i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. iβm going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me
3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we havenβt seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that thereβs no precedent that theyβre coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much theyβre willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone elseβ i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.
Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isnβt an option. and all of a sudden itβs not a war, itβs a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thingβ not get away from my king, my husband, my chargeβ just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.
Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you loveβ just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lostβ no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, iβm not ready, iβm so sorryβ
Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all thatβs left for usβ tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? weβll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isnβt a thing left by the end thatβs not rubble. weβre all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, whatβs the point in pretending they donβt take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grianβs face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.
Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. itβs so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that donβt fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignoreβ distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house youβve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god itβs almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when youβre going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest wayβ sure youβve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, theyβre all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. itβs still a game, after all. theyβve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.
jbbartram-illu
2087
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