I was so sure that it would be enough for me to have things like this, but I can feel her ugly smugness from where she is. I should have asked Elias to kill her back then. I really thought if I came out on top that it would be the end, but even now she believes she's right. She sees me as a project gone right. She is upset that I didn't do it for the Lonely, but she is so proud, and her pride that I used to crave is a sour taste in my throat. Do I kill her? Do I end all this?

I hate myself because I am desperate to be free of her, but I feel like that alone defines me by her. There is no right answer, and there never has been. Why isn't this enough? Why can't it be enough? Why have I never been enough as I am? I always had to be something, be a part of something, make something happen. And for what? Nobody wins. This is all going to end, I can feel my end coming, and I–Should I have done things differently? What is the cost of satisfaction, or is living life just a fool's distraction? I thought I wanted this, but I can't even face my own mother. I am stronger than her. I am more powerful. I could destroy her in a moment, but I can't bring myself to.

I don't forgive her. There is no chance of that. Not after all of this, but I don't know what to do. I have never known.

Stop doing that, would you?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you."

"You're not. Stop that."

I don't know what you–his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he draws me into him. I can't think when we're this close. You would think I would be used to it by now.

You are far too much. I feel almost like I underestimated my tolerance for alcohol and drank too much too quickly. You make my head spin, do you know that? It's like the air is too thick and warm, and I can't breathe it in. I am so hot, even if I could breathe normally, I don't know that it would help. "Jon-ah," I gasp for air, "I ca–can't–" think. I…

You don't need to. Just watch.

His hand on my back anchors me to this existence. I have an overwhelming awareness of my own closeness to the Lonely even now. Despite everything, I still have that consuming influence of it forced upon me. I never wanted it, and Jonah, he is the only one that can cut through it in this way. It's strange. In an entirely cheesy and romantic way, I think we complement each other incredibly well.

Such a small connection between the two of us in this moment. I know, contrary to what you might think, we in fact are not throwing ourselves at each other. I don't particularly desire, well sex. It's never really come up in conversation with him, but I-I don't know. It's kind of awkward. I mean how do you even bring something up like that? We're in this apocalyptic scenario, I don't really think anyone is getting up in each other's business like that, especially the perpetrators of the chaos. I really. No, I don't have any desires to partake in that. I hope you don't think any less of me for it.

"Don't be ridiculous," he interrupts my thoughts. There is a warmth reserved in him for me alone, and I can see the coals of his heart that burn for me. Our connection is something that transcends that, existing on a different level altogether. As I stand here, enveloped in Jonah's presence, I realize that the only desire stirring within me is the hope that when my inevitable death comes—because it must, regardless of our circumstances—I'll still be by his side. For in his arms, amidst the tumult of our world, I find solace and a sense of belonging that I've never known elsewhere.

I observe Jon and Martin. I asked Elias earlier what he thought of their situation, he didn't. Is it possible that while I watch them, he cannot see them? A curious development of my tendency to stay hidden. His gaze remains elsewhere, wandering, ever-watching. I watch without much thought as Jon and Martin weave threads of chaos through the wreckage of our world; their figures moving amidst the chaos like shadows dancing in the flickering light of a dying fire.I suppose I just don't expect much from Jon. That seems rude of me to think, but Jon likes to think big, and he is the master of cognitive dissonance. I am surprised he has killed as many avatars as he has so far. It is truly fascinating to watch. I do not think Jonah would be much bothered with it anyway. Jon is still so far away from us.

What will I do if I am wrong about Jon? What shall I do if he seeks our ends? I don't really want to die, but if I must die, then please I cannot do so alone. No matter the result, I suppose the best move is to not make any at all. I am after all a Watcher.

Besides, a part of him has to know that this was never meant to last forever, right?

I look upon him again, pushing their journey to the back of my attention, but there nevertheless. He watches over everything that he can, and I am satisfied to simply know him. I love being here with him. He is a rising tide that sweeps me away helpless. I watch the corner of his lips curl into one of those smug smiles that he wears so well. He turns to me, catching me up in his stare, the sun. His long eyelashes flutter slowly, reminiscent of a cat's graceful movements. "As if I would be satisfied without being able to watch you as well, dear," his voice is a gentle caress, his fingers a light pressure on the small of my back.

He leans into me, pressing his forehead against mine–Wait, what are you doing? Don't let me distract you–His hand consumes mine, his slender fingers raise my finger tips to his lips. He presses a peck against my ring finger, and then drags his teeth along my index finger. "Making sure," he murmurs against my knuckles, "you know," another kiss, "I'm here," followed by more and more. He stares into me, and I cannot help the nervous gulp that slides down my throat as his eyes watch me with such greed. He presses a kiss to my lips, gorging himself with my breath. As his lips find mine, I feel a rush of electricity flooding through me, a swell of all those things I used to be afraid of now dance comfortably within me, alongside you.

A laugh bubbles up from my throat, and it's so overwhelming in such a light and cheesy way I never expected to feel. I never believed anything so wonderful could be all mine. "Would it be too tacky for me to call you mine?" I ask him.

"My Helen." Oh dear. A simple, 'No, it would not be too tacky,' would have sufficed. My heart stutters with you, even after all this time. He chuckles against my lips, pressed into me again. "Mine," he adds, his lips brushing against mine once more, sealing our connection with a whispered promise of devotion. And in that moment, I realize that being his is all I've ever wanted, all I'll ever need.