'The end of confession is to tell the truth to and for oneself,' - J.M. Coetzee.
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A SMALL SMILE escapes me by seeing Xavier carry an expression of serenity in his sleep, before softly closing the door into the bedroom and tiptoe my way down the hall.
The narrow hallway is gingerly illuminated by the moon outside and I catch a glimpse of the ascending full moon.
I can't explain exactly why it continues to pull me out of bed, but it does.
For as long as I can remember I've always been fascinated with the moon's travel to the alignment. To watch it travel so close only to realize it won't get there within the same darkness, but has to wait yet another day to execute it with pure precision is a mystery of its own. Even more so that it does so persistently but with no complaint.
I head for the outside like all those times before, but a voice stops me from reaching my goal.
"Still?" Emory's voice carries softly into the hallway, and I stop outside of the door which has been left ajar, but still with enough width for Emory to see me halt.
"You're awake." I don't know what else to say, as I cast my eyes downwards from seeing how his eyes are slowly gaining their glow from the mid cycle moonlight.
I don't think his next words are meant for me to hear, but yet his murmur is carried out to me, and I can't help but turn slightly away, with a hand shielding my neck, and I stare out at the moon through the small window for a moment.
"I thought you turned your back on the moon."
"I never turned my back on the moon, I turned my back on—" I can't get myself to finish.
"On us, on me," Emory tries to finish which has me looking back at him with surprise.
"I never... I said no to coercion. I never said no to you, but you sentenced me to a life of punishment, of abandonment," The last words swim in bitterness coating my tongue along with them, and I hold my breath to make sure a sob won't escape me this time.
Lunar Noctis has already taken too much from me and I can't let them have any more of my tears.
"You chose him over us," He asserts with the same blank authority that continues to haunt my dreams, and I cross over the threshold into the shadows of his room in pure vexation.
"You forced me to choose by tying my hands," I wring my hands at him like they're still bearing marks of the chains I keep imagining they forged since the day I was born, tethering me to them without caring for me as an individual.
"You make it sound like a prison."
I look at him, needing him to realize just how much that statement is true, "To me it was," I whisper, hearing my words ring with honesty, "The rules were my prison and the executioners my wardens."
