Disclaimer: It's not mine; I'm too lazy to protest
Chapter Fifty-One: Decrepit
A/N: I know it's been a while; it's a long story…
Your body gives but then holds back
The sun is bright the sky is black
Can only be another sign
I cannot keep what isn't mine
Britney Spears- Shadow
The evening suns settled upon the outcropping of rocks that faced the west. Upon these rocks she sat, her back to the way she came, her eyes upon the brilliant orbs that sunk beneath the rolling dunes. Her face was aglow in the golden sunlight, she closed her eyes against the light and the ache from her tears. How many days had she sat here, without food, without water, only sitting and waiting for something that, perhaps, was never to come, she could not count. Yet she could feel it in her bones, she could feel it in her heart that this would be the place where she would be at peace. The place that she could find to draw this pain from her; this pain which consumed her like a ravenous beast, with no care for her bleeding heart nor her decaying mind. A wisp of her hair fell across her face, tumbled into her eyes which had lost all their light and shimmer. It brushed against her reddened nose and caught upon her cracked and dry lips. She didn't move to brush it away, only thrilling at the feeling of the dead skin upon her lips being pulled by her limp hair; she felt nothing inside, she marveled, and now was becoming a ghost to her outer senses, like a veil drawn over her that shielded her from the true world about her. Her hands trembled, though they were not cold, and clutched at one another with knuckles as white as fresh fallen snow. Through her cracked lips she whispered his name, the name that was like a curse upon her; the name that had sucked the life out of her and left her a shell of a woman.
Half of her hoped that Vash would come upon her. That he would take her into his arms and let her cry. But she knew in her heart that he would not; even if he found her, even if he had ventured out into the desert, gone terribly off-course and sought her out upon this pile of rocks, he would not allow her to cry. He would tell her that it hurt, but that she must be strong and move on. And she, though knowing this harsh truth, would find herself enraged and hating him, and would leave again. Or so she would have liked to think; she knew she could not leave these rocks, for something was to come about here, she sensed. This place, there was something about it that touched upon her heart and refused to relinquish it's vice-like grip on her. This place made her feel at peace; made her forget about the pain and the hurt. Here she was…empty. Yes, she thought, perhaps that was it; here she could pour out the acrid contents of her soul and be rid of it, once and for all.
In a quick and angry motion she threw her arms up and slammed them back down upon the stone, grimacing at the pain that went shooting through her scratched and bloody arms. She sobbed, half-choking on the air that whistled past her dry lips. She did not want this; she did not want this pain to follow her about like a shadow, only growing longer as time marched slowly on. She leaned forward, her weak arms almost unable to support her ever-slimming form, and pushed her head over the edge of the rock, opening her mouth and vomiting down into the putrid sand below. She fell back, the stone hard and rough against her bare skin, for she had shed her vile clothes days ago; they were now down there with her vomit, rotting in the sand along with her mind. She coughed, feeling bile rise up in her throat again, and lurched herself upwards and nearly falling over the rock as she emptied her soul out over the rocks. When she felt as though nothing was left she opened her eyes, gazing down at the filth far below her. She felt her mouth begin to fill with saliva, felt her throat begin to retch, and threw herself backwards upon the rock before she was sick again, sputtering and coughing and ignoring the stench that came from within her own mouth. She reeked of it; she reeked of pain and death and despair. And now even her own body had begun to destroy itself; she coughed and wondered what it was exactly that she left inside of her to throw up as she squirmed away from the edge of the rock and the rancid stench emitting from it. Betimes she did not mind these fits, for she felt as though her body was forcing out what did not belong therein. Yet she wondered if she was rejecting happiness and pouring it down upon the sand, and weather it was the sadness of her soul that was purging the light and leaving only the dark.
Pulling her head up from the rock, she watched the slim tops of the suns disappear over the horizon and shivered, knowing that night would soon be upon her. Though it mattered little now, she barely felt anything save the dull throbbing pain that thrummed through her with each beat of her lonely heart. She lay on her back, watching as the final streaks of light were sucked from the sky like smoke in the wind, leaving behind the ebony blackness of the night sky; and she reveled in the similarities twixt the sky and her soul, for she too felt as though all the colors and pigments of her life had been drained away like water down a drain, leaving behind only the dark shades that consumed any spark of color that emerged, any light of hope that appeared in the darkness was quashed and smothered by the darkness.
She closed her eyes against the sky, forcing out another breath. Betimes she wondered if she willed hard enough, that her heart could stop beating. Perhaps then, in death, she could be at peace. Yet she could not allow him to gain that victory, the ultimate prize, from her. She would not give him her soul, only her love, which he had denied. A wretched sob crept past her lips and echoed into the night. How many more night would it be before she wasted away, she wondered. How many more days of pain and nights alone would she be forced to endure before she could finally die? She did not want Knives to win over her, but she had lost her will to carry on. If she died, it would be naturally, and not by her own hand; she could leave this damned little world with that much dignity, she thought bitterly. Turing and spitting out vile-tasting saliva, she wondered what Knives would think if he heard of her death. Would he be sad, she wondered? Would he grieve for her? Or would he carry on as he always had; without a heart and without a conscience and without love? A tear rolled down her ashen cheek as she guessed the answer to her question.
Vash. She thought of him often; touching upon his memory that, despite his indiscretions, remained sweet and pure, a lone flower in the dying meadows of her mind. She owed him her very life, and though she sought to take it, she appreciated all that he had done for her; all the effort he had made on her part. And what had she done, she snapped at herself, she had left him to wander the deserts alone, like he had for so long. She, like Knives, had left someone she cared deeply for, and she despised herself for it.
Yet she could not help but remember the past. The woman she had been, the woman she so desperately wished again to become. She had smiled and laughed, she had danced and talked and loved. Not only Knives, not only Corrin, but she had loved life. Never in all her years until this moment had she considered suicide, and the thought tore through her heart and her mind like a wolf upon a helpless sheep. She had made a promise…a promise to Corrin that she would never do such a thing. Not after what happened to Amélie, his first love. They quarreled incessantly and, eventually, he had tired of it and had left her to her own devices, mourning the love that he had lost. Evidently she mourned far more than he, and hung herself from the tree under which they had shared their first kiss. Corrin had been in shambles, his spirit and will broken, left to mourn her death that, in his eyes, was undeniably his doing. Now, here on the rock, she remembered all too well his sobbing form, begging her not to leave him like Amélie had; not to cause him this pain. And she had sworn, she had sworn not only upon her own life but upon that of their mother. And she would not break her vow to the only person who had not betrayed her love, this she swore to herself as she lay beneath the stars.
Yet she could feel herself dying from the inside, her heart that beat defiantly on, yet grew weaker with each passing night. Eventually it would stop, she smiled to herself; she could feel it's pain, the ache that she could no longer differentiate between broken heartedness and pain due to hunger. She could feel her body eating itself, devouring its own fat and muscle to keep that defiant heart beating. Her body felt exhausted, weak and brittle with only one little failing muscle to keep it going. She gazed up at the stars, the gold dust that the Gods scattered across the black velvet sky, and allowed her heavy lids to fall over her sore and bloodshot eyes that she felt roll back almost into her skull. She exhaled deeply, feeling her body begin to collapse, and through the thick walls of darkness she thought she heard the scuffle of pebbles moving, yet she paid it no heed, she was finally going to die. She could be rid of everything, the pain and the anguish, and she could be at peace. She could feel herself slipping, her heart slowing and her breath growing more shallow. The darkness threatened to engulf her, and she welcomed it's icy embrace, for it offered only peace and placidness and that which for which she so yearned: finality.
She felt as though she was standing in the tide of darkness, the waves washing over her, she waited with bated breath and heightened anticipation as the tide grew higher until it washed over her head and she felt an incredible sense of weightlessness overcome her. She was drifting up, up to the surface of the dark ocean that had been her life. She smiled, she was finally going to die. She could almost see it, the light that played upon the splashing waves of the surface, the dancing light that beckoned to her. And she wished to go to it; yearned for it more than she had yearned for anything, and she reached out and touched the warmth of the air above the water, the tip of her finger immediately becoming warm and whole and awash with radiating light. How she longed to be a part of it, and opened her eyes and kicked her legs, eager to feel this light upon her face.
Then she felt the most terrible pain in her chest.
Doubled over, she pulled her hand from the surface of the water and curled into a ball as the force of the blow pushed her father away from the blessed light. She reached out with one arm to the dancing light upon the water, yet was hit again by the blow to her chest. It felt as though someone was swinging a sledgehammer against her, and she felt weighed down by it's mass, as she was pushed deeper into the dark of the water. She could barely move as the blows came again and again, curled into a fetal position as she sank lower and lower, her eyes focused only on the light that swam before her, wishing only to become engulfed in it. But her eyes were forced shut surface as another blow erupted upon her cheek, snapping her head to the side as her mouth opened in a gasp of surprise. As her mouth opened, water poured forth into it, tasting like bile and wretchedness and causing her eyes to widen in surprise.
Yet what came to surprise her was the pair of slate gray eyes staring back at her.
