“Once upon a time, I too loved humanity. I cherished them, and I sought nothing else but to ensure their happiness in this new, imprisoned realm. It was difficult, so very difficult in the beginning, as I guided them in the place of their creator. I did all my power allowed to ensure their needs were met, yet destined was their inevitable estrangement from my care, for I was different: I could not understand them, no matter the years that passed.

“Even now, nothing has changed. It is the nature of mankind to grow and evolve, yet I am the same as I ever was. Stagnant. Rotting. The love I once held for them has long since been wrung into a deep, visceral contempt. They live their lives, and cherish relationships, and take joy in learning, bonding, and aging—to grow old and take pride in the future they have paved for their descendants, and they do all of this whilst knowing their death is inevitably to come. Some fear it, while others attempt to escape it, to pursue an immortal path of their own, and I can only laugh both bitter and mocking as they desperately seek a curse without end.

“It is not enjoyable, this sort of existence. Eventually… you begin to harbor a wish. To cease all the pain, to struggle no more. The body falls limp and the heart turns an impermeable black. When all this comes to pass, you part your lips and utter a longing that can never be.

“I want to die.”

- The Knight

———

The Knight

All I have is my agony, and when the pain abates I know it shall return to me in the end. For that is life: to suffer, to weep, to mourn, and to grasp what little joy can be found. It is beautiful, and though it may be a fleeting thought amidst the blur of these uncountable years… for a moment, I can be happy. The memories will disappear eventually, but the feelings remain—precious and locked within my heart so that it can never escape.

But I know I do not deserve it. I do not deserve to feel even a sliver of happiness in this world. Why should I, when from the very beginning my life has been nothing but deceit, and slaughter, and to bring ruin against all those whose only crime is of yearning towards the home they had to abandon? I have never taken joy in my duty, but still I wished for the burden to at least be lesser. I sought to smother the emotions that lingered in my chest, and I shied away from bonding with another too deeply.

Yet, then why is it that I am here? Snuggled amidst the sheets of Ascalon’s beside, I wrap my hands around his waist. He is warm, and I can hear his every breath rising and falling: slow and rhythmic like music. A quiet melody to grace the moonlit gleam of the night. I listen to his voice, and I engrave every sound deep into my heart.

For I know I shall never hear it again upon the sun’s rise.

It would be simple, now. All I need to do is reach out and grasp his neck. I can break it before he reacts, to call upon his invulnerability: He has never been more vulnerable than at this moment.

If only I could gather the courage. When I raise my hand, it trembles, and it retracts. It fights against me, begging to not go through with this sickening act of betrayal, but can it even be considered such when this was my intention to begin with? I am simply fulfilling what I first sought, I approached him for the sake of this very moment, so why does my body refuse to listen?

It tortures me, both my hesitation and my love for him. A war rages in my mind, splitting it apart until I can feel nothing but constant, excruciating, pain—it deepens the guilt burning in my heart, deafens my ears with screams of hate and loathing, and it gnaws away at my sanity until I can scarcely suppress the urge to retch.

And then, it stops. All that remains is an indescribable emptiness.

“... Lorelai?”

Ascalon turns around, and it startles me. I was not prepared to look into his eyes, to see his face slowly filling with worry.

“May I know your thoughts?” he says, speaking with that light and airy voice I can’t help but wince before.

“Must I?” I roll the other way and refuse to meet him. It is painful enough to merely look upon his back. I do not think I could bear it, the shame of confronting Ascalon now.

“You do not,” he begins. “But I think it would make you feel better.”

“Why do you think so?”

He pauses for a second.

“It is rather hard to put into words, but… it is as if you are somewhere far away.”

Ascalon takes my hand and cups it within his own.

“You are here, and yet you are not. Right now your presence is like a phantom, ethereal, as if only a single word is enough to whisk you away from my arms forever.”

I just cannot understand how he can see through me so seamlessly. No matter how hard I try to hide my thoughts, he pushes past my barriers in a way that’s frightening—and strangely I do not care to resist.

“I know it may be odd, but I cannot help but feel this sense of unease that I shall soon lose you.”

Ascalon’s tone is calm, carefully deliberate, and within I can hear all he wishes to convey: his genuine concern to free my troubles.

“Perish the thought,” I say, holding back a trembling breath. “I will be with you until the very end, Ascalon.”

“What does the end mean for you?”

To that, I have only one answer.

“My death.”

Though I cannot see his face, I can feel Ascalon’s gaze bore through me nonetheless. I am ever so small before him, so sensitive and meek, and I can only curl into myself as he leans in close and brushes past the back of my neck with his hot breath.

“I know you wish to look at me,” he says. “To unburden the worries in your heart, so why do you refuse to meet my eyes?”

I swallow. “I am not—”

“Then look at me.”

“I—”

He is so vexingly persistent. Every word only causes me to falter even more, to despise myself even more, and eventually something within me—shatters.

“Stop!” I shout at him, flipping around to satisfy his incessant plea. “There, I have done as you asked, so please do not move any closer to me.”

There, I finally behold him in all his entirety, and all the pain I had felt vanishes before his bright, radiant smile.

“Is that truly your desire?” he says, laughing. “Your hug suggests otherwise.”

And indeed, when I look down I find my arms wrapping around him, tight, with barely a gap to spare.

“I… I merely wish to spend the rest of this night in silence,” I say with the last shred of restraint still inside me. “Please, let me be alone. That is all I ask.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that.”

“Ascalon!”

“Your expression betrays you, my dear. I see the soft quiver of your lips as you torment yourself in melancholy. I feel the pounding within your chest begging to release its woes. And I hear the muffled sobs that you so desperately attempt to conceal. I know it all, and that is why I must do this now, to lend an ear and a loving embrace when you need it most.”

I try to say something back, but the words elude me. I can only stare into his eyes, his sparkling amber eyes that strip me of all disguise and pretense and excuses I conjure in vain. I feel the emotions I tried to discard through the ages rise back up, surging forth with a strength I had long thought impossible.

I crumble, and I let it all go. Everything I kept buried, my pain, my hesitation, the anger I let fester year after year, millennium after millennium, kingdoms and nations and entire cultures all born and lost as I remained the sole witness of their short existence… it all flows out, and I do not care to hold any of it back any longer.

“I am tired,” I mutter, and soon the tears I thought passed come back to drench my cheeks once more. “I am tired of the sacrifice, of the guilt, of the responsibility I have shouldered for every waking moment of this miserable slog of an existence. I have borne every sin, committed atrocity after atrocity, and I am all but helpless to watch my soul erode into a twisted, maligned mass of anguish as I carry out a penance that shall see no end. Now matter how I try to hollow my heart, the pain finds a way to burrow deeper, more viciously, when all I wish is to escape it all. But I can’t. I cannot deter it. I endure and endure and endure, yet it only ever grows worse.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“I have spent so, so long embroiled in this dull cycle of misery, and yet I cannot even be hopeful for I know this shall be my fate until the end of time. I can never long for the tender embrace of death: such a blissful end, one where I can finally rest, will be forever barred from me, always withheld from my grasp and mocking me for daring to wish so futile a dream.”

I pound my fist into Ascalon’s chest, and I scream and wail and cry until my throat seizes up, leaving only a pathetic sob to gush out amidst my disgusting slew of rubbish. It is a revolting sight, and yet Ascalon never shies away. He simply holds me close and strokes my back as I continue to throw a childish tantrum.

“Why must it be me!?” I screech. “Why must I be alone? To suffer this love only to have it ripped away from me time and time again? To savor only a sliver of joy amidst an eternity of cruelty? Why must I be loathed, be feared, be abhorred when all I have ever done is for the sake of the very people who wish me grief?”

I am revealing too much. Lorelai would not behave like this. She would not speak of eternity before even entering her middling years. Even so, I continue to rant and cry about how unfair it all is. I do not care if it is dangerous or alerts Ascalon’s suspicions. I just… want someone, anyone, to listen to me.

“I despise myself. I despise this curse with every last shred of my being, but I know I cannot stop. This life persists because I, alone, am all that is left to carry out this duty. Because, for as much misery as it brings and for every day I wallow in self-pity, I love this world. I cannot cast it aside, no matter how bitter I become.”

Some time passes. My eyes dry, and my voice can no longer croak. The room is quiet, awkwardly so, and I cannot bear to look up and see what Ascalon’s expression must be. Is he disgusted? That is how he should be. I took away his actual love, imposed myself in her place and deceived him into this relationship that never should have begun. I should be despised. I should be revolted.

And yet, through it all, his affection has not waned one bit.

“I am here for you,” he whispers. “And that shall never change.”

Those words fill me with such comfort, yet confusion all the same. Does he still not know even after all I have exposed? It does not make sense. Ascalon cannot possibly be this unaware.

But if he is, then is that not a good thing? I will not have to see the betrayal, the hurt, on his face when I must commit the unforgivable. Yes, this is for the better. Cowardly it may be, at least he will pass without ever realizing the truth—

“No,” I murmur out loud. “This is not what I…”

I realize then, what I must do. What I must say. It is a selfish wish, and foolish, and may ruin all I have worked towards. But I must do this. I do not wish to deceive him any more.

“Ascalon,” I say. “I am not Lorelai.”

He does not respond.

“I am the one who killed her.”

He does not utter a single word.

“I donned her image. I fooled you into waging a war for my own purposes. I embraced you and whispered words of promise despite knowing your love was never meant for me.”

It was never supposed to be for me. No one should ever love me.

So… why? Why, why, why do I still see him smile? A sad smile, yet it is not out of hate for me. There’s nothing: no disgust, no fury, no rage.

I do not understand; I feel even worse than before. This is not how he was supposed to react. If only he had cursed at me, lunged at me in anger, I would have felt relieved, because then maybe I could repent in some small way for all I have taken from him. But instead, there’s only…

“I know you can hear me, Ascalon!” I bellow out in anger. “Why do you not move to suffocate me now? Why do you not attempt to rebuke me? Why—”

I grab his shoulders and slam him into the wall, clenching his shoulders with a grip that could draw blood. “Why do I still feel your love?”

Ascalon does not push back, nor does his demeanor change. His voice still conveys that delicate tone of affection. “Because I still cherish you.”

“Are you not enraged that I have deceived you?” I say, begging with all my might that he would just despise me already.

“I already knew,” he responds, confident and free of doubt. “Some time ago, I knew something was different. Was it the day we slept upon the castle’s roof? You urged me to follow my own will, to break free of that gilded cage and pursue the path of my choosing, and that was when I began to doubt… because the Lorelai I knew would have never allowed me to leave the capital, memory loss or not.”

I never even considered that he had realized so early on. Never did he show any such signs, and that only leaves me with more questions. More confusion.

“Then why?”

Ascalon raises his hand and, despite my feeble resistance, caresses my cheek. My tear-stained, unsightly cheek, which he thoughtful touches as if handling a priceless treasure. “Because you chose to trust me. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be so alone, to bear all that misery for a time I can never hope to fathom, but even so… you confided in me despite your doubts. How can I possibly hate you, when I know deep in your heart that you truly love me?”

“I do not…” I stammer, fooling myself to the very end.

Ascalon leans in, and he plants a kiss on my forehead. “Even now, whilst you tremble and curse me so, I can feel your fondness, your care for me. This I am certain, and nothing will convince me otherwise.”

Everything has gone wrong. If he does not hate me even after revealing the truth, then how can I… how can I possibly atone?

“Can you truly love me even without knowing my identity?” I say.

“I have a suspicion.”

“Then you know what I must do. You know this relationship of ours cannot continue.”

“I do.”

I snap.

I lunge for Ascalon’s neck and lift him up into the air. Maybe now, with the threat of death looming by, will he finally realize the severity of this maddening plight. “Then call upon your authority. Resist me. You have always sought to be a hero, so what better opportunity to carve your name in the storybooks than to slay the scourge, the atrocity, the warden of humanity?”

“I—I will not,” he stammers amidst my grip.

“Why? I do not… I just do not understand. Do you not realize? You are going to die, Ascalon. What of your people? Your sister? All of Polus who looks up to you for guidance? Are you truly willing to condemn them all for the sake of this doomed love?”

But he only smiles. He smiles brighter than I have ever seen him before. “I do not understand it myself, this conviction within me. But even so I know you are not the evil you think you are. There is kindness in you, a compassion that has lasted even after bearing all the hate in the world, and there must be a reason why you must serve this role—enact such tragedies. And so, I will trust you, just as you trusted in me.”

It is not fair. All the words I have longed to hear… why must he say them now? Why must he burden me when it would have been better to stay ignorant?

“You fool,” I say, and I do not even try to hold back the quake of voice anymore. “Please, Ascalon. Release your power. Do not let me take your life so pitifully.”

But he does not do so. No matter what I say to him, nothing will change his mind.

What is it about these people, these fleeting and fragile lives that always manage to frustrate me? They are unpredictable. Nothing ever goes how I wish it to. It is the same now and back then, and I am only reminded of the futility of it all: no matter what I do, whose skin I don, or what personality I adapt, I will never fit in with these ever-changing beings.

I am alone. I will always be alone. There is no place for me anywhere in this world. Only in the realm of my subconscious do I find some semblance of peace.

In the lowest dredges of my soul, there is a vast ocean of darkness: of ink that stretches far out into the unknowable void. It is cold here. In this place, I do not need to feel, or think, or care about anything

I take a step, then another, and another. I wade through the murky waters, letting all I am and ever was be carried away by the tide. There is no need to struggle here; the ocean will claim me eventually. It seizes my legs, and it lures me into the depths, sinking down, deeper, farther, until the currents rise up to my neck. And I know it shall soon swallow me. My everything.

I am tired, and hurt. If these emotions, these fickle feelings and thoughts are the cause of my suffering, then I will cast it all away. I will not be happy, nor sad, nor fearful, nor mad. I will simply be nothing: a hollow, empty husk without a will. I will drown, never to rise back again.

I close my eyes, and soon—everything drifts away. I can finally rest, forever.

My very own death.

… But as I immerse myself in the depths, something plunges into the waters: a hand. It grabs onto me, drags me back up to the surface despite my frantic protests to remain here, to indulge in this emptiness where I can feel no pain or loss.

When I am brought to the outside, I see a man. The only man who has accepted me, not any of my false identities or fronts, but me. The true, honest me.

Ascalon pulls me into an embrace, and the ocean of ink, the waters, the impermeable black: it all blows away, making room for a glistening sky of blue to come and fill my heart with a hope I had never thought to feel again. It is as if a weight has been lifted, this pressure that has weighed on me longer than I can remember, replaced by this giddy, and light, and boundless feeling of possibility.

I am free. Free to love, and to cry, and to heal.

To forgive myself so that I can look out toward the morrow.

“I love you,” Ascalon says. “But what I wish for the most is that you come to love yourself as well. All that you have committed in the past… it matters little compared to what you can do now. It will be hard, and your pain will come back eventually, but when it does I want for you to remember me. Use my image as your shield, and so will I forever exist in your heart: my love, my eternal beloved.”

I had resigned myself to shoulder your resentment, to carry on your hatred and resentment as the second phantom of my guilt. But now—now I have a guardian, one who shall be with me in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, to hold from this day forward a bond that not even death can part.

“I love you too, Ascalon,” I say back. “And I will… I will try to protect them in your stead. Though I know not how long I must be off, I promise that Polus will not fall. And someday, when the one I must raise can create a world of their own, a kind one, a free one, then I shall return to you. So please, wait for me.”

Ascalon nods, and he holds out his arms.

“Of course,” he says. “Now, do what you must. My final request is to see you off with a smile.”

I do as he wishes, and smile. It is not as bright as I wish it to be, but it will do.

I raise my hand, close my eyes, and thrust forward.

Without any pain, Ascalon falls limp. And the amber hue fades from his eyes… forever.

“Sleep now, my beloved.” I cradle his body and lift it up, bringing it back to the bed where I may lay him down onto his final resting place. Even in death, he looks at peace, gracing the world with a smile that loves all. “Goodbye, Ascalon.”

Goodbye, my love. I will always remember you.

Forever, my hero.