."

I started crying, but he couldn't hear me.

He had used his last breaths to say his goodbyes.


My father didn't care that his brother was dead. He didn't want the body, just like he hadn't wanted Jasper's. The only body he had cared about was Walter's, back when he still had some humanity in him.

I had Jasper buried in my late husband's family plot, years before. And now I had Logan buried there.

Papa was gone. There weren't many at the funeral, but that didn't matter to me. My heart had been ripped out, for a second time, and now I had to face eternity without a real family.

This time, I didn't feel the familiar gaze of toys. In my moment of grief, my shadow was watching me, not their toys. My shadow.

I cried again.


A/N: SORRY I'M NOT SORRY!

I killed him. He's gone. Bye-bye. In the ground. Never coming back. She's alone. Forever and forever.

Finals are this week; will hopefully have a new chapter up after them (maybe before, if I keep ignoring the need to study and finish last-minute work; who needs sleep?).