Epilogue, Part One: The Capitol - Rose Point Estate.
Pandora Quinn, 29
Member of the New Haven Federation
She hardly sleeps a wink all night.
It's a cliche thing, something you hear about all the time. It's fictitious, really, or you think it is until it happens. She's had her fair share of sleepless nights same as everyone else, but never quite like this.
It rotated in shift-like moments. She let Evander stare at her from his not-sleeping position on the couch because he had insisted on staying somewhere near to her. If she actually has the nerve to return to her bedroom Crynn tends to hold onto her, arms just a little too tight, but it never lasts for very long. She doesn't deserve that; he doesn't deserve that. It was her action, her thought.
That's the thing - it wasn't thoughtless. She didn't walk into that room with no knowledge, without any intention to shoot. She knew she might have to, and when she opened the door she did.
She keeps seeing it. The blood. There hadn't been as big of a spray of it as she had anticipated. By the time they were done there was more on the floor than anywhere else that they had to clean up. Pandora remembers her body slumping to the floor in one quick, jerky motion and how Evander had eventually had to pry the gun out of her icy fingers long minutes later, after they had all gone.
Crynn was waiting when they had got back just shy of midnight. She was properly crying by the time she stumbled through the door, and then he had started crying because she was. Evander, for his credit, had lurked on the front path for a few moments and let them act that way in peace.
No one besides her mother had even given her a look when she had finally left the gala. It wasn't an accusatory glare, an unnerving stare. It wasn't really anything at all.
No one knew, but that was how it had to be. No one could.
They had gotten rid of too many bodies to let it fail now.
It feels like several days mashed together by the time the night starts to trickle away into a hazy, gray dawn. Crynn's finally asleep, motionless beside her, and Evander's disappeared from the couch. The blanket he had been using is folded over the top of it, cold to the touch. He's been gone a while.
Everything is cast over in dark light both inside and out; appropriate enough for a slated execution day.
She looks even more haggard than whatever's happening outside, though. Her eyes are still red and cheeks still slightly puffy. There's make-up smeared under her eyes and tucked away into every little nook and cranny of her face. She can't even begin to understand what's gone on with her hair, but she can't remember taking it down or even brushing it any time after they got back last night, so that must explain it. She can't very well go up to the main house looking like this.
It's something her mother would do, something she always does. Fake it. She doesn't like being that person, but it's like she said - there's no other option but to do it.
So that's what she does. She washes her face and brushes her hair through at least three times before it's anywhere near socially acceptable standards. She even gets re-dressed despite not having really changed after last night in the first place, into clothes that look slightly less intimidating and more like her. It's complete with one of Crynn's sweaters, at least two sizes too big on her. It gives her something to hide in, though, and it covers the ever so faint rise of her stomach that wasn't there before.
She has to fess up one day, she knows that. But not today.
Today, if she could have it her way, wouldn't even exist.
She decides to let Crynn sleep for a while longer while she makes her way back up to the house; he deserves it after putting up with her last night. The walk up, even though it's misty, is nice to clear her head. It also gives her time to prepare.
By the time she hits the back door she's worked out just how to properly smile at people without it looking too forced or strained. Most people wouldn't say anything if they did notice, but she can't be too careful. Not after what she did.
She just can't help but think about her dad and the hole he got in his own head. Her mother allowed her to look at the photos when she was old enough, when she had finally gotten the nerve to ask. There was a lot more blood in them than what had come out of Eriska. She wasn't sure how it worked. Was there more blood when it came out the other way? Maybe.
Her dad wasn't inherently good or evil either way, but she knows he didn't deserve that. At least she can live knowing Eriska did.
The first person to greet her is one of her mother's assistants, bright-eyed and up early as always. She smiles and bids her good morning, so Pandora does the same.
She's fundamentally no different, at all. Or at least she is and no one can know about it.
There's more going on than she would have anticipated though. There are a few people bustling around here and there, looking more hasty than they usually would. It could have to do with her mother's work, perhaps, a direct result of the gala, but it doesn't seem that way. Everything is happening too urgently for it to just be work.
She spends the next few minutes looking for a face that's at least halfway familiar, one that would talk to her honestly. Tycho is lurking outside the kitchens, no surprise there, but instead of his usual cheerful wave and smile his mouth turns down into a frown at the sight of her.
Oh, God, she might throw up.
"Have you seen them?" he asks, and she stutters to a halt in front of him. She had intended to keep on walking before he could ask her any sort of awkward question, but that's not what she expected to hear.
"Who?"
He pauses. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," she says. "What's going on?"
"Evander said you two didn't see them leave the gala last night - is that true?"
"I mean, I knew they were leaving but I didn't escort them out. Is something wrong?"
"Nobody can find them," he hisses. "People have been combing the place for a half hour now and nothing. We've got someone checking the security feeds but if I had to put money down right now I'd say they never came back in the first place."
Never came back in the first place.
She doesn't even know what time they left, or what car they ended up taking. Crynn would know, but he's not here right now. She didn't take them outside because she had more pressing matters to deal with in that moment in time. All she could do was trust that the five of them would get out unscathed and she would continue with the work that only got dirtier and dirtier by the day.
"Oh my god," she breathes. "I— shit, I need to find them. I need to find them before someone else does."
"Do you think you can?"
"I have to," she insists, turning on her heel. She needs to find Evander, too. Together they can find them; there really isn't other option presenting itself. It's that, or...
She doesn't even know. Is she supposed to know?
"They're supposed to be dead in four hours!" Tycho yells after her. "If you were them, would you let yourself be found? Would you really come back?"
It doesn't matter what she would do as she's not the one in the position. All she can do, all she has to do, is find them. There's no telling what she'll be able to do, but it's something. It's better than horrific scenarios that are unfolding in front of her right now, all of the gruesome endings that are even worse than the one already mapped out. Maybe Tycho's right. Maybe if she were them she'd be gone too while she still had the chance. She doesn't know if she could come back.
But they have to.
And they will.
Tarquin Vierra, 16
Applicant #4
He's decided he doesn't like gray very much.
It just makes everything look dead, which he doesn't like either. He hates that, really.
He can't imagine that it actually looks this bad outside; it has to be because they've trapped themselves inside the car for the whole of the night, far away from any signs of real imposing civilization. There's nothing and no one to really disturb them.
That was the point, he knows, but it all just sort of feels dead.
"Am I the only one that's uncomfortable as fuck?" Emmi asks out of the blue. Tarquin had gone a few minutes up until this point believing he was the only one awake, but it doesn't appear that way anymore. He sits up a bit, and someone shifts in the seat behind him. Emmi drapes herself over the steering wheel and props her chin up on the top of it, turning to the left to give him a look.
"Well, we did just spend the night sleeping in the car," he reminds her. There's a low groan from one of the backseats as if they're loathed to be reminded of it in the first place.
"Speaking of, who's taking the car?" Soran asks blearily. Tarquin's put some thought into it himself, but so far no one else has spoken up. Ria lefts her head free from the entrapment of her knees and raises an eyebrow at him.
"I mean, if no one else needs it," he starts.
"I'll walk," Emmi offers, and Soran nods as well, though Icarus doesn't look the least bit impressed at the idea of walking anywhere right now.
Tarquin knows what the two of them are doing, vaguely, and what he and Ria have planned, but Emmi hasn't been so forthcoming.
He's never been one to pry, either.
"Alright, well, see you assholes," Emmi says casually, and then pops open the door and steps out. "Or not."
He blinks, and she's gone. He launches himself across the console and into the front seat, quickly climbing out after her. It doesn't feel right to just let her go like that, not with what they're doing. He can't let her go.
"Hey," he says. "Wanna give me a hug?"
Now that he thinks of it, really, he's not sure Emmi has been offered the level of comfort that any of them really have. She does have them, there's no doubt about it, but does she really have her person? He doesn't think so. Realistically she lost her person out in the valley.
He should have done that sooner.
She pauses. "Are you gonna get all sappy on me?"
"Probably."
She laughs though, finding the humor in a day that completely lacks it otherwise, and steps forward to hug him. He's already told himself he's not crying today, and he's sticking to that no matter how much he wants to.
"You don't have to go alone, you know," he murmurs over her shoulder.
"I know," she says quietly. "I want to, though. It's okay."
Tarquin doesn't get that, but won't pretend to either. He's never wanted to be alone, at least not permanently. It feels like he needs someone around at all times to keep him present, to keep him ground.
They can't all be the same.
"Besides," she says, pulling back to squeeze his shoulders. "I got my own idea. Keep me out of your weird shenanigans."
"Bet yours are weirder."
"Oh, probably," she agrees. "Be careful."
"Not much point, is there?"
There always is, but oddly enough right now isn't leading to an always. Not one that he knows. And besides, when have they actually been careful? It's not the type of thing that's ever gotten them anywhere.
Emmi pulls away from him suddenly, smacking away at Icarus' waving arms, which are dangling out one of the back windows reaching for her. Considering he's been volunteered to walk to his intended destination Tarquin thinks he should just get out of the car if he wants a hug that badly, but that's none of his business.
He lets himself inch back to the car and slips into the driver's seat silently, keeping his eyes to himself. A minute or so later Ria clambers back into the car next to him.
Soran kicks the frame of the car next to him to get his attention. "Where are you going?"
"Where are you going?"
"Hell, probably." He shrugs. "See you there?"
"Definitely."
Soran slams the door shut, reaching through the half-open window to knock a fist into Tarquin's shoulder, though the blow is nowhere near harsh. It's more of a goodbye than anything else, and it's a lot more than he thought he was ever going to get.
It's not a hard benchmark to pass when he ought to be dead a few times over.
It doesn't stop him from remembering what he didn't get, though. He didn't say goodbye to that damn clingy little cat, who made him feel like he wasn't alone when the feeling was otherwise overwhelming. The people like Tycho who just only ever tried to make him feel normal, Shoah and Dr. Arranmore who actually tried to help...
It upsets him more than words could express that it doesn't matter now.
"Good?" he asks Ria, starting the car. He only has the vaguest idea on what he's really doing in it; it's a good thing the morning has yet to barely start, or he could have some mighty concerns on his hands traveling down any given road. Ria looks as nervous as he feels about it, but it's not about that.
"We don't have to go yet, if you're not."
"No, it's okay. I'll just... think on the way there, I guess. It's not too far from here, right?"
"Just a few minutes."
She hums. "Okay."
He leaves it at that while he edges the car out of the empty lot and out onto the even emptier road, a miracle amidst everything else. It takes all of the concentration in the world even with nothing going on around them, and by the time he does the other three are long gone, down opposite roads.
He still hates the silence.
"You can tell me, you know," he offers. "Or not, if you don't want to."
She actually smiles. "Do you remember what you told me back at Witsonee? About us getting out of this, and if it was worth it?"
He doesn't take his eyes off the road. "I'm not expecting you to thank me after all of this shit."
"It wasn't all bad though, was it?"
Tarquin snorts. "Like ninety-nine percent, I'd say."
"You coming back was good. Objectively speaking. For me, anyway. You can disagree with that."
"I think it was good too," he murmurs, and that just makes him the most awful person in the world. Him not dying when he was supposed to got both of his parents killed. For all he knows the tick over from four to five made everything else so much worse too. There are too many regrets in him to place and count, but even the one percent is good.
And he's glad he got that, before he's gone for good.
He glances over to watch Ria pull both legs up onto her seat, but that's all that happens for the rest of the ride. This part of the city is still home to him through and through, the lakefront and all the stores and restaurants alongside it.
Even his home, ruined now, is still nestled somewhere deep in his heart. There's a reason he went back, after all.
"It really is nice," Ria says, a vocal echo of his internal thoughts. "We didn't come to this end of the city much."
Tarquin probably never would have met her if this hadn't happened. Is he grateful for that, then? Does he get more and more awful by the minute?
He definitely does.
He turns down the road leading to the water's edge, bypassing the towering forms of the apartments across the road. They're almost enough to obscure Summerview Park from his eyes as they continue on, but when he pulls the car off next to the break-wall and pier he can still see just a bit, one singular corner.
All of that gray he was complaining off is rapidly burning off as the sun rises, higher and higher. They won't be here long enough to see it properly, but it's nice for now.
He just has to do this one more thing. Put his hands on the wheel and his foot on the gas.
The water's right fucking there. He rolls up the window. He thinks it's kind of ironic now that the two of them were supposed to go up in flames at some point or or other. It's cosmic karma that they're not going out that way now. Besides, he thinks he's been burning for long enough.
"You never told me about Jay," he says, and Ria's eyes flicker to his uneasily. "He left me, you know. If I hadn't done what I did, him leaving would have gotten me killed."
"But you don't hate him for that."
He laughs. "How can I hate him for that? After what I did?"
"You did that to survive."
"I did that for you to survive. And he left me because he wanted to survive, and you killed him for the same reason. That's it. That's all I'm realizing."
"So what does that mean?"
"That none of us are bad people, really. Even if I think I am. Even if the world does."
She smiles, but it's awfully sad. "It's a shame no one else is going to know that."
Tarquin puts the car back in drive, but doesn't move. Not yet. He needs a few more seconds, but that's it.
"No, but I know that," he says quietly. "And I think that makes it okay."
She nods, looking a bit like she's going to cry. He told himself no one was getting tears out of him today, and he meant that.
He's not an evil person, and he's done crying.
"Go time?" he asks. She nods and reaches over, palm up. He's not surprised for once; Ria, he thinks, will always be an absolute mystery, but maybe not to him. And that he is grateful for.
He grabs her hand and presses down on the gas.
The water's right there, and he's grateful to finally be doused.
Icarus Devereux, 17
Applicant #10
"This is undoubtedly the worst," he announces.
Soran rolls his eyes, no doubt wondering why Icarus has waited through twenty minutes of uninterrupted, walking silence to say it now.
"Maybe a little dramatic?"
"Have you met me?"
"Unfortunately."
He swats at him and Soran jogs away from him further down the sidewalk, cackling like a fiend. He's in awfully high spirits for you know... all of this. If Icarus had to guess, he actually looks a tad excited. That's not a sign of someone in their right mind whatsoever. It would be more concerning if he thought Soran was ever in his right mind since the day he met him.
And oddly enough, however, he gets it. He's ready to be done with this too.
If this is what it takes, then so be it.
He can see it, though, is the thing, and his resolve is cracking piece by fragile piece. He feels like he's about to shatter, or at least run in the opposite direction. It's one thing to think it and another thing to be facing it. It's like watching Eriska about to potentially murder them all over again.
At least this time it's not the threat of someone else's hands, just his own. He never said he was thinking intelligently about any of this.
"Oh, is this it?" Soran shouts behind him, and he winces. There's no one around to hear it - this place is famously desolate near the edge of the city, populated mostly by families looking to picnic or hikers once the day warms up. There might be a few stragglers as the minutes go on, but not enough to pick them out of an otherwise very normal place.
He follows Soran up the hill, slowly, watching as he crests the top and grabs the railing at the edge of the bridge, looking over. He joins him though he doesn't want to, and when he wraps his own hand around the paint flaking away at the barrier it's shaking.
"I fucking hate heights," he comments idly, trying to keep the shake out of his voice too.
"Bit late for that now, isn't it?"
It sure fucking is. The damn thing has to be two-hundred feet up in the air, if not more than that, and that's not even the worst part. He's been in that water before, so many years ago. It's deep, and cold as shit, and there are rapids around the next bend that eventually feed into the even colder lake.
He should have never suggested this.
Soran hops up, swings one leg over the railing, and then two. Icarus is nearly sick just watching him, and swallows several times over until Soran is standing firmly on the half a foot of platform that extends out from the other side. Their only other companion, a lone pigeon perched at the edge of it, squawks and takes off at his sudden arrival.
Icarus can't say he blames the poor thing when it's exactly what he wishes he could get.
"Do you reckon this is better or worse than lethal injection?" he asks, unwilling to let go of the railing. He doesn't even want to get off the sidewalk.
"I guess it depends."
"On what?"
"If the fall actually kills you or not. Or if you drown after breaking like, every bone in your body."
He stares at him. "Was that meant to be comforting?"
"Not really."
"Good, because it wasn't."
It wasn't at all, really. He broke what, two bones in his ankle and thought he was dying? Soran broke more ribs than he cared to count and sort of technically died several days later as a result of it, too. That coupled with not managing to get back to the surface, the water filling your lungs...
Maybe the needle would be better. It's just one thing, a few quick seconds.
Though he supposes falling would take just as long. And if you did die on impact, well, that's probably quicker than getting poisoned from the inside out.
"I can and will leave you here," Soran informs him, nudging his hand. He only clings on tighter. "Let go of it."
"No."
"I'll do it without you."
"Don't you dare," he snaps. Soran reaches forward again and pries each off his fingers off the railing one by one, a grand feat for someone who's hand only has halfway feeling anymore. If it wasn't something so serious he'd have bet that he was lying about it by now.
"I'm not going to fucking push you off, you know," Soran says flatly. "You'd be back and haunting my ass before I could even do it myself."
"I know that."
"Then get over here."
He doesn't have much of a choice, does he? His other option is tear himself away and run screaming down the hill, to which he would probably trip, fall, and roll the whole damn way down anyway. That leaves Soran here, and he doesn't very well like the idea of leaving him alone on the precipice of a bridge.
He doesn't like the thought of being on the bridge at all.
He eases one leg over and then the other, only keeping his eyes open so that he can make sure his feet are safely going to land on solid ground. It's not that he thinks Soran is going to push him, per say, he just doesn't trust the fact that he's not going to get fucked with a little bit. A shove won't put him over the edge, but it might just give him a heart attack. He also might decide to beat Soran to death after said little shove before anything else gets accomplished.
Soran, miraculously, doesn't do anything other than just stand there. He's still got one of Icarus' hands, and he reaches back to grab the railing again with the other.
"If I look down I might throw up," he says.
"Don't look down?" Soran suggests. "Look at literally anything else?"
He looks up, expecting a nice reassuring morning sky, maybe some birds and some fluffy, pleasant clouds. All he gets is a wave of dizziness that nearly puts him flat on his ass, or into open air where the platform ends.
"Nope," he says. "That's worse."
"Keep your eyes closed, then."
He's definitely going to do that. Not seeing is almost worse, but there's no overwhelming feeling of anything bad from the get-go. He just won't look at anything, ever again.
Soran leans forward a bit and he feels it, clamping his hand down tighter around his fingers, refusing to let go.
"It really is high up," he comments.
"Stop."
"I don't enjoy heights any more than you do."
"Yeah, well, you're not the one freaking out."
"I can't," Soran says, punctuated with a laugh. "If I started freaking out right now alongside you, what would you do? Die on the spot?"
"Probably."
"See?"
"Well, I'm very grateful for your ability to not feel anything at the most inopportune of times."
"Oh, I'm feeling plenty of things."
"Like what?"
"It's a secret," Soran emphasizes, nearly directly into his ear. He takes the opportunity to shuffle even closer to him, something else to anchor himself on, and buries his face in his shoulder. Icarus can open his eyes, now, even if all he can see and feel against them is the slightly scratchy fabric of Soran's shirt. It's fine. He's totally fine like this.
He doesn't want to stand here forever, but he does.
The other option is worse.
The utter terror is choking off everything else, too. Every good thought he could have, every slightly pleasant thing he could say. There's not much time for it, but there's a lot he could get through. A simple thank-you might suffice for the majority of it, but most of all for Soran never leaving him alone. Not now, and not before.
Icarus doesn't think he could have done this alone.
That's why one other thing is coming to mind, one other big thing, but he doesn't think he can. What sort of time length has been put on these types of things, on the weight of these words? Is there one? He has no idea anymore.
He wants to, though.
Soran pulls away from him so suddenly that he reels a bit, reaching forward to grasp at his shirt again. Soran pulls further away until he's hardly holding onto him at all, glancing over his shoulder.
"There's a fucking car coming up the hill," Soran says under his breath, like he's not concerned at all. Icarus, for one, is very concerned.
And he can't fucking say it now.
The panic must be evident in his eyes when Soran turns around again, because he smiles. Icarus wishes he could do the same.
"Hey," Soran says. "Look at me."
"This whole fucking thing is awful."
"I know. You're good."
"I'm really not."
"You are," he insists, putting a hand on each side of Icarus' face. "You're good. We're good."
He can hear the car, now. Seconds until he can see it, until it can see them. And those seconds are all they have, after all of this. Everything here and it came down to this. It's just not fucking enough. The car crests the top of the hill after that; he thinks he sees the person behind the wheel look towards the edge of the bridge, just for a second...
"Hey," Soran says again, and then he kisses him, just once. A heartbeat, and that's it. "We're good."
He's not, but they are. He believes that.
And he still believes it, as Soran pulls the both of them over.
Emmi Langlois, 17
Applicant #13
Being alone is hard.
Navigating it is trickier, she thinks, when you have little practice at it. Someone like Ria, she supposes, operated that way for years and is just inherently good at it. When you spend enough time trying you acquire the ability to become practically invisible. After that it's just... easy. Minimum interference.
It's not easy for her.
She got that from her dad. Her mom was good at being alone, and liked it sometimes too. But her dad, god her dad, he hated it. He was always waiting with such a big smile on his face when she got home from school each day like he had spent every single second missing her.
She tried to find out where he is now, if he's anywhere at all. It didn't work.
So she goes to her mom instead.
They haven't been back to the Capitol for two years now. They, once upon a time, and just her now. Most of her mother's family moved out of the city once the Capitol opened its borders, and her and her father followed not long after. There's no one left here that really cares.
Just her mom, too far underground. Just her.
The cemetery lot is blissfully empty on an early Friday morning - there's a car parked near the main building, but she quickly skirts down the side path around it and deeper into the place itself, avoiding any sort of other presence entirely. She's still got the gun, the weight of it heavy along the inside pocket of the jacket she practically stole off Soran's back.
She needed it more than he did.
No one here would hear her out about that though, now would they?
She feels like a foreign being walking through this place now, like an invader. It feels like she's tainting a place that should otherwise be so holy and so peaceful, otherwise silent. Her very presence here is one big fuck you to the universe, as if she's rubbing it in their faces that they weren't able to put her here too. She's sure someone wanted to.
When she finally comes across the designated spot she foregoes the solid stone bench and skirts around the half-grown oak tree just at its side, sitting down in the grass with her legs crossed. Even though the morning itself is dim and the tree is casting plenty of shade on her, she's still just warm enough to be comfortable, and sheds the jacket onto the ground in front of her. It's just her, her mother, and a jacket and a gun lying between them.
Her mother, she thinks, would be greatly disappointed in her.
"Hi," she starts. "I would've come sooner, but y'know. Complications. I don't think anyone would have let me."
Pandora would have let her, if she had the guts to ask. Pandora would have brought her here directly.
She doesn't know why she's even bothering to tell a lie to a literal fucking metal pot in the ground filled with what may or may not be ashes. It's not like she would know if it wasn't, if someone had just tossed a handful of dirt in there and called it a day. She wouldn't have known back then and she definitely wouldn't have known now.
She reaches forward to pull away a few overhanging strands of grass, picking at them with her fingers.
"I don't get how you weren't scared," she says. "You knew you were dying and even if you were putting on a brave face for us I don't think you were really scared at all. And I'm scared. I've always been scared and I'm scared right now."
Emmi never had it in her to admit that aloud, not to anyone that felt the same way. And she knows they did.
She just doesn't know why she couldn't say it herself until now.
It does feel like she can breathe just a little easier now that she has, though. Even sitting in front of her mother's barren grave it still feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders that has been sitting there for far too long. She's allowed to be scared, and it's okay if she is. She had every reason in the world to feel that way after what's happened to her.
She's both lost and been through more than what most people do in their entire life. Her mom and dad and Arwen and the possibility of everything that could've gone right, just once. She's not ungrateful for having survived.
It just doesn't always feel like enough, is all.
"I think you would've liked her," she says to empty air. She doesn't know who she's talking to now, her mom or Arwen. Both of them, maybe. She can only dream that in another world they would have cared for each other like she cared for each of them, that she could have had a life with everything she deserved in it. A life at all, really, because the one she knows now is gone.
Or it will be, in just a minute.
She allows herself to lay down in the cool grass right alongside the headstone buried in it. The sky here isn't as clear as it was out there, not nearly as pretty. Nothing here is.
At this point she ought to be crying, and the long-dead familiar feeling of it is prickling at her eyes, but nothing is really coming out.
There's nothing to mourn, really. She's the only one left. The others, they might be gone by now. All she knows is that she has to follow and say goodbye to this, which is also coincidentally everything she's ever known.
Eight feels insignificant. Her friends, her home there - they don't deserve that. But that's the truth.
She pulls the gun free from the jacket and holds it above her, letting it dangle from two fingers. She killed someone with this thing last night; it doesn't feel heavy enough to hold that kind of power, but it does, and it will again. It's good at ending things.
Emmi looks to the side and reaches out her hand to brush along the edge of the stone, right where the engravings begin. She thinks she feels a tear slip out, just one that rolls off the edge of her face and into the grass, but that's it.
"I love you, you know that?" she asks, but there's no one to respond. It's not even just to her mom, but everyone that would know... they're all gone.
They're better off for that, if she got this for living.
She tightens her grip on the gun and turns it around. Staring down the barrel feels like a fatality in itself, a single pinpoint of darkness about to open up into a black hole.
But this is her life, and she's not letting someone else take it. It's hers, and she's the one that gets to end it.
The slide clicks when she pulls back on it and rests her finger over the trigger. Emmi takes one massive deep breath that shakes her whole body at the end of it, a really good one that lasts just long enough.
She feels alive, properly alive, for the first time in a long time, and it lasts just a second.
And it's easy enough, easier than it should be, when she pulls the trigger.
[My Happy Ending by Avril Lavigne playing, distantly]
Alternatively, mmm whatcha say. Up to you.
The Invictus AU is officially live on AO3. If you don't know what that means, you're one of the lucky ones. I made the decision to write an AU of Apocalypse Now, and this one is getting the same treatment. Should be fun.
You can find me under the same penname there - alternatively, if you're lazy like me, and want a direct link, hit me up. Or miss the fun. It's your decision.
Until next time.