Nocte Yin: Anti-Villain, Anti-Hero and Anti-Everything Else

Chapter Eight

“I-I,” flustered Marie.

Nocte lowered her gaze and swallowed hard.

She was tired, so tired, of thinking, of believing, that finally, just finally, it was all over, only to find, to discover, that it wasn’t. Because as sure as the sun rose and the moon set, and the moon rose and the sun set, it was never over. Because as sure as the wood fed the fire, and fire created the earth, and the earth bore the metal, and the metal carried the water, and the water nourished the wood, it was never ending. Because just like the wheel, just like the globe; the continuity of all this bullshit would always be just that – bullshit.

Perhaps that was why she yearned for, wanted so badly for, Laurel Tree. Because Laurel Tree represented that content life – that pastoral life as a shepherd on a green hill, under a blue sky and a soft, gentle wind, never reprimanding, never demanding, only reassuring. Perhaps Nocte could be the Amaryllis to her sheep. Perhaps Nocte could be the female Endymion to the male Selene. Perhaps Nocte could be someone other than Nocte, someone new and unhindered by the lines of Fate and the chains of blood.

That was why she desired Laurel Tree. There were no surprises, no shocks, no upsetting, no sudden call for arms, raising of banners and the death of men twice over. There was only waking when the stars were waving goodbye. There was only walking among flourishing rice fields when the clouds swooned above. There was only the company of honest, hard-working men and women when night lay thick like a blanket over them. There was only peace and quiet and the comfort of knowing that home was this uninterrupted, constant, simple happiness of food on the table, a bed to sleep in and laughter to be had.

No death. No darkness. No letters that made her cry.

No sudden heroes or heroines pounding on the doors of the “secret” lair.

So Nocte didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think twice. She didn’t make an ass out of you and me. She didn’t say it gently. She didn’t say it harshly either. She just said it. This time, instead of catching on to the bullshit, she’d let the bullshit catch up to her.

Because she wasn’t going to play anymore. And why should she? Had she not already farmed enough? Had she not already found the best weapons and armour? Had she not already hit the highest level? Had she not already ran out of extra lives? Because she felt like she had only one left, and she didn’t feel like screwing around with it to see if she could get to the bonus level.

Bonus levels were suicide.

That was why she had said what she said. She hoped that the shock value alone would be enough to make Marie finally realize how wrong she was, how impossible her goals were. But Nocte knew that there was no saving her, because Marie didn’t know what saving meant, what being saved meant. And that was where they differed when they were so alike: the kindness, the smiles, the belief that the other would do the right thing. The belief that people were inherently good, and Nocte wanted to believe, did believe, that all were inherently good, and only by some abnormal circumstance, one tragic event, one stumble or a hit on the head, did a person become bad.

That was why Nocte wanted to believe that Marie would do the right thing. To give back what was Nocte’s, because thievery and blackmail should not be in Marie’s genetic makeup – in anyone’s genetic makeup.

Evil could only be taught – it had to be.

“W-We have them,” Marie stumbled, flushed and breathless.

Nocte straightened, gathering her various, fluttering thoughts, and met the woman in the eyes again, this time not daringto break eye-contact. In a firm, distinct, no nonsense tone, she asked, “May I have them back, please?”