The Inception (Book #1 of The Inception Trilogy)

chapter twelve

(the edit attached above is how I picture each character--who haven't all quite come in yet--or really who I think best fits the descriptions. of course you can picture any of them however you like, but here's a reference in case any of you wanted one. thank you so much for reading x)

CHAPTER TWELVE

SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHY Delia's death hits her so fiercely, so intensely that her knees buckle just when she's out of sight of the camp. Her breathing is rapid and uneven, and her hands are shaking. She tears them through her knotted hair, gritting her teeth together as if it'll put the tears at bay.

Not too long into her hysterical fit, Evelyn realizes it's not just Delia's death that's made her breakdown. It's all the deaths before hers, all the deaths that will be after hers. It's the amount of people Evelyn has seen die, good and innocent people who should've lived a long and healthy life. It's the war and the beasts and this new lifestyle where it's killed or be killed.

It's the person she never wanted to become.

She nearly left an eight year old boy behind, for heaven's sake, simply because he would've been one more mouth to feed. She nearly let Delia fall out of that tree, nearly let her die before she had even been injured.

She let her own family die.

She let them get murdered by a bunch of despicable animals out for power and control and sick amusement.

She didn't help them. She ran. She ran and ran and ran, and even though her mother had told her to, Evelyn knows she didn't mean it. No one ever wants to be left behind. It's a stupid heroic tactic. Evelyn should've stayed and found a way to save them all instead of letting them become lunch meat, or whatever it is the beasts' want from humans. Nothing she thought of sounded remotely close to merciful--or necessary.

None of this is necessary.

Not the war before the beasts, and not the war with the beasts.

She intakes a shuddering breath, using the hem of her shirt to wipe at her eyes furiously. She hasn't cried in months, yet somehow it eases her mind a bit. To let all of it out instead of bottling it up as if it doesn't bother her in the slightest.

That doesn't mean she'll cry in front of other people, though.

She makes sure all the tears have escaped her before getting to her feet, straightening her back. She lets out a deep breath and spins on her heel, walking back to the camp. She doesn't look at anyone when she breaks through the trees, however, she can feel them all looking at her.

"We need to keep moving," she says hoarsely, keeping any emotion out of her voice. She slings her pack around her shoulders.

"What about Delia?" asks Robbie between sniffles, his eyes red.

Evelyn says softly, "We don't have a way to bury her, kid."

"We can't just leave her here," he shrieks. Poppy whimpers in his arms. "What if they get to her? She deserves to sleep peacefully, Eve."

Evelyn jumps when Harry's hand falls on her shoulder, but he gives it a squeeze and walks off. She holds back a groan. "Well, we can't leave right now anyways since our only tour guide out of here just left."

"Can I look for flowers?" whispers Robbie, hugging Poppy like his life depends on it.

"Yeah," she sighs, rubbing her forehead. "But I don't think you'll find any."

He does, yet not technically flowers. They're those weeds that appear to be purple flowers, but Evelyn doesn't tell Robbie that. Let him believe they're actual flowers if it makes him happy to know Delia can rest with them.