WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 14 | MORI KNOWS (NOTHING?)

[WILLIAM]

⑅

WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING.

I repeat that in my head, and it's far from a question. What the hell am I doing. I know what I've done, what I let myself feel, and now I've let myself become blind to everything I've done to get here.

The image of her is painted on my mind and I can't wash it off. I can't erase the feeling of her hand on my cheek, the feeling of her, even as I stalk through the bustling crowd of a waking Paris. She won't go away, just like the stubborn personality she has.

I have to see Mori Fauna-Blanc. I focus on the idea of interrogating them, because my stomach is churning with guilt for leaving Lovey behind. My subconscious is screaming that it was a mistake, but I rationalize with myself. If I stayed with her a second longer, my control would have run out.

She doesn't know what she wants, but I know it can't be me. She's mistaking last night for a feeling that doesn't exist. Kent screwed her over, and she's not in the state to be making rational decisions. If she was, she'd know to keep her distance from me. I should have known to keep my distance from her.

But there's something about her. I can't help but want to talk to her, argue with her, walk beside her, and take every interaction I could possibly have.

Why can't I hate her anymore?

Hell, have I ever?

She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into with me. She doesn't know anything about what I've been through, who I work for, and what this suffocating parasite of a job has led me to become. A part of me wonders if I could have been with her if I hadn't chosen this path. The person I used to be might be able to lov—

No.

See her freely. Without the restraints holding me back.

I can't remember who I used to be; all I know is that he was weak, naive, and too willing to sign his life away for respect. But what is respect compared to her? She'd made me drift further and further away from my job, just by being in her presence.

Turning the corner, I narrowly avoided crashing into a woman and her stroller. The baby started whining. The woman started swearing at me. I kept moving.

Fauna-Blanc's apartment was across the Seine from the hideout, so it took a while before I made it to the building's front door. It had been merely days since Lovey and I had last been here, but yet life seemed to be continuing as normal. There was no trace of violence left.

As I slipped through the lobby, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the gold-framed mirrors. It was barely a second, but it burned a hole through my stomach. When did I let myself feel? I shouldn't be feeling all these emotions, but they've been running wild in my mind ever since I met her. I can't suppress them anymore.

All of a sudden, I remembered what she had said. "Every time you kill someone, I want you to look in the mirror, and point out as many things about yourself as you can. Things that make you feel normal."

I remember my skepticism. "Am I not?"

"I only want you to see yourself as you. Not a killer."

Not a killer. That's who she thinks I am, but she's wrong. I am a killer. Nothing I can do will wash the blood off my hands.

I stop, walking back until I see my reflection again. She said doing this would make her happy. If I can't give her happiness any other way, I might as well do this one thing. No matter how vain it made me feel.