Fate

45: Sunshine Boy

Aca's POV

Night is black. As is Day. Day is Night and Night is Day.

They are one in the same.

He has eyes of shadows and the nose of a cliff edge; sharp and hard. Lips like crimson petals, so gentle but with him they are harsh and cruel. Not an ounce of kindness escapes them. His hair is a mass of black waves, once neat and pristine. Now, unkempt and dirty. Blood cakes his fingernails, my blood. His blood. Her blood. Their blood. Maybe he likes the memory sticking to his skin like ink. Maybe once he faces the intricate richness of his washroom mirror he cannot face rinsing and ridding his hands of the power he holds. Of the angst he caused. Causes. 

Maybe you could have told me this would end. Maybe if I heard you utter those words I could have believed you. But now, I have forgotten your voice. Your smell and the way you laugh and blush. I don't know if I will ever be able to remind myself of all those things.

I don't know if I even want to remind myself.

After all, Astraea, you were the villain all along. 

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

"Who is the enemy?"

His voice is dark. Darker than it is with him. Darker than the My Night. And the Night is dark under his reign. 

Just like I have forgotten your voice, I have forgotten what it means to feel warmth. What it means to wake with the sun on your face and the mellow heat on your skin. In that moment it feels like everything can be okay, everything will be okay. 

Like a child with a new toy, you race outside and flood yourself with the greatness of a sunny day, the warmth, the joy, the freshness. It is morning. Early, so early. Before anyone is even awake. In the moment, you don't even need to be in your fur. Being in skin is enough. Running like a human is new, clean, fresh. You feel like a babe again.

The sun on your skin feels like Mother. Her arms tight and smooth against your own, her loving words like the glow of sun rays. In the sun, everything is okay.

But here it is dark.

Mother is not here, for she is dead and gone, oh so far away. And it was your hand who stole her from me. It was your hand who plunged the knife into her throat and laughed as she fell lifeless to the ground. And I, the helpless 13 year old could do nothing but watch from the stair cupboard as she collapsed at your feet. 

"She is." I gulp through the pain, the tears, the memory, "Astraea is."

Or did you? Was it your feet, caked with mud and blood and gore who kicked her limp body? Was it your legs, coated in thick, dark hair? Was it your body that was so shapeless? Could it have been a body of a woman? Your body?

"Astraea is the enemy?" My voice rises, tipping at the end into a question. Was it your hand who killed my Mother?

He tuts, gently. 

"Oh, my dear Beta. Astraea is the enemy! She is the villain! Don't you remember her nudity? Her frail, weak body in such an exposed state yet she was strong enough to murder your Mother? She must have been weak to be killed by such a little girl." His voice is teasing. He is mocking me. He is mocking my Ma!

"No! She didn't kill her, she wouldn't! She couldn't! My sister wouldn't hurt her!" Tears roll down my face.

"Your sister? How can you call a- a murderer such names? She isn't your sister, Aca!" He snarls, his voice loud and clear.