strained roar | self para
Cold, burning light. Light that didn't reach the corners of the rooms, traveled at a snail's pace and shrouded the room in darkness when no one was there to bear witness.
She was there. It didn't make sense, but she was here, and suddenly it felt like he had entered a vacuum, and everything was so, so heavy.
He learned then that the universe would always get its way. It gave no regard to whether he or anyone there wanted to be alive or not, if they were okay with what should have been the impossible. And even though he wasn't the only one, he felt so alone in that fact, so isolated. When he woke up, there was no one who had meant anything to him in a past life, and now, with the silhouette of North giving her last fight that had been burned into the back of his mind, he wished he would have savored being alone. Being alone was better than whatever hell this was.
The sword in her hand refracted light from seemingly nowhere, bringing him back to the finale of his games, the pain that came with it was almost expected. He had been staring, unable to look away until he felt his stomach turn like spin cycle, forcing him to turn away to empty his stomach next to a nearby tree, the bile clinging to his lips, Lionel unable to wipe them clean.
Why did it have to be her?
He pulled himself from against the tree with a huff and turned away from North, hoping to make a lucky escape, but instead she was standing right a few feet ahead of him, slightly obscured by the trees.
He felt his head pound at the sight of her sword again, and suddenly it felt like his victory was right in front of his hands, if he could only fight back. The sickle in his hands felt like some sort of taunt, like North was taking revenge. It was her turn to win. It already felt like she did, like she planted her sword in his skull this time.
He stumbled his way through the woods to try and escape, running as fast as he could. Even if it was all just a vision, his choking breath felt more like blood running down from the blade, and pouring down his throat relentlessly.
Somehow, he escaped the woods, but now he was stuck like this, with the sword that wouldn't be twisted, no, he'd have to live with it — just like he did before.
I have to say goodbye.
