Ruin Maketh Me

96 - Dusk

     Supernova.
     It bursts.
     Or is it us that bursts?
     Light - bright, pulsing, lifeless but full of breath breaks through the waves of mixed gore, and I can't see. Did I close my eyes?
     Sounds - indistinguishable, inhumane, too loud, too loud—
     I think we're all going to die.
     But there's no more pain other than the pain thrumming through my chest.
     Perhaps, we're all disintegrating into dust faster than our nerves can tell us it's wrong. I can't feel anything anymore. Not Eirwen's arms around me, not the burn of light or the chill of darkness, not the rush of air past my face, not my limbs, not my body, not the pump of blood.
     Maybe, it's ok to end it now. And maybe, just maybe, the Pit was right, I never was scared of death.
     I had been scared of something else.
     I had been scared of hurting.
     And everything had hurt then.
     Like it's hurting now, champagne bubbles blowing through the intangible centre of my being.
     So why hadn't I let myself me l  t  —
     B u t... We're flying back again, towards a center in front and below through the darkness. The fluctuations behind my eye-lids dim and slow, and all the excess sound pouring out from the pin-point to which we're flying fades away.
     Thump.
     My feet collide with something hard, and everything stands still. Trembling, my eyelids flicker open.
     There's no destruction. No broken stone or cracked floor or fractured walls crumbling around us. Everything is as it was before - the white walls, the gleaming windows, even that dent in the brick where Ralph's fists had broken through. And everyone's still alive, as I am.
     As I am.
     My feet wobble, and I fall to the side, crashing into the hard wall and Eirwen's hand. Ralph.
     Ralph, Ralph, Ralph, Ralph, where is he?
     "Ralphus!" Not mine, Julius's, the real Julius's.
     Feet forwards, pounding, hair, a flagon of night, and
     There, in the epi-center, between these two sides, he's lying on the floor. But... glorious, long white hair trails out around him like the mirror-image of sleeping beauty, and poking past his bottom lips are fangs, just as his claws are extended from his fingers.
      Shadow Ralph. But at least he's no longer that monster made out of darkness.
      "...The magic warp's disappeared." Someone says weakly, far, far away.
     My eyes can't seem to leave him.
     "Ralph." Finally, the sound breaks through my lips, "Ralph, is he, is he alright?"
     It's all your fault.
   Hands wrap around my shoulders.
    "Stay back Cynder—
    —put the demon back in his room, he needs to be seal and constantly monitored."
    "We're lucky, really lucky this time— could've been a disaster."
"Ralph."
SILENCE.
There must be something wrong with me.
My eyes, they're stuck to that point, that empty patch of floor and air, but god, I can still see him. He's still there. The flying white hair, the rage, rage, rage, rage, tears, rage, rage in his eyes, those clenched fists, droplets of red sliding down — drip, drip, drip. Dots of red that are still painted on the floor.
     "Why are you like this?"
"Let me love you as much as I want, let me give as much as I want."
"WHY are you doing this to me?"
     "When I'm with you, I feel alive again. The cold shroud is pulled away, and you bring out all the worst and best in me, even when we first met."
     "Everything was so perfect."
     "Please Cynder, I don't care if you're not mine as long as I'm yours."
     You're the one who doesn't want me anymore. You're the one who looks at me and can't help but feel disgusted even though you were the one who told me I was perfect just the selfish way I was remember you told me that you loved the way I fought forwards burning away that's what caught you the first time you looked at me
      "Cynder!"
      On stage and perhaps earlier when we were riding together on your horse back then I think I already loved you I told you about my horse didn't I the horse I bought after I crippled Jacques
      "Please, Cynder, look at me!"
      You said that you bought the worst and best in you but really you were the one who bought all the best out of me because I hated who I was even before when I was back on Earth I hated how I was even though there really wasn't anything else I could've done my mother wanted me to be a gentleman she wanted to be polite and kind and selfless and generous and she taught me how to eat with all the knives and forks and spoons and glasses and even then I disappointed her
     "Cynder."
     Slap!
     My legs stagger backwards, and I fall to the floor, pain radiating smartingly through my head as it thumps against the harsh ground. I clasp my cheek and gasp for air, tears trailing sideways across the bridge of my nose, down my face to the floor; drip. Hands hug my head and force me upright, constant streams of warmth and worry pulsing into my mind. But it's not enough. It doesn't make me feel better.
     Bright gold eyes "Sorry Cynder, you weren't responding to anything so I had to—