#post-execution

“Milord.” A young fledgling spoke, lowering deep in the sign of apologetic approval. Rahab did not bare him a look, the growing Primarch of the Fourth Clan flicked a talon of a scaled fist to allow him rise. The fledgling looked up but eyes remained cast to the foot of his master’s onyx-carved sedan, lingering training from his Aquarius training. “It is of the Queen.”

The bestial face, barely of a man anymore, moved slightly. The tiniest show of serrated teeth bared like a tested wolf. The electric blue eyes flexed at their black pupils. “Yes?”

The black night gave nothing but the steps of his escort marching of a sixty praetorian knights and Cove Mariners, dressed of sculpted platemail and decorated scalemail over skin-tight suits, following the Imperial Road for the Razielim Cross.

“I-...” The young vampire started, suddenly feeling the dangerous pressure grasping his neck but he spoke in goodwill. “Is our Queen well?” Rahab’s third eyelid blinked, his controlled voice soft yet the power within rolled like a clap of distant thunder. “Well?” The robed lord’s muscles flexed for the first time since leaving the palace at the flamboyant fall of the sun at the eastern horizon. The Aquarius nodded, his voice remaining hushed for this privacy. 

“Yes, milord. I’ve noticed her face has...” There was a pause, unable to find words that didn’t sound like a blatant insult before using another approach. “Has she been blighted by the Melchahim scorn again?” The silence was harsh and slow to drag. Finally, Rahab rested his leathery palm upon his son’s head. It calmed the vampire to a low bow that nearly touched brow and nose to the floor in deepest submission.

“It is the Gift taking and breaking her human appearance,” Rahab answered, brushing under his hood to the maw underneath. “Do not fear. The blood of Vorador - the Scourge of the Conspirators’ Circle and First Hero - run in her veins.”

Maybe you’ve already look away from the corpse.

Maybe you sit there, transfixed.

Maybe you’re finally feeling -- in the pit of your stomach, in a chill that reaches from your bones to the hairs on your skin -- that something here is terribly, achingly wrong -- that maybe before, when it was just an owl forcing you to do things -- excusable in the sense that he didn’t control you; excusable in the fact that no one had forced ORWELL or IVEY to kill--

...Maybe it was that, before, the owl seemed almost as if he was in on a game -- a little bit of punishment here, a little bit there--

But never--

But never like this.

But soon it doesn’t matter.

And Gambit shakes his head -- leaping from his throne to fly around the table:

“Do you see the kind of world we live in now, my gentlecreatures?  For I, too, have rules I must abide.”

Slowly, he dips.

And your table begins to descend as well.

Rita’s corpse still hanging -- well above you, now.

(Will it stay...?)

“Of course, you did find them -- so there’s no reason to punish you for your conduct... but that was still... besides those three of you... what an exercise of mischaracterization!  I feel I must remind you:  I did this because to reward you with those items would be too great a cost for me to bear; if I didn’t need them dead, myself, you would have not impressed me then....”

Though he does seem to hang in the air a moment, as if in thought:

“...Of course, I suppose when you’re blindly accusing and attempting to figure things out... with no recourse for how right or wrong you may be... it does make the whole process a bit of divination to even hit... one thing right....”

And another, longer pause.

Before he says, almost to himself:

“...And I suppose that they had never... had much luck... in not mistrialing either.... Perhaps it’s a common thread....”

....

“...So!  I am decided.  As it would be somewhat novel for me to see people solve much of anything, how about I rule more in your favor?  That is to say... midtrial, I will always report to you just how close you are to each element?  Surely that would be great fun!”

....

And the table settles back in its usual place again -- the gates of the Casino lowering.

“...I will prepare for it next time, my friends.  As always... do remember, you have two killers in your midst... and from the looks of it....”

....

...When the image fades -- for you realize, now, you had been watching through an illusion; unable to look away, a bird’s eye view on BOOTS -- or rather, Rita -- until their final moments....

...your eyes incapable of seeing  the people around you, almost as if trapped in a VR headseat--

....

Perhaps, when you finally come to your senses and see truly again, you think you’ll see her.  Sitting in her chair, maybe a little bit worse for wear -- but IVEY, PIP, TIME -- none of them had ever--

....

But her chair remains empty.

There’s a long lull, as GAMBIT ruffles his feathers -- no one is speaking, nothing is moving -- it’s as if you can’t, really--

Until--

You hear a clattering noise -- like the noise of a trap door --

And--

From the ceiling comes--

Hanging from a chain--

The silent elevator ride up was gruelling. Painful. It allowed everyone to reflect on what had just happened. Not only did Monomi get executed unjustly, the trial was unforgiving. Stressful. The conclusion everyone had come to was a desperate stretch; nobody was certain that what they agreed on was actually what happened. They were forced to vote without some solid foundation to vote on. Everyone was panicking. Even Nao, who was usually so collected, found himself screaming in desperation. That was something he never expected to show anyone. To top it all off, their guess was correct; Eri had actually committed suicide. That realization wasn’t easy to learn. 

As soon as the elevator door opened, Nao stormed out with a brisk walk and found his way over to the Darkroom, ignoring any attempts from others to stop him. He closed the door behind him and sat alone in the dark corner of the Darkroom. Strange. Not only did he show signs of panic earlier, but he was acting on emotion even now. He never felt that strongly, and he never felt strong emotions for that long, either, even if not much time had passed since the trial’s finale. The boy raised his hand to his chest. His heart was pounding. His breathing was out of control. Eri... The poet was getting through to her. He could feel that he was changing her, and yet, she went and gave in to despair. 

Nao stood at his podium, looking down at the floor. His eyes were shadowed over by his white hair. That... This... This was so surreal. This couldn’t really be happening, right? Not long ago, he was sitting comfortably at home, but now he’s trapped in this place with some strangers that are his supposed classmates, fearing for his life. Why was this happening? And why did Yoshi have to be the killer and be executed? She was a fellow artist, and he respected her. Bianca... Nao didn’t really know her, so he didn’t care as much there, but just the fact that someone he was essentially living with now was dead, was a heavy weight on his fallen shoulders.

Suzume watched the execution and ensuing reactions numbly, feeling as though she were a hundred miles away from it all. This was all so wrong. It was so wrong and she was so unsurprised. 

She wanted to go to Eri, but what could she do? Hug her, tell her that everything was going to be alright, that nobody would kill anybody else, that they were all going to hold hangs and sing ring around the fucking rosie until a magical door opened up and let them all out of here? That was a goddamn lie. It had been a goddamn lie the first time she said it and by now Eri must realize how pathetic it was. 

You give a person a chance, you let yourself believe in them, and what do they give you in return? They betray you. They mess with a crime scene because it's funny. They fucking beat you to death while you scream and cry for them to stop. People are worthless, they are selfish, they will always surprise you in the very worst way.

The world would be better off without them.

She trudged back to her room and changed into her pajamas, feeling strangely disconnected from her own body. 

She stared at her typewriter for a while, but she didn't feel like writing. What good would it do? It wasn't like she was leaving this place. None of them were. They might think they were, but the next time Monobear dangled a carrot over their heads they would tear one another apart like animals. Someone would kill her and the bear would burn the pages she'd written anyway. It was worthless, all of it, just like everything else she'd done since she came here. Just like everything she'd ever done.

You can try to help people but you can never change them, and you can never help anyone enough to save them - from one another, from themselves. It doesn't matter if it's out there or in here. Corruption is a hydra; you cut off one head and two more appear to take its place.

She'd never felt more defeated and helpless in her life. This place was breaking her slowly but surely, taking her ability to trust and love and hope and grinding it into the dirt. 

--well, not quite.

There was one person she loved and trusted unconditionally.

(that's how eri felt about mien you stupid bitch)

A few moments later, she knocked on his door with a trembling hand.