[Shilukk]

The Sister.

"Fuel, for my fire." I say, holding her by the neck. My hands aflame.
"Just like your brother."
A sick smile takes me. Telling of how far I've gone.

"Shall I send you to him?"

A horrid inferno for all to see. Skin, flesh, bone; all burned to ash. Scattered to the dull wind between their trees.

I burn a girl alive in Moxtli square.

The knight stands. And tells me that this sacrifice to the gods was wrong.
I turn my sick smile his way, and laugh.
"Gods?" I whisper, narrowly avoiding a blade aimed to split me in half. Flame and ash spiral in the wind.
He does not understand the depth of my depravity.
"No, no, you've got it wrong."
"I don't know what spirits they pray to. And I don't know what gods you have in Osrona."
"All I know is that none of them would have saved her from me."

"This was not a sacrifice. It was a murder. Please prosecute me on these grounds, instead."

He strikes me down.

But he knows how close it came.

The damage I could do.

And that he was lucky I'd suffered from more than just his hand, that day.

If I won, I might have killed him.

What an issue, I am.



I love it.



She never should have taken the shot. Never should have tried.
She really did die because she took my money. All she did was make it look better for me.
Because of our feud. Because she tried to kill me. Because of my burns, my bullet-wounds. Because of the threat on my life.
They all think I've so many reasons to burn her alive.
They don't know it was all because of the first time we met. All because she cut my purse. She would have been ash at my feet if she'd missed that day, you know.
A shame she lived so long. Given a false sense of hope. Thinking she would ever avenge her brother.
Now she's reunited with him.
In that place they call, 'Hel'.
I told you, you know. Every single one of you.
That you would suffer less there than when my hands are around your throat. I would tell you all to ask Janet how it felt when you see her in Hel, but I'll have to send you all there first.
And by that point, you'll already know. That, or worse.
Pray you all die as quickly as she did.
My patience is starting to wear thin.



And yet this, too, fades.
I don't understand why.
A pest. An obstacle. In my way. I feel alive as I rip her life away.
And yet I lay here, in this bed.
In a bed Reynaud moved into his room for me, as he sits at the desk behind me.
And I bite back, of all things, tears.

I hear his footsteps. Every breath he takes. And I feel him pull the blanket, and tuck me in. Of all things, tuck me in.
And I lay there as he leaves.

And I start to cry.

Of all people, of all times.
He knows what I did. He watched me do it.

Watched me burn her alive.
Watched me taunt the knight.
He has to know I'm sick in the head.

And yet he tucks me in.

And says goodnight.

And I start to cry.

Because I don't want to do it again.
But I know I'm going to.
And it's going to hurt when it's gone.
When he's gone.
Or when I'm gone.
But I'm already on the path, and my heart won't let me leave.
Whatever vague mockery of one still beats in my chest.



I replay it all in my head. Over and over.
Wings of fire sprout from my back as I turn the sister to ash.
My hysterical laughter, muffled by the flame.
Until nothing remains but ash.

And now I lay here, in bed.
In a bed, someone went out of their way to give to me.
A bed someone put in their own room, for me.
A bed made, for me.

And I am tucked in, and told goodnight.

The lights disappear. His footsteps fade.
I stare despondently at the wall before me.



And I start to cry.