Fate

37: His Return

I have this dream where I am hitting him with an axe that weighs more than me, but in my unconsciousness even the weight of my stress is nothing but a feather. For once, he is screaming and crying for help. Just like I shriek and sob and plead, it is not me this time, it is him who wails for someone, anyone to assist him.

Still, I beat him to a bloody pulp.

And maybe halfway through the dream it becomes more to do with me killing him rather than protecting myself. 

So when I am forced out of the bitter-sweet fantasy, the fear of my becoming is what shakes me the most. 

I am just like him.

"I hate you." I mutter to no one but myself.

Possibly a day ago, Andra was taken away from me with the proposal of torture. As soon as the fowl explanation of what they would do to her escape the guard's lips, I slapped my hands over my eyes, muttering and murmuring words of comfort to myself.

"What the fuck? Shut up, you crazy bitch! Shut the fuck up!"       

They spat at me, but I blocked that out too. I didn't manage to block out the screams of Andra as she was dragged away from my cell, however.

Now, I have dissolved back into the murky darkness and silence. For a while, I suppose, I emerged. Andra and I's conversation's would fill up the space. At least for as long as I could stay awake.  I don't know when Andra slept. Or if.

At times, I can't help but wonder to myself where they are. Why aren't they here? Why haven't they saved me? 

"Because they don't care for you."

One thing I remember from that day, other than pain and fear, was breathlessness. The release of air from my lungs as the impact of the ground knocked everything I knew out of me. And not even the immense curses and yells of the Kings could shake me out of the daze. Because all I could focus on was the lack of breathe in my lungs. Then, it was the bleeding. And the pain. And the vampire. 

It's always the vampire.

My head shoots up, so fast a sharp pain emerges from the back of my neck. I hiss, before cursing myself for making a noise. Hey, what does it matter? I know he can see me anyway, especially with his sight.

I knew from the beginning.

I knew since the first time I set eyes on him.

If given the choice, Alistair Black was always going to work against me.

                                                         ✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯

He isn't alone. Someone stands behind him. I only know this because occasionally he will shuffle to shoot orders to the others, but with words I cannot understand. 

A smile builds on my face, butterflies build in my stomach until I cannot release them in any other way that a short, sharp laugh. I wonder to myself; do they know? Poor Fylo! They are the best of friends, I ponder to myself how must Fylo feel knowing his closest pal is working against his brother and his Kings? So, I cannot help but giggle quietly.

"Shut up." Alistair barks, shooting orders at me rather than the soul behind him.

"So, do they know?" I ask, bluntly, dry coughs escaping my throat. 

"Do who know?" He sounds angry.

"Do they know?" I heave myself onto all fours, holding a singular finger up to my lips as if our conversation is a deep, dark secret, "Does your best friend and his brother know? And your Kings? How about that, you rat!" I build up as much saliva as I can in my desert mouth and, like Andra, I splutter onto his boots. Falling backwards, I chuckle with malice at my own crime.