Worth The Shot

The Sacrifice

Today's fanart is  by @IreneKamodo!  I wanted to include it because they drew it of the scene that's currently happening, and I thought it would be cool to start off with that! I love the shading and the goldish glint in Camilo's eyes.

BACK TO THE STORY

You struggled to suck in air without pushing the blade deeper into your throat. When a burst of white thunder illuminated your attacker, what remained of your threadbare heart tore into shreds. It was Camilo.

"Get up," Camilo quietly rasped. Dim, yellow candlelight cast shifty shadows around the nursery. The lumpy pile of clothes on Mirabel's unmade bed menacingly lurked, a purple silhouette turned threatening. The thin, chalky candle Camilo held bleached the underside of his face with a ghoulish glow. His eyes burned gold in the darkness, trained on you with predatory calm.

Frightened, you slowly curled into a seated position and lifted your palms, moving deliberately to avoid startling Camilo into hurting you. Tense energy spiked your bloodstream. Your skin prickled, hyper-aware of the touch of fuzzy blankets against your legs, the hot summer air hissing against your hands, and the icy knife resting softly on your neck.

Camilo wielded the weapon with deceptive gentleness. It almost tickled, lightly balancing on your exposed skin. He didn't hurt you. Not yet. But the fierce determination stiffening the muscles from his shoulders to his knuckles indicated that he intended to.

"You can't kill me here," you hastily whispered, suffocating in the lonely darkness. You'd always imagined yourself dying in the sunlight. Contented, willing to release your soul with an aged smile. To peacefully slip away into a cerise sunrise. But here, in this compact bedroom, there was no delicious, warm light to welcome you into the afterlife. It was sweaty, desperate, and murky. Would Camilo's harsh face be the last one you ever spoke to?

"It has to be in the river?" Camilo gruffly asked, dragging the knife upwards against your skin to remind you of its presence. You concisely nodded. A trip to the river would buy time. Maybe you could purchase a pardon from this death sentence, too.

Camilo wrapped an arm firmly around your shoulder, pulling you out of the bed with that same gentle carefulness. Camilo set the waxy candle down, its china base settling on the desk with a muted clink. From the same desk, he lifted a thick rope in fat coils like a boa constrictor snake. It thumped to the floor by your feet.

While he aimed the knife toward your heart, Camilo made you fasten a tight knot around the bedpost and unravel the rope out the window until it dangled and bumped against the side of Casita. He angled his head, beckoning for you to climb down first.

Hope fluttered into your chest, and you braced your muscles for a final sprint. Your fingers closed around the rough burlap, and your feet slid closer toward the freedom of the grass. Moments before you could crash into the ground and madly dash for Julieta's room, Camilo must have read your mind.

"If you try to run, I'll catch you," Camilo warned, his expression distant and unreadable. "I'm faster and you know it."

"Wanna bet?" You challenged, a competitive smile playing on your lips. Camilo couldn't assert controversial statements like that and expect you to blandly agree. 

"(Y/n)," Camilo said your name in a low voice. Your playfulness sobered, vanishing like the moon. As Camilo's tall shadow slipped down the rope above you, you could hardly distinguish him from the pitch black sky. No moon guided your bare feet tonight. 

The occasional, catlike rumble of thunder calmed your agitated heart pace. You shivered at the steady pressure of Camilo's hand on the small of your back. It felt wrong, Camilo behaving as your kind shepherd, when his intentions were anything but safe. 

As you approached the river, claws of panic seized your chest. An electric, is-this-really-happening feeling sickened you. With every reluctant step, you reeled in an imminent, watery death. 

"Here we are," Camilo announced, swallowing hard. Careful not to hurt you, Camilo forced you to wade knee-deep into the river with him. The frigid waves churned and foamed, licking up your legs greedily. Camilo blinked hard at you, droplets flicking into his thick eyelashes. In that single moment, where his hazel eyes danced in yours, you desperately tried to transmit a million starry skies, a million fears, and a million lifetimes of love. 

The dark confidence had rolled off of Camilo, melting away into the river. The dangerous hand angling the sharp blade at your neck trembled. His eyebrows still tightened in a menacing frown, but gazing into his eyes, you knew he was cold scared. 

"I'm sorry," Camilo whimpered, his nose grazing your cheek as he stepped closer to aim the blade for your heart. Even through your clothes, you felt it's cruel tip lock on your chest. His breath hitched, fluttering against your ear. His free hand shakily clutched your shoulder.

"I love you," you breathed, forcing your eyes closed. You inhaled the sweet smell of incoming rain. Soothingly, distant thunder rolled above the clear twinkling of the river. Strange how in death, even a storm could seem calm. 

"I know," Camilo sadly responded, and with clarity burning in his eyes, he turned the blade on himself and stabbed.