I sat on the neatly made bed, untouched since I had arrived in the tower three days prior. Confined in my room surrounded by the best-trained guards, the idea of escape was nothing more than a distant dream. Ever since I'd been captured and dragged into the most prestigious building in the Polis, rain had pounded down relentlessly. For the past few hours, the fog had been low enough to block the view from my window, only intensifying my feelings of macabre. Though however morbid the weather, my surroundings were nothing if not endearing. The duvet was warm and comfortable, the best in the Polis, and it made my insides rumble with rage. I held the rage within me, feeding off it like a flame on fresh wood. I would describe myself as prepared, calm even, as I slowly turned the knife in my hands. It was odd how such a small device could be so deadly if the wielder willed it to be so.

I was disrupted from her thoughts as the large oak doors swung opened, followed by an all-too familiar voice. "You wanted to see me."

I remained silent, under no obligation to address the almighty Heda.

The unusual quiet prompted a follow-up. "Clarke?" came the voice again, but this time the traditionally stoic voice hinted at sincerity and indicated concern.

The firm yet gentle articulation of her name sent chills down my spine. This was no longer the well-known commander. This was the girl who was forced to hide her true self from everyone and everything in order to fulfil her duty. The girl who even had me fooled for the first few months. This was the girl who offered up her own dessert to the young nightbloods and who leant books to those who couldn't disperse their demons at night. This was the girl whose smile was brighter than the stars and whose lips were sweeter than candy. This was the girl who made me feel too many things.

But this was also the girl who had abandoned me amidst my ghosts alone and defenceless in Mount Weather, only to later send someone to capture and return me to the tower. After saving everyone, I'd run. I had been alone for weeks. Forced to survive, forced to kill. I was no longer the young innocent girl wanting to enjoy her time on Earth. I was a monster. Because of her. And because of that she had to go. Lexa had to go.

Rising from my position, knife firm and now familiar in hand, I lunged at Lexa, forcing her against the wall and pressing the knife against her throat. Her soft lips parted in shock, warm breath escaping into the ice-cold air of an Polis winter. Her breaths were short and fast, yet she still managed to maintain her composure. I knew she was forced to be stoic during the worst of times; but her fearlessness at the face of death only made me more furious. My mind jumped back to that night at Mount Weather. We'd left the safety of our respective homes to rescue our people who had been captured. Holding them hostage was a group in want of our blood so that the radiation wouldn't kill them. At first they got by using Lexa's people; then they realised using mine would let them stay outside permanently. So, Lexa did what she needed to do to help her people; but apparently, I wasn't one of them. The Mountain Men made an offer- her people set free as long as they got to keep my people. Lexa accepted.

I studied Lexa closely, my eyes darting from side to side, letting my inner beast assess its prey. I gnarled my teeth, willing myself to just make the kill. She'd left me. She deserved this. And I deserved revenge. But I couldn't escape the loophole of memories circling through my brain. The first time seeing her as she twirled a knife in her hand, similar to what I was doing not two minutes ago. Finn's death when she handed me the torch to set his body alight. Her telling me about Costia. Me saving her from the mutated Gorilla, telling her 'I need you.' Her kissing me, and me pulling away. Her turning and walking away from me at Mount Weather when I needed her most.

"I'm sorry," Lexa whispered; those three syllables carrying enough hurt, pain and regret to last many lifetimes. Though cliché, those words cut deeper than a knife. I pressed against Lexa's throat harder, applying enough force to break through soft skin. I was alive, I was fine, and the last thing I needed was more pity. Especially not from her. Those weeks alone in the forest had hardened me; made me more resolute; made me strong enough to finish this one simple task without overthinking everything. I'd killed in self-defence before, this was no different, yet I found my arm trembling and it wasn't because of the cold. Still, I watched as the first line of blood trickled down Lexa's neck. Restoring eye-contact, a vast sky of blue met a deep sea of green and I felt my own eyes brim with tears. Whoever said eyes were the windows to the soul were right, because looking into the troubled depths of Lexa broke my resolve. Pulling away, I turned, letting the knife fall from my shaky hands to the ground with a thud.

"I never meant to turn you into this," Lexa stated gently.

I thought I'd convinced myself that I didn't care who saw how feral I'd become. I was wrong. Spinning back around to face Lexa whose features were laced with worry and residual pain from the knife wound, I took two quick strides to connect our lips fiercely. Lexa might be the commander and I might be the commander of death, but who was to say we didn't deserve better than that. After all, shouldn't life be about more than just surviving?