Epilogue
Erik awoke from his stupor by the time they arrived home. Without a word, he slunk to the confines of his room.
It's over. We lost.
He became angry and sad all at once and began trashing the room.
Angel doesn't know you anymore. She doesn't know any of us anymore. We don't exist to her anymore.
He yanked the sheets off the bed, tossing them off to the side, and launched the desk chair at the lamp on the bedside table.
I should have never let that bastard dance with her—even if I didn't know it was Reece! I handed her over to him…just like that.
Erik turned his anger on the violin and smashed it to pieces against the wall. He knew it was useless to even ponder the notion that he could get her back.
I'm sorry, Angel.
The piece he wrote for her was his next target.
I let you down.
Page by page he turned his work into confetti.
I failed you.
And then in the center of his destruction, he fell to his knees and fiercely cried his heart out. He had sworn to her that he wouldn't let that bastard get her. He exclaimed it so much—to himself, to her, to her Guardians—that he began believing that losing her would NEVER happen. Erik realized too late that even a disfigured mortal was foolish to ever have a chance against an ancient prophecy. He was slightly aware that Marie was now trying to comfort him, trying to make him realize that he was loved, that he at least had her for a short while. But a short while wasn't good enough for him. He wanted her for the rest of his life. That will never happen now. He was, is, and always will be a lonely monster. And that in itself…is a prophetic tragedy.
THE END
(for now)