It wasn't death I feared as I walked out of Harrison's home. Nor pain. Not even losing the girls again. I didn't fear failure and another disappointment to carry into the next loop. Well. I did. I carried all of those. But they were passengers in my mind. Rope I wore in my hair and not around my neck. I hadn't muted them, not exactly. Instead, I had replaced them. A new, deeper anxiety had settled over my shoulders. A worry that almost felt silly. Indulgent. It shouldn't have terrified me so much more than everything else. It made me feel so small that it did. So pathetic. So guilty.

I step into the cold night air. Quiet eyes turned toward me from every direction. I felt completely naked under their dead examination. I had a moment before they came for me and took a deep breath. A low chant escaped my lips, blue aura skittering across my clothes and swirling around my grimoire. Beads of sweat dotted my skin despite the cold. My breathing was fast. I clenched my fists as gooseflesh covered my body. Death. Pain. Failure. I feared them all, but this was worse. It had always been worse, even before the loop. What I carried with me into the night, as my spell erupted to protect me from the quieted dead, was the weight of confession.

I was going to find Margaret. She said she needed to look, to really look into her nephew's eyes to see what she was doing. But it was too early. She needed to understand what this was going to do with her. What had already been done to her. And she needed to know I was on the gallows with her. So I was going to let her look into my eyes as well, and see what was left. What I had done to the people who loved me. Why I was here. She was a murderer. A killer. By all accounts, she was worse than me. But she had been hurt worse as well. At least it felt like she had, in the trap of my mind where I locked any kind thoughts for myself. Still, I hated her. But I was still afraid to be seen by her. To be exposed.

The Quieted approached me, but my aura caught all of them. Not stopping them, as I had done in previous loops. Simply... slowing them. Their violence flowed through time with little vigor and their relief as I escaped them could be tasted in the air. "Margaret!" I called, almost mournfully, into the violent silence. I didn't receive a reply right away, but I didn't expect one. The bodies inched closer to me as I walked through the mob of the dead. I found myself directly in the middle of them, my hands trembling. "M-Margaret! I n-need to speak with you!" I called again. I cursed myself for stuttering. I felt so weak. So pathetic.

The answer I finally did get was expected. The earth opening beneath my feet. My spell was ready, however, and 'Still World' allowed me to avoid the death Margaret's spell promised. Only slowing the Quieted left me with the spare aura I needed to respond to these attacks, for a little while at least. In only a moment I was several paces away, looking for my assailant. Based on past loops, I would only be attacked if I was visible. I took a deep breath as my jaw wavered. I could only avoid her so many times. "P-please!" I cried. "Please, Margaret! I just want to... I just want to talk! About your nephew. Your father! Y-your mom! Please!"

My desperation was met with silence. But the earth failed to crack a second time. The Quieted slowed further, and not entirely on account of my spell. Finally, slowly, they stopped. I released my spell, and they remained still. Red, bleeding eyes stared at me from every direction. I waited for the relief to come. I waited for the weight to be lifted, as the immediate danger passed for me and for everyone still inside. My heart only beat harder. I felt the sharp, involuntary breaths preceding a sob begin to strangle me. I didn't know if I could do this. I wanted to run away. To wait one more loop.

Margaret appeared before me, a glare like the falling sky directed at me. "What do you know about my family?" she demanded. I swallowed hard. She stepped closer.

"I-I..." I couldn't say it. I couldn't get it out. Every word would bring me closer to the past I was fleeing and my throbbing throat rejected them. Her anger could not be slowed.

"Tell me what you meant, now," she repeated. I still couldn't respond. She stepped forward again, and again. The Quieted grew restless, like her energy was infecting them. She approached more quickly, until she was directly in front of me, close enough I could feel her breath on my skin, and the heat from her anxiety on my brow. I choked. It was too late to back out. So I did the only thing I could think of. The most painful thing I had ever done. I leaned my head forward, pressed my forehead against hers, closed my eyes, and cast a spell I didn't understand. A spell I didn't have to chant. A spell I had decided to name. 'Lamentations'.

The world around us melted away. The Quieted washed out of our perception like the filth floating on wastewater. The world was black for an unending moment, but two new pallets flooded around us from either side in only a breath. Time contradicted itself. Images started to form behind each of us. I lifted my head and saw a wide look in Margaret's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words escaped. Behind her, a crowd of people formed in a circle. Two people stood closer to us, a kindly older woman crouching to speak to a mousy blonde girl of about thirteen. The horror on Margaret's face revealed her own home was portrayed behind me.

I turned and saw her family, standing in her kitchen. "Melody, go to bed. I will make dinner," a weary-looking man insisted.

"No..." she whispered. "No no no... Fuck, please... Who are you? Why are you..." I didn't know what I was doing. But I knew what she was feeling. I did the only thing I could while my words continued to fail me. I touched her shoulder, and gently directed her to turn where she could face my past instead of her own. It felt like walking with nails in my boots. Every inch she easily turned stabbed me. But eventually, she was looking away from her own past, and at mine.

"You're so mature for your age," Grandma said, smiling at me. "Thank you so much for being here. I know it must be hard on you." I don't know why Margaret watched so quietly. I don't know why she did nothing to escape the spell. Maybe she had never seen magic like it. Maybe the spell itself prevented tampering. Perhaps she was waiting for someone to give her a reason to stop. But she watched.

"O-Of course, Grandma. After everything you have done for us... I'm sorry about Cammie, I-" I responded, but Grandma cut me off.

"It's alright, sweetheart. Do you remember what you are supposed to say?" she asked, strain I had missed at the time struggling with her smile. "You do remember, don't you? You'll make me proud?" I nodded furiously. I looked toward the center of the tribunal where Camilla sat, head bowed and hands chained. I looked into my own eyes. My own agony, masked with pride. I loved Camilla so much. I wanted to make Grandma proud so badly. And Grandma wouldn't lie to me. Grandma would never lie to me.

I couldn't watch it anymore. I turned to look back at Margaret's past instead. "Mom and Dad always need to talk about something. I wanted to help cook!" Margaret complained as her sister dragged her away. I felt Margaret flinch beside me as she heard the words, if only in the back of her mind. When I looked at one lamentation over the other, it enveloped my world. But I could still feel my own history, as it played out. It didn't matter where I looked. It was carved into my mind. Even as I looked away I knew what Margaret was watching.

I stood inside the circled crowd, just to one side, doing my best not to look at Cammie, who was facing me from roughly ten paces. I remember failing. The kind smile she gave me was suffocated in grief. I told myself, at the time, that she was afraid of what I would say. Afraid of facing consequences for what she'd done. The lies she told. I told myself one lie could right another. I told myself a lot of things. Things I didn't believe when I looked at Camilla. Things I didn't believe until I saw the pride, or what I thought was pride, on my grandmother's face. This thought forces me to turn back and look at the scene again, washing Margaret's past into the background for the time being.

I looked at Camilla's face. And my Grandmother's. I'd lied to myself that day, just as much as I lied to the severe man in the very center. Camilla was heartbroken, but just to see me there at all. She was afraid. Chained and bruised. Sneered at by the town who once loved her. But as she looked at me, ready to testify against her, she was hurting for me. And my grandmother. It wasn't pride she offered me, but expectation. And when my younger self turned away, irritation.

"Mars. Thank you for coming today," the tired Mayor greeted. "Do you know exactly what your sister has been accused of?" I nodded hesitantly. "Do you mind verifying that for me?" I nodded again.

"Slander of an archmage, assault, and..." I paused, glancing again at my ruined sister, "mass endangerment and murder," I finished.

"And you are here to testify to her guilt in these charges, is that correct?" He asked. Again I glanced at my sister. Her eyes were closed and she was biting into her lip to prevent it's quivering. I looked again and Grandma. She had a cold stare fixed on me. She offered an imperceptible nod, and I took a nervous breath, clutching the bottom of my shirt nervously.

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"Y-yes," I agreed. I had to look away again. At Margaret's past.

"Do you still want to do daddy's job, when you are older?" her father asked. Looking at this helped not at all. I wanted to end the spell. But lamentations do nothing if you don't finish them. As I watched the scene, my old mayor's words faded like a dying candle. But I heard every response I gave him. I felt it, like a stone mallet in my hand, driving a nail through flesh.

"It started because... because..." I trailed off. I remembered Grandma, mouthing the words she'd rehearsed with me, prodding me on to finish the testimony she'd prepared. "Because Cammie- Camilla was jealous of Grandma. She used to complain about it, only to me..." I breathed in through my nose as my younger self lied. And I knew I was lying. I didn't know what had started it. But I trusted both people so much that... "She didn't start off so bad. She just wanted to feel more important. At first, it was just the engagement, and Grandma supported her. Wanted her to be happy, we both did."

"Yes, Pappa. Your job is to take care of people. So when they go away, they can trust you," Margaret answered her father. I clenched my fists. I didn't want to hear myself.

"It wasn't enough," I lied. "It was... scary, going home to her. She grew angrier, and angrier. She lashed out at me... she lashed and at Grandma. At little things. I was afraid of what she would do. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and then... then the famine hit."

"You seem awfully sad tonight," Margaret's father said.

"We told people that Grandma and Cammie worked together to fight the famine. To end it. But... well there is no magic that can end a famine. Only magic that can start one. Grandma knew that, and Cammie knew it too. Only in our home did we know what was really happening. What 'working together' meant. But... please. You have to understand. I love my sister. Grandma loves my sister. We didn't... we didn't want to believe it," I recited, trying not to see the twitches of choked-back sobs in Camilla's shoulders.

"Your father isn't a Liar, Margaret. Don't you want to be just like your father? Tell the truth now," Margaret's father insisted.

"It wasn't until after Cammie's magic ended the famine that... well it was when Cammie came home like a storm one night. Her and Lord..." I paused to look at my grandmother. She seemed pleased. I should have understood then. She was pleased. I thought she was pleased with me. Proud of me, for protecting the family. I thought Camilla was the one trying to tear the family apart. I thought, if Grandma could have her way, our lives would be like they had been before the famine. I thought Camilla had chosen to drive us apart. Or... I thought I could think that. It never really worked. Not below the surface. But I could live on the surface if I needed to.

The truth is, I had to choose to believe one of them wanted to hurt us. And I chose the one I didn't worship. There was only one I was terrified of disappointing. "You are just a little girl, after all. Still, it's disappointing," Margaret's father said. I chose to vilify Camilla, in order to maintain my grandmother's pedestal.

"The marriage had fallen through. Cammie had admitted to what she'd done, bragged about it. About finally stepping from Grandma's shadow, all by creating a problem she could appear to solve. But... People died, in that famine. A lot of people died. And well... She'd had to hurt him. In self-defense, she claims, but... Grandma and I knew. We had been afraid. And now Cammie was afraid too. Afraid her fiancé would tell everyone the truth. That was when she started the rumors," I said. My grandmother nodded along with the speech she'd written. It felt silly, hearing it now. Outlandish. A child's story. Especially to anyone who had met Camilla.

It was the kind of ridiculous lie that needled at you, like a splinter under your nail. It's absurdity in retrospect almost making the already foul words sour in my mouth, even years later. But Grandma was pleased. Grandma was proud of me. If I could get the words out, I could keep training under her. That's how I really chose, I realized later. As I told of the malicious rumors Camilla had spread about our guardian. Rumors I'd never heard, where my Grandma's identity could only be guessed at. It wasn't that I could genuinely believe this about my sister. But I wanted to keep learning from Grandma. So I chose to defend her, when the city started to turn on us. I did this for my own sake as much as for my grandmother's.

"That's a good girl. I'm so proud of the woman you have grown up to be," Margaret's father praised. My grandmother smiled at me.

"You do understand that this testimony carries your sister's fate, yes?" The mayor asked. "Can you swear you aren't lying?"

"You just answered this, Margaret. Please, don't disappoint me again," Margaret's father insisted.

"Yes," I promised. "It's all true. Cammie admit it all to me herself. Grandma... she just wanted to help her. She just wanted to help, and raise, both of us."

"Papa makes sure people can sleep... with dignity..." Margaret said.

The rest of the tribunal was a blur. But I had no doubt in my mind that my testimony sealed Cammie's fate. Neither did my satisfied grandmother. Neither did my sister. She was found guilty, and I felt that burden in my heart as the guards pushed an opening into the crowd to escort her out. Cammie trembled as they pulled her by her chains. She held back the sobs that tried to take her body from her. She held back the fear. Even as the stones and dirt were thrown. Even as the blood they left ran down her head. Even as she was shoved and fell to her knees. Even as the insults of the grieving, outraged, and amused assaulted her.

She looked back one last time. She looked directly into my eyes, then gave me a gentle, radiant, full-mouthed smile. Her eyes closed and the water in the corners broke, running down her dirty cheeks. Her silver aura erupted from this smile. Aura we'd thought long exhausted, drained into the dirt and a massive tree grew around her. She'd made her escape and left me to learn from Grandma. Camilla was gone, and I didn't think she was coming back.

Margaret stared into my younger eyes. She saw the horror. The pain behind the pride. I don't know what compelled her to, but she finally turned and looked into her own childhood eyes. For the first time, she saw her own face as her mother died. The bravery and determination masking the agony.

"So what," she whispered. "So you know how my mother died. So you were a coward once yourself. So fucking what?" Her voice grew in volume. "What does that matter now? What does that have to do with this? The good I am doing? Find redemption in your own way. Leave me to mine," she insisted. My breath caught in my throat as teal aura trickled down the furious woman's body like the water fell from her eyes. I felt the earth crack beneath my feet.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But..." my past melted alongside Margaret's. We were in black again. The earth began to crumble and I almost fell, but a new image started to take place. The voices reached us before the image finished forming.

"Are you certain?" I asked, pleading, hoping Scylla would give me a different answer.

"Yes. I'm certain," Scylla responded with an eerie calm.

"And you? You are going to allow this?" I begged her husband.

"If there is only one thing I can do for my family, I will do it," he agreed.

"I love Margaret just as much as I love my son. And if you are right, well. There is nothing left for us here. I trust them both. So please, leave us alone," Scylla insisted. "Just... leave us alone. Let Margaret save us, if that's what she wants to do." She slammed the front door in my face. I couldn't convince them. I couldn't make them understand what it would do to what was left of their son. I pounded on the door. This loop would be no different than any other, but for the understanding, the two would carry into death. The image finally formed, just as Scylla cut the rope from her son. Just before she dropped her knife went to her knees next to her husband, and prayed. Not to Aethon, but to Luna.

Next to me, Margaret was motionless. The cracks in the earth stopped and my footing stabilized. Margaret stared at her nephew, as he picked up the knife. She watched his eyes as he stabbed his mother. Once. Twice. In the shoulder, the back, the neck. Relentlessly. Savagely. She saw the horror in his eyes as he left her corpse to his weeping father and interrupted his prayers as well. She couldn't look away from her nephew's eyes as he failed to fight off Margaret's pressure. Margaret's desires. Margaret's abuse.

She fell to her knees. My spell finally ended. Again we were surrounded by the stares of the Quieted. But now, Margaret looked at them. She looked into their eyes. Each and every one of them carried that pain. The same pain as Margaret and I. The pain of violence, and expectations. Finally, she looked at me, and I saw the realization and horror replace her previous determination. The look behind her eyes finally wrestled its way to the front. "H-how? How do I stop it?" she begged.

I didn't know. I really didn't. But I had an idea of the first step. Finally, I found my voice. "I'm sorry. I don't think there is any going back. But... The only advice I can give you is... you can't keep wearing him. You can't keep carrying your father with you. Any more than I can carry my grandmother with me. The only way forward is to leave them behind." It wasn't much. But It was what I had to offer. Margaret looked at the faces around her again. She pressed her hands to her face. She dug her fingers into her scalp, drawing blood, and the aura exploded from her.

It was enough to light up the entire city. It was violent, and angry, and dug into the ground like talons. She screamed, and sobbed, and yelled her sister's name. For a moment I saw that little girl again, watching her mother die, but this time she was screaming. She was begging her father to stop. She was tearing at her father's clothes and skin and calling him a liar. She was pulling him away from her mom, saving her family. Begging like only a child can. Begging like I always wished I had. I reached out with her and grabbed her father's shoulder. I helped her as best I could. I tried to pry the pillow off of her mother's face, but I couldn't do it. He was too strong, and he shoved me away.

I fell backward, feeling my head crack against the stone. I was bleeding. Margaret was screaming. This was her confrontation, not mine. She pulled and pulled. Her nails left angry, bloody scratches on her father's arms and her screams increased in pitch until they matched an animal's more than a child's. "I will not let you hurt her anymore!" she cried, and I cried with her. It was all I could do. Her father finally released the pillow, turned, and shoved her off of him. As he did the exploding aura became too bright to see and the sound too high to listen through.

When I could finally see, I was alone. Bleeding, aching, and sobbing. Surrounding me were the quieted, all completely still in death. Eyes no longer furious and agonized. Sparks of teal aura settled around all of them like sun particles. In front of me, Margaret was the same. On her knees. Cold, and colorless. Finally, finally at peace.