“Please kill me.”

For the first time in years, she spoke the truth. All these years, everything she’s said has been “Remina’s” words; the words that she needed to say to get what she wanted. And, for the first time since she was a child, she spoke her own words.

They were three simple words, spoken in a weak voice that hadn’t said anything for decades. The mere words of a girl who couldn’t even remember the name she used to have.

...She was tired. If everything was going to shit anyways, she might as well end it sooner rather than later.

Remina had been complacent. She took comfort in the fact that Kalaman was invincible. As long as he remained that way, Remina could just live life as she always did. She could be as lazy as she wanted since she had the perfect excuse. “I’m biding my time”. “I’m laying low for now”. “I’m waiting for my chance”.

She never expected that chance to show itself at all. But by that point, she had already eroded away. And this was the result: dead ends on every path. Either the party would kill her, the explosion would kill her, or her employers would kill her. She wasn’t going to win. She never has, and she never will.

In response to her request, Nentonia stayed silent for a while.

The moment continued on like that for a few seconds.

Then, she finally spoke.

“Can I tell you a little story about myself?” she asked.

“...Sure. Why not.” Remina’s fate was already sealed, so she’d lose nothing by listening. She knew that she was making an unreasonable demand anyways, so it was the least she could do.

Nentonia breathed in as if to prepare herself, and began her tale. “I’m not sure if I ever told you this, but I was born in an orphanage.”

Remina already knew that. The orphans of Helm to the west were often raised to become priestesses, and “Brava” was the surname that was given to them.

“I didn’t have many friends growing up,” Nentonia continued. “I never really fit in with everyone else there. Different strokes for different folks, as they say. But it wasn’t that I didn’t have any, no. I had one friend. Just one. She also didn’t fit in, so it figured that we’d hang around each other a lot, no?”

Nentonia suddenly reached out and held Remina’s right hand, interlocking one hand’s fingers with hers, and gently caressing them with the other. Nentonia’s eyes were just staring at them, all while a subtle but unnatural smile was on her face.

“Her name was Jaysie. She was around my age, and we had a lot in common. The two of us were at the orphanage since we were born. She liked reading books as much as I did, and the two of us would reach each other stories about heroes. We’d take turns, and with each new story, we’d increasingly get more and more dramatic. We’d also play pranks on the sisters and the other children, though we did tend to go too far at times. Mostly me, though. Jaysie would scold me a lot.”

Then, she tightened her grip on Remina’s pinky. It wasn’t the kind of tightening that was endearing. It was starting to sting a bit.

“Jaysie died when we were fifteen. After that, I left the orphanage, and I’ve been on my own since then. I learned some basic spells when I was still a priestess-in-training, so I studied more on it until I learned some healing spells. The heroes from those stories were always so admirable to me, so I decided to become an adventurer myself.”

Nentonia began to raise Remina’s pinky until it couldn’t be raised anymore. She could feel the strain on her knuckle. She tried to pull her hand free, but Nentonia’s fingers interlocking her hers made for a secure hold. She tried to use her knees to kick Nentonia’s arm away, but to no avail. Her body was already too damaged to make a difference.

“I joined a party before if you didn’t know. They called themselves the Black Crayons. I never really understood what that meant, but I thought it was cute. We went on a few adventures, but I didn’t stay long. They kicked me out, and I was all alone again. Then, Kalaman recruited me, and I joined this party and met you.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

But Nentonia didn’t stop. She kept trying to bend the finger backwards. The strain very quickly turned to agony as the skin between her pinky and ring finger began to tear.

Remina’s voice was so weak by this point that she couldn’t even muster the strength to scream. All she could do was writhe and whimper on the bed. She kicked the sheets that covered her off as her body tried to cope with the pain.

“You know, Rem, I do consider you a friend. I really do.” Her voice was much softer now. Quieter, yet at the same time, clearer. Her words tickled Remina’s ears, sending shivers across her bones. “Joining this party was fun. You and Kalaman taught me so many new things. I really love you guys. So even if you were lying earlier, Rem, I’m still glad you consider me a friend too.”

Crack.

Her pinky snapped into an impossible position, bending backwards to almost touch the base of her wrist.

Remina screamed, but it quickly faded into sharp breaths. She had no idea what was going on. Why was Nentonia doing this?

She glanced at her face, wanting to understand her actions. Anger, frustration, vindication ... anything.

Yet on Nentonia’s face was a smile. Not the same one she wore during the time they spent together; not a practiced, polite smile, but a wide, almost childish grin. It was the most genuine expression Nentonia’s ever shown.

Remina’s body was warmed by the pain of her wounds, and was chilled by fear. She started having cold sweats, and hear breathing got heavier and heavier.

She was terrified.

Slowly, Nentonia turned to her, those yellow eyes seeping into her mind.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Nentonia leaned in and kissed Remina’s forehead as gently as she could. Then, she whispered, “but if I did, it wouldn’t be the first time I killed a friend.”

She leaned back and smiled so purely, so innocently, that you wouldn’t think of her as anything but a regular girl. “We both have that in common, don’t we?” she said in a tone befitting her appearance.

Remina froze. She tried to say something, but no words would come out. Those gears in her head wouldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She didn’t know what to think.

All that remained inside her was pain and fear.

Nentonia released Remina’s hand and stood up.

“Sorry, Rem. I really do want to kill you, but I can’t. I made a promise with someone.” She turned around and began walking for the door. Suddenly, she stopped midway and said, “recently, someone told me he’d accept me for all that I am. That’s why I’m going to start living as myself. So I’m glad we were both able to be honest with each other.”

Nentonia looked back and smiled at Remina one last time before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Now, Remina was alone with nothing but her thoughts. The pain from her broken finger was agonizing, to the point where she was tearing up. The terror inside her felt unbelievably fresh, as if Nentonia was still here beside her.

She took several deep breaths to calm down, and relaxed on the bed.

Slowly, the cogs began turning again, and she was left with one thought.

Thank the gods.

Thank the gods I’m still alive.

“...Ahh.”

She was baffled at her own thought. She’s had so many close calls, so many brushes with death. Not once did she ever felt thankful to still be alive.

And yet, she was glad to still be breathing. Why is that?

Was she that scared of Nentonia?

“...Hah...”

No, that wasn’t it. Truth be told, she’s encountered things scarier than some crazed cleric.

“...Ha...hahaha...”

She felt relieved. She felt jealous of her.

At that moment, Nentonia was terrifying. She was insane. She flipped over Remina’s preconceptions of her so quickly that it gave her whiplash. But she was real. That was the most genuine way she could have expressed herself.

“Hahahahahahahaha...!”

Remina laughed with her voice that was almost gone. She laughed harder than she’d ever laughed before.

She felt so relieved to be alive.

“Hah, man. Screw it. I’ll quit.”

Remina would never be able to pay off her debts. She’d have to live the rest of her life running. But that was fine.

She wanted to be real, too.

I’ve done a lot of wrong. I’ve killed a lot of people. I don’t think I deserve to live anymore. But I want to be alive again. I want to know what it’s like to live free, unbound by anything.

So please, if any gods out there are listening ... I’ll do better. I’ll try my best to do right next time. I’ll spend the rest of my life if I have to, so please...

...Let me survive this.

I want to live as myself, too.

She tried to smile for real this time, and closed her eyes. She breathed in the air. It didn’t smell rotten anymore. She breathed out. Her body felt lighter than before.

“Forget not the days ... when the wheat fields danced ... and children pranced ... under sunshine’s gaze...”

She sang.

It hurt, but she sang.

“Forget not the days ... when the warmth of ... the hearth ... blessed the joys of birth ... as the mothers prayed…”

The one song that she loved more than anything else.

Then, she couldn’t breathe.

There was something inside her neck.

Something cold.

Ah.

I guess that’s fair.

She laughed inside. This was the gods' answer. They wouldn't even let her finish her song.

That was fitting.

And when the sunshine hides and the night arrives,

Forget not the days,

Forget not the days.