New End

Blade grabbed the knife, ignoring the squeeze of the collar on her neck, the voice of Lucien in her head, and sliced down across her arm.

Obey! You were told not to touch weapons!

Pain burned immediately but that was okay, in fact, that was good, that meant she was going deep enough, deep enough to slice apart those veins, tear open those arteries. Deep enough to scar.

Obey! You must not carry a blade! You mustobey!

Curses moved over her lips and she no longer cared who heard them. She didn't have time, she was running out of time!

Her book was gone, her only vent, her only link to the outside world, a world beyond this hell, her home.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

Put down the knife!

No! No she couldn't! She wouldn't listen!

Another slice. The word was starting to take shape. The more pain she caused, the deeper she forced in the blade, the better it was, the more the lines took shape, the more familiar they started to look.

Her head felt like it was going to break, Lucien's voice screaming through her, louder and more demanding than she had ever heard it before, ordering her to obey him.

Next letter. Blood spilled fresh as she cut into fresh new skin. She was so close. She felt the collar squeezing so tight she couldn't breathe, but she kept going, faster, knowing she didn't have long before she blacked out.

Her arm slipped on the bloody table, and she moved it back, quickly, finishing off the last curve, the last letter. She finished just in time. She couldn't hold on for any longer. She collapsed.


The Commandant found her around an hour later, face down in a pool of drying blood. He looked at her for a second, thoughtfully, and then moved over to her, putting out a hand to check her life signs. She was breathing. Her heart was still beating, just. Her pulse was weak and thready in her neck.

He gave a sharp command to the guard behind him to fetch the doctor, and then took a chair, moving it to beside her. He watched her for a moment, and then tilted her head slightly to one side, gently. Her face was covered in blood, the thick red liquid smeared over her lips. But there was no sign of lesion. He glanced down, finding the source of the blood. Deep, long cuts spread along her arm, though, oddly, not near her wrist as he would have expected from an attempted suicide.

He lifted her head, sliding out her arm from underneath her. He took a bed sheet from the floor and wiped at the blood, rubbing some off. He kept doing so until all the wounds were exposed.

His eyebrow raised and he gave a small, grim smile. He was unsurprised. Embedded in her flesh, cut deep, was the word 'Rose'.