Plaything: The Final Chapter
Since the moment I awoke this morning, I have felt a hollow ache in my core.
I force a smile, though, because a frown just won't do on my sonsβ birthday.
But throughout the day, it persistently gnaws at the pit of my stomach. A feeling. One not unlike when I had questioned if Cedric was indeed my father.
βOne gift each for now, and you both can open the rest later this evening. After cake.β I spoil my boys a bit with early presents.Β
βThank you, father!β They hug me, and I hold them just a little tighter than usual, savoring the moment.Β
βMemories are all we have when the last breath comes. Make good ones, love. Ones that make you laugh, and smile.β Undertaker had said that day.Β
None the wiser, they then tear into the wrapping paper and bows.Β
Walking up the staircase, I turn and look at them once more before retiring to the master bedroom. I remember smiling and laughing like that. When my life seemed endless, too far to see. And I thought everyone I loved would live for eternity. When love was painless.Β
But that seems like a lifetime ago.
Quietly, I close the door behind me. The hidden drawer to my bureau creaks, and lay my hand on the cool wood of the velvet-lined memory box hidden within.Β
Seven years. It has been nearly seven years since I opened it.Β
Dare I look?Β
Hesitating for a moment, I then slowly lift the lid to find the bloom of the black rose has shriveled dry and brittle, dehydrated of its velvety softness.Β
Carefully, I pick it up, and a petal breaks off and flutters to the floor.Β
I step on it, and with a sad crackle, it grinds to dust beneath the toe of my shoe.
Today.
There is no question. I am going to die today.Β
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You can read this chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39778392/chapters/140141125
I have so many feelings right now. ππ
For two years I've worked on this fic- and I mean every moment of spare time I had, the files for it were open and I was glued to the screen. I poured so much of myself into this story. Pain and joy and love. But mostly pain. It's how I worked through a lot of complex emotions and trauma.
In this story, I made Undertaker the monster that tore me (Vincent) apart- but also what holds him together. Because that's what trauma does. It breaks us. It molds us. It reshapes not only how we see the world around us, but how we react to it. It becomes the familiar, poison we willfully drink because we don't know anything else.
Undertaker is Vincent's rock, as well as his ruin.
If you have not read this story, please be mindful of the tags before proceeding. It's not for the faint of heart.
Thank you to everyone who was there while I struggled to finish it between all of the ups and downs. πβ¨πβ¨π




















