The Heart Of Asariel

13 || Evil

The time in which Micah lay there, shivering in the half-darkness, only his own noisy panting for company, might as well have been an eternity. Even if his limbs weren't still moulded into rubber, he wouldn't have been able to bring himself to move. The only way to go was after Corinne, and he couldn't follow her. Not any longer.

He was choking and drowning still, undeserved fear chaining him in place. He hated it. He hated how much of him chilled merely at the echoing memory of her voice.

His breathing evened, but his throat continued to ache. The ghost of her hands must have lingered there, wrapping around a noose formed of her rage. That was deserved. How had he ever convinced himself that it was right to use her like this? Had he really been so sure that humans were nothing more than mindless animals, requiring bait to tease them along into doing his bidding? The very thought made him cringe. He should never have lied to her. He should have appealed to her kindness, and they would have done this together, always knowing the way they'd part.

Or he should have left her that very first night, gathered the strength to do this himself, and never dragged her into this at all.

His wings curled over him. He huddled into them, in need of their soft warmth as a sob wrestled its way to the surface. If he were being truly honest, he should never have stolen the Heart in the first place, although that fact had been obvious since the start. Then his and Corinne's paths would never have needed to cross. He never would have messed up and ruined everything between them.

Tears dripped down his face, dappling the floorboards. He didn't try to stop them. If only I wasn't such a selfish idiot.

Even now, he lay wallowing in his own suffering, making no attempt to mend the mistake he'd made. Biting his teeth together, he fumbled for a grip on the floorboards. His damp palms slid over them, but somehow he managed to ease himself upright, heel wedging into a groove to hold him steady, his wings flicking out in a shaky balance.

They collided with a box. It tipped over, its contents clattering to the floor before he could even think to twist and catch it. The loud noise seemed to cut a crevice through the air. He winced, alarm jolting through his veins and wrenching his gaze to the door.

No-one appeared. Corinne was gone.

Would Lilith and Rivo follow her? He guessed so. They'd been her friends and allies long before he arrived. Besides, he doubted they'd pass up the chance to be in possession of Asariel's Heart.

Micah's wings folded around him as if he could somehow become lost in them, let them swallow him until reality faded, futile as it was. The truth remained. Without the Heart's power, Elysia would disappear soon enough. Everyone he'd grown up alongside would die. Would he fade as well? Or would he remain, bound to Duine instead, cursed to wander lost and alone until someone was kind enough to put a bullet in his heart?

Listen to you. He curled into a tighter ball, shielding his face with his arms as another sob rattled through him. Still thinking about yourself. It kept circling back, no matter how hard he tried: that looming concept of his own doom. Perhaps he truly was destined to be this way forever.

In another aspect, this could well be for the best. There was no better human to protect the Heart than Corinne. She could extract the magic she wanted, use it to heal this city of its darkness, and he would get what he deserved.

It was for the best. He wanted her to be happy, didn't he? Wasn't that more important than his own useless, insignificant life, the trouble he filled the void with?

Still, some thread of hope tugged his head up, swiped his hand across his eyes in a haphazard attempt to rid himself of tears. He couldn't stay here. He needed to find Corinne, even if it was simply to apologise one last time before he died. Or to see her eyes again, plead for a final glimpse of a smile, if he listened to the selfish desires coiled somewhere deeper.