AN: In this piece of the puzzle, Shadow tells the story of how he fell from grace in a letter to a deceased Maria.
"Lamentation"
Dear Maria,
Words cannot express how sorry I am that it came to this.
Ten people. Ten people are dead because of me and the anger that I couldn't control. When I took my first breath on this planet, I thought of you. When I took my first steps towards the humans that greeted me, I heard your voice in my mind. My fragile heart overflowed with tenderness that rapidly gave way to hatred. The rings melted away from my wrists, and I screamed for the first time.
Because I'm not the person that you thought I would be, it's all right if you detest me. I can't help but feel that I deserve to be hated, anyway. I've caused too much destruction to be cared for by anyone, let alone you, who is of the purest heart that I shall ever encounter.
Because I'm so despicable, it's okay if you hate me with all of the passion that you once loved me with. If you choose to never look upon my dreadful form again, I will accept your decision without the slightest hint of an argument. Curse my name if you will, for it was I who caused your death. I may not have been the one that sent the single bullet into your back, but I led that man to pull the trigger. I failed to protect you, and I did not realize my guilt until last night, when I woke suddenly from my slumber and, wildly grasping for the sheets, screamed out my apology to you with burning tears streaming down my cheeks.
That alone did not suffice. Upon rising this morning, I felt the need to write this letter to you.
It's a perfectly fine day outside of this prison, I'm sure. I can see the sun shining through the tiny window in my confined space. The wind ruffles the tender branches of the trees and gently sends down to the ground a collection of auburn leaves. It's nearing the beginning of autumn; which, as I recall from having read all of those books on the Earth with you, engulfs this part of the planet in late September. The temperatures are getting colder and colder, as the comforting heat of summer fades away and the world prepares to usher in the freezing winter.
None of it will be the same without you, whom I killed and forever stole away from this world.
If only I had been born into a different body, then none of this would have ever happened. If I had never met you, if I had lived as a human from the beginning of my days, if I hadn't thought myself unbreakable, untouchable – if I hadn't been so childishly, selfishly, foolishly enamored with you and the world that your grandfather had brought me into, none of those ten people would be dead, and none of those four-hundred people on the ARK would be dead either.
If I had never been created, you would still be alive, Maria. You would still be breathing the sterile air and harmlessly existing inside the bubble with all of your imaginary friends. Everyone that we ever knew and hoped to know would be living and laughing and oh-so-full of life and happiness.
But since I'm now existing on this Earth, none of that can be found anywhere anymore.
I fear that I am not a monster, for I am clearly experiencing regret. I dream of the scene of your death every night that my eyes close. I see your tear-stained face in my mind every time I hear a human's voice, every time I see their feet move past my cell, every time I see a flicker of light out of the corner of my eye. If I could go back and let the humans take me away – if doing so meant that you would be allowed to live even one more day – then I would without a second thought. I am no longer the selfish youth that I was when you fell on that sorrowful day. I have grown in ways that not even the Professor could have predicted. As a result of my transition into the adults' world, the darkest of thoughts are beginning to fester in the rotting remains of my consciousness.
Maria, I beg of you to let the humans destroy me. Let them rip me apart with their cruel experiments, let them torture me and deprive me, let them force me to bleed and scream and beg for mercy. Put me through as much pain as possible. As I said earlier in this letter, I feel that I deserve to be broken for the sins that I committed.
If, for some reason, that can't be done, I'd like you to kill me.
I'm sure there's some way to do it. "Immortality" is not absolute. I've thought more than once about doing something outrageous to anger the humans enough for them to try to kill me. I've considered fashioning a rope out of my bed-sheets and hanging myself with it. I've thought about breaking out of this cell – these flimsy steel bars cannot hold me back – and allowing myself to be shot down by the humans. At this time, such a fate does not seem so terrible after all.
But, please, if you're going to kill me, let me die with my memories of you still intact. Let me fall into my grave surrounded by sheer lavender blossoms, bathed in your scent, with my arms tied behind me and the last vision burned into my eyes of your face. Take my life by any means: shoot me, stab me, cut off my head and gouge out my eyes, brush my throat with your feathery fingertips and strangle me violently. Do what you wish to me, as long as the last thing that dances before these tainted eyes is the illusion of you.
That is all I ask of you, Maria. Kill me and banish me to the place that we swore we'd never speak of; and as long as my dying breath is able to reach you, I will be at peace.
At this time and for the rest of my immortal life, I shall long for nothing more.
~Your Shadow