This is the scene that the entire story is based on, folks. The first version was written before any of the rest of the story. Due to having to take the rest of the story into account, and with my own changing ideas over the years (;;), this is the third or so version of that same idea.
I can only hope that it lives up to the version in my head, and to the ideas I'm trying to get across.
WARNING: This chapter contains self-injury. Don't read if that bothers or triggers you.
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"You aren't spouting cocky threats. What's wrong, Dilandau?" Van asked bitterly as he saw the slim, blonde figure enter his private rooms holding a long knife.
Celena shook her head. Her jaw was clenched and her hands shook, and her expression was desperate. "Not him, but if we don't hurry it will be. He's eating me from the inside."
She raised her knife and took a lurching step towards the young king of Fanelia, and Van ducked and blocked before he realized that she was offering him the handle of the weapon. Her voice shook with effort. "Take it."
Van did so, frightened of what would happen if Dilandau awoke with a blade in his hands. He still had no idea what Celena was thinking, and was seriously starting to think she was mad beyond saving.
"What do you intend with this?" Van asked. He was careful to keep more than an arm's length of distance between himself and the girl, though he wished he didn't feel the need to. Inside Celena's head did not look like a very pleasant place to be. Comfort was what the girl needed most.
##KILL HIM!! I WILL KILL HIM! TAKE THE KNIFE AND CUT OFF HIS NOSE AS HE BREATHES, HIS LIPS WHILE HE SCREAMS, HIS EARS WHILE I LAUGH!! CARVE INTO HIS CHEEKS AND HIS THROAT, REMOVE HIS SCALP, LEAVE HIM AS RUINED AS HE LEFT ME!##
"The cut," she ground out. "It destroyed him last time, you destroyed him last time."
##I WAS PERFECT! PERFECT FIGHTER, PERFECT BODY, PERFECT FACE! YOU RUINED IT ALL, YOU WEAKLING SON OF A FUCKING WHORE!!! YOU DO IT AGAIN AND I WILL KILL YOU SLOWLY!##
"He is screaming at the possibility of it happening again. Please, help me. Destroy him again."
##DESTROY ME?!?! YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU WILL NEVER DESTROY ME AS LONG AS YOU LIVE! I WILL WIN AND YOUR FUCKING LIES OF KINDNESS WILL BE LOST TO EVERYONE'S MEMORY!##
Van's eyes widened. "You want me to cut your face?"
"Yes! Please!" Celena nearly screamed out. "I can't hold him forever! Do it now!"
I WILL WIN AND YOUR FUCKING LIES OF KINDNESS WILL BE LOST TO EVERYONE'S MEMORY. I WILL KILL EVERYONE DEAR TO YOU, I WILL BURN THEM ALL I WILL BURN ALL THE CITIES I WILL FUCKING ERASE FANELIA AND ASTURIA AND ZAIBACH FROM THE FUCKING MAP!
Van swallowed and gripped the knife firmly. He held Celena's chin in his right hand, his big blunt fingers pressing into her pale, pale skin. Her eyes were wild and pleading and her nostrils flared with her effort. She looked as though she were about to give birth to something from her pores, from her eyes and ears and hair. Something explosive that would leave her a pool of blood and scorch the world for miles.
He poised the blade just below her cheekbone, took a deep breath, and—
Prick. One single drop of blood ran down Celena's otherwise unmarred cheek. Only one.
Great gods, I can't do it. Van realized. Fear crept onto his face as he realized that he couldn't defeat Dilandau in Celena's body. Looking into her eyes, he saw that she saw his fear too, and knew what it meant.
And Dilandau knew what it meant.
A spark in Celena's eyes warned him. Pushing her fiercely away from himself, Van backed off.
Dilandau-as-Celena lunged for Van but threw herself to the side at the last instant, catching her shoulder on the edge of Van's desk. As her body lurched to the floor, Van practically threw a chair between himself and his adversary. She was on her feet again with alarming speed. Trying to back out the door, Van stumbled on the edge of a rug as the blonde used the chair as a stepping-stone to catapult herself towards the frantic king. She grabbed his throat as she landed on his chest, knocking the air out of him while making it impossible to breathe in more. A horrible manic grin occupied Van's spotted vision, and shrill noises escaped Celena's lips as Dilandau happily strangled him.
It was the knife that saved Van. He had never let it go. He brought up the pommel with all the strength he could muster, striking Celena on the top of her head.
Her hands loosened as she crumpled over him, and Van clawed his throat free to take in gasps of air.
Rolling the girl off of him, he sat up, massaging his throat. Her strength surprised him. He wondered if maybe some of her Zaibach training had stayed with her, somehow.
Looking at the unconscious Celena, he frowned. Did her brother even know where she was? Van knew the situation was delicate. He just didn't know what course was best.
He decided to isolate her, make her as comfortable as she could be in the situation, and then figure out what to do. Find Allen, that's what. She was his sister, after all. Van had enough to deal with.
Shouldering her dead weight, Van trudged out of the room and towards the nearest empty guest room. At this hour, there was no one else about. He laid Celena down on the bed, taking the time to move a pillow under her head and pull a blanket over her.
The only window was a narrow slit; the palace had been reworked into a fortress.
Out in the hall, Van locked the door. Putting the key in his shirt pocket, he strode towards the room of his messenger. Surely Allen already knew that Celena was missing; Van hoped the man wouldn't have gone off in a frantic search without telling anyone. The Caeli Knight was the only hope Van had in this situation.
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The world was dark, and blurry. Blinking strongly to clear her vision, Celena stared at the ceiling.
From the half-light in the room, it must have been close to sunrise.
She recognized the plaster molding. This was Fanelian ceiling.
Shit.
Rolling to her side, she tried to take stock of the situation. It looked like a guest room: plain wardrobe, nondescript bed, washstand, chair. There was even a small mirror fixed to the wall over the basin.
As she sat up, she reeled. The top of her head pounded so much she almost fell back into the bed. Wincing, she clutched at her aching cranium, waiting for the pain to subside.
After a few, far too long moments, she at least got used to the idea. Gritting her teeth, she stood up.
The door was locked.
Shit shit! Of course he locked it. Anyone would. He's probably getting Allen.
I was so close.
Close to victory, close to catastrophic failure. Close to killing Van.
Using the wall for support, she made her way to the washstand. The pitcher was empty, unfortunately. She could have used some water. She stared at the chipped porcelain, remembering the events in the study.
It wasn't like the last time. Why was I stronger, this time?##You think I know, bitch? It's more the pity you were. If you had been nice and quiet like last time, I would have ended that piece of filth.##
Celena gasped. Her other half was still there.
##Yeah, you forgot? Not like you, Miss Know-it-all. Ha! Maybe I'll win sooner than I thought, if you're losing it.##
She sat down on the end of the bed. Gods…
For a few moments, there was only throbbing in her head. Then, Dilandau began to speak again.
##I don't see why you persist in this notion of defeating me. I was always stronger. I always will be stronger. This is just a setback. It's fucking annoying having to live in a weak girl's body, but maybe I can use that. Men will do a lot for a pretty face.##
As he went on, Celena had an inkling. She remembered her original purpose in coming to see Van, and tried to dodge full-on realization. Remembering it peripherally was the only hope she had of avoiding calling Dilandau's attention to it. Moving her hands to her sash, she tried to believe that she was only adjusting it for comfort.
Stupid sash. So tight. I will take it off, and my shoes, and try to go back to sleep.
##Thank you for the riveting narration, girly. Disdain became a chuckle. Heh. When I'm in control you can narrate me all you want. In a mental falsetto, Dilandau teased, 'And then the mighty Dilandau stabbed Van in the chest, spurts of blood flowing up around his sword. "AAAAH!" screamed the wimp.'##
Celena gritted her teeth and tried to ignore him.
So tired, blood is bad, need sleep…
Working the knife from the sash, she stared fixedly at her shoes. Once the knife was free, she set it on the mattress next to her and leaned over to get her shoes. Gods, why do these things have so many buttons?!
As she unfastened her shoes, she scooted to the left, closer to the washstand.
Buttons, buttons, shoes, blood, clothes, tired, sleep…When she sat up again, she was facing the washstand, and the mirror, directly. The room was dim, but she—and Dilandau—could still see her reflection well enough. Maybe it was the dimness that made her appear sick and ghostly.
##You look awful. When I was in command, I always looked marvelous.##
Always?Gripping the knife, looking her reflection full in the face, Celena steeled herself and gave up pretense. Maybe she would succeed where Van failed.
I remember something different.
Her arm wavered only slightly as she pushed the point of the small knife into her skin. She began at the small, already-scabbing prick that Van had made earlier, and pulled downward in a gracefully bleeding arc.
For a moment, the entire world held its breath, watching the skin part around the blade and the blood come to fill the gap. The pain of it was sharp, and concentrated, and concrete. It was blessedly concrete, distracting her from all her intangible problems. She felt as though she were writing her destiny on her cheek, changing her badcircumstances with a three-inch sting. Or perhaps the cut was a barrier between her and the madness that had become her life. That little bit of manageable pain seemed to take her away, to bring her to an intimate place where only she and it existed.
Only in blood was her life her own. Only written in blood.
And then the noise came back: her own panicked breathing, the maddeningthrob of her head, and Dilandau's voice.
##AUUUUGHGH!!!!! You think you've—defeated me—you wanted to—kill me. You—are a betrayer—you are CRAZY—it's your face too, you know.##
It was not what she had expected. Anger and threats, yes. But even though she knew those emotions from her memory-dreams, Dilandau's feelings of hurt and resignation were confusing. She felt almost guilty.
Disoriented, Celena sat looking at her reflection for a long moment. Blood ran darkly down her pale jaw and neck, dripping off her chin and soaking into her collar. She couldn't bring herself to care about either. She marveled at the fact that she had done that to herself.
Only I could do this, she realized. I was the one who had to do this.
She marveled at the blood itself.
This is always inside us, but people don't usually see it. This is real, this is what we're made of, but people are always horrified by it. It's not supposed to get out.
##My face…my face…my face…my face…##Can it be that reigning in the monster sustains us?
##My face…my face…kill you…my face…##
No. Dilandau isn't like blood that way. Keeping him hidden just makes us weaker.
##everything…falling apart…always leaving me…my beauty…my strength…##
Why? Why is that so? You'd think that subduing the monster would be the best thing to do…
##always ALONE! don't leave me don't don't don't, stop##
He doesn't seem so monstrous now. He didn't feel so alien in that dream…##stop hurting me##
I feel you.
##please stop##
She shrank, borne downward by Dilandau's anguish.
I feel what you feel.
##stop stop stop stop stop stop##
"STOP HURTING ME!"
As she cried out, the force of it constricted her chest and throat, wringing tears from her tired eyes. The words had been hers, and they had been Dilandau's. She had felt Dilandau's pain and frustration as if they were her own.
Because they were.
The monstrosity is not Dilandau, you are not, WE are not a monster…it is our separation, our alienation from ourself ourselves that is monstrous…it is the separation that is wrong.
##I told you you could never win.##
Neither of us could win, alone.
Celena reached her hand up and cradled her wound. As clearly as she felt the cut, she could now feel the edges of her internal wall. The more she examined it, as she approached the boundary, she could feel Dilandau responding to her on the other side.
##Burn!##
She felt all around it, covering every part of its surface. The masonry was often just a mass of a single emotion. It was made of sadness, confusion, but most often, fear. Other times, she could recognize specific ideas: I can't let Dilandau get Van. I don't want to be a killer. I don't want to make Allen sad.
I was helping to keep us separated, she realized. And those bastards intended for their creation to be self-sustaining.
Those ideas, her ideas, were what she had used to patch the holes in the wall made by Dilandau's first resurgence.
If I put them there, I can take them down. That's why it had to be me with the knife!There were cracks in the patches. It was how the dreams and memories had gotten through, and how Dilandau's voice could reach her. She could hear him now, murmuring painfully.
She pulled at an opening, making it bigger.
Now more flowed through the crevice, and this time it wasn't just a voice, or a memory. It was her own estranged anger that flowed forth. She had not felt anger as Celena since she was a child.
Those heartless bastard SHITS! FUCKING SCUM! THEY BROKE ME!
And she realized that they had. The barrier between her and Dilandau was not
just a wall; it was also a deep chasm, a breech in her very being.
But her anger. Her anger was a bridge.
All for what? To make a better soldier?!Giving an inarticulate cry of rage and frustration, Celena grabbed the washbasin off the stand and flung it against the wall, close to the mirror. It shattered with a substantial crash, showering ceramic and plaster everywhere.
I am not a docile vessel for your will anymore! BURN!!!She blasted the wall with her fury. She felt the barrier ignite, her alienation perfect fuel for her rage.
I HATE YOU!! I HATE EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR!It burned. Soon the bricks and stones were crumbling to glowing charcoal. And, the more the wall burned, the more Celena experienced her anger, the wider her bridge became. It began to encompass other lost emotions, other parts of herself that the Sorcerers had ripped out of her to make Dilandau: jealousy, pride, hatred. She felt pain and grief that, save for in dreams, only Dilandau had felt.
The Sorcerers should have done those tortures to themselves! They should have DIED!
Chesta, Miguel, Dallet, Viole, Gatti, Guimel!
Zaibach killed you, not Van.
Zaibach destroyed you, and Fanelia, and so much else!
Too soon, anger was overcome by pain, and sobs choked her screams. Celena despaired, feeling abandoned in a devastated landscape charred barren by an emotion that, now, was dying in its efforts to burn the unburnable.
The wall was broken. Pieces of it still remained, but the majority of the barrier was gone. Burned to the ground.
The girl put a shaking hand up to her bloody face again, and curled into herself on the bed.
Kidnapped, violated, abused, forced into combat. Made to destroy human beings. They killed my boys, made them abandon me. I was all alone. Then I almost killed Van, twice. I hurt Millerna and Allen. I never meant to.
I am violated.
It hurts, oh it hurts.
She remained like that while the room brightened, heralding dawn.
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