With those first sweet notes I come alive. I play that song for you, and your eyes glisten. You don't have to say it. I read it on your face. How much you love me, how willing you've been to accept the darker corners of my shattered mind.
I've told you so many times that I cannot be fixed. That Amélie is dead and all that remains is the Widowmaker. But what I don't tell you, what I can't put to words is how wrong that is. I am Amélie, and I am not. I am the Widowmaker, and I am not. I am killer. Assassin. Murderer. And yet you love that part of me too.
That day, when I stepped into your room, was the first choice I'd made for myself in years. I danced on a tightrope and you caught me when I fell.
With no other way to thank you, to say the words you long for me to say, I tell you with my music, your name drawn across the strings of the cello. I love you, it says. I need you.
Tears burn down my cheeks. Music is healing, it rings through my mind and crashes against the discordance inside. I will never be okay, I will never be cured, but I lost you, I almost lost you and I know how much it would set me back if you died. I will never be intact, but perhaps that is okay.
But it makes you dangerous and the spider tries one last time to tell me to snuff you out. Kill her. You don't need her.
The last note hangs in the air and I ignore that voice. That is free will. I reach for you. You take my hand, stilling the shaking. You cup my face and kiss me and I respond greedily. I need you, I need all of you and the only thing that stops me is my hand touching that blasted harness. You're gone, I see you flash out of my vision but when I blink you're still there.
"What is it, luv?" You ask, not letting go of me. As if you were never going to let go. Not now. Not ever. I cling to that thought.
And I stare at you, the heat between us building before something snaps and I pin you to the nearest surface. The piano's keys clang loudly, filling the room. You stare at me, and gently, I take your hands and put them on my body.
"Are you sure?"
"Oui."
This is how the Widowmaker dies. Chipped away, bit by bit until someone else remains. I do not know who she is, but as your hands and mouth roam my body, I am eager to find out.