Having done this before, I convinced myself that nerves were unusual but not unexpected.

But as I reached for the sword, I hesitated. I don’t hesitate.

My gaze traveled to the person on the floor. I hate him, he’s done terrible things and deserves this… But then why is it so difficult? Why can’t I kill him?

He looks up at me, on his knees with his arms chained to the walls on either side of him. A terrible, evil man, chained before me without defense — and I have the power to rid the world of him.

And yet, all I can think of is how… powerless he looks. How vulnerable, terrified… and so godsdamn beautiful, even covered in sweat, dirt, and blood. Even with his brown hair stuck to his forehead, his face streaked with dark red, and his gorgeous amber eyes filled with so much emotion I can barely place them.

No, no, no. This man has killed countless people for his own gain. But haven’t I been doing the same? No, I tell myself, Don’t compare yourself with this monster, you are a hero.

But the sword in my hand feels unusually heavy and my thoughts less clear. What if I am not the hero? I walked into this cell ready to kill a man I barely know, and I had no doubt in my mind I would be able to do it. Does that sound like a hero?

“If you’re going to kill me, I suggest you get it over with,” his voice is quiet and rough, but steady.

Startled, I say, “You aren’t going to beg me to spare your life?”

His eyes drag to the stone floor, currently decorated with his blood. “What good would that do? I beg and you’ll kill me anyway. My dignity is all I have left, I plan on keeping it in my last moments alive.”

“You may act all tough, but I can see it in your eyes that you are scared. Everyone believes that they won’t have fear when it is their time, but it’s different when you’re moments away from death, isn’t it? People tend not to realize the value of their life until they’re about to lose it. You don’t want to die, Wilson.”

“Wise words from a killer,” he bites.

“You’re a killer, too,” I respond.

He scoffs and winces immediately after. “That I am but at least I’m not a murderer parading around like a savior. You are no angel, no hero. I own up to my sins, I admit my hands are covered in blood. But you pretend like you’re a fucking hero. I may be the one in chains, but you are the one that’s trapped.”

Prick. He’s right. No, he’s not. You’re a monster. Shut up, I’m a hero.

I was tired of hearing this. I gripped my swords handle tighter and pointed it at his heart, pressing just enough to draw a small stream of blood.

There was no satisfaction in the act. He met my eyes and I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t. I was trapped.

“Bianca,” his voice was rough as he said my name, “They told me you were going to kill me so why haven’t you?”

I press harder into his flesh, the blade drawing more blood. He doesn’t even flinch.

“My name is Maz. Wilson is my last name, first names are too personal so I only ever tell people my last. My name is Maz Wilson.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I grind out.

“Because I want someone to know. Tell me why you haven’t put that sword through my heart yet, killer,” he cocks his head to the side in an arrogant manner but I can see a glint of fear as my sword pushes ever so slightly.

What a great question. Why haven’t I?

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper.

“It’s because I remind you of you. And if you kill me you’ll be back to being alone, misunderstood. Stop pretending to be a hero when you’re destined to be a villain. I think you’d make quite an evil one,” he grins so widely you couldn’t guess I had a sword halfway to his heart.

I’ve had enough.

I slash my sword harshly and barely catch the panic flare in his face.

Then it’s done. I did it.

The chains fall to the floor. But two prisoners are freed as he takes my hand and we escape.

“Whatever idea you currently have it seems to be a terrible one so please let me continue reading. Alone.”

“Oh, quit complaining, you baby,” I laugh as I drag Lucien outside by his arm.

“Love, it’s pouring outside,” he tugs back on my arm.

He’s stronger than I am so I’m forced to face him when he does that.

“I’ve been trapped inside all day because of the rain,” he raises his eyebrows, “Please?”

“Azia, we are living in a castle and you are whining about being trapped inside all day?”

I frown, “I’m aware we are living in a castle but there isn’t much to do when there’s no one around.”

“I’m around,” the corner of his lips tug upward in a smirk, “if you are so bored and in need of something to keep you occupied…”

“You are disgusting,” but I can’t help the heat that approaches up my neck.

I can tell he notices but luckily he changes the subject.

“Alright then, love, tell me,” he faces the giant double doors just a few feet behind me, “what is this grand plan of yours that involves us getting soaked in the rain?”

I smile and at that he look a little nervous, but his eyes seemed to light up a little.

“You will have to come with me to find out, won’t you?”

I start to drag Lucien out again and this time he lets me, although a little reluctantly.

I struggle to push open the wooden doors but they finally give in.

“That was adorable,” he just stood there watching me struggle.

“You could have helped,” I don’t let him respond before I continue dragging him once again. This time a little rougher.

I hear the faint sounds of instruments playing. Earlier I had heard drums through my open windows but I had to shut them so the rain wouldn’t wet the floors.

“Love…” he warns.

I wasn’t allowed near crowds. Well, not so much that I “wasn’t allowed,” more so it was safer that I remain away.

I am Daughter of two very important people which immediately places a target on my back. After an attempt was made on my life I was to live in Lucien’s castle until my safety was ensured. But that is another story.

“I know, I know, I haven’t forgotten. I just wanted to hear the music,” I close my eyes and take in the sound of the piano playing so prettily nearby.

When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me. His black hair stuck to his forehead from the rain; His tunic of the same shade stuck to his torso. Water is streaming down his face and my eyes follow a single droplet. It drips from a strand of hair, trails down his forehead and nose, and then over his lips. He was grinning. Not that dumb smirk but actually grinning.

I realized I was, too. I was grinning like a fool with my own auburn hair glued to my face and neck. My sweater was terribly ruined and my bare feet were covered in mud from tracking through the grass.

“Dance?” He offers his hand in a dramatic fashion.

I laugh and place mine in his, “I would love to, Prince Lucien,” I mock.

“How hilarious you are, Princess Azia,” he rolls his eyes but his grin doesn’t falter for a moment.

“I am no Princess,” he pulls me close to him in a swift pull and I bite back a gasp.

“Not yet, love,” his lips were at my ear, his hands resting on my hips.

The piano continues in a slightly more upbeat mood than we are dancing. But Lucien doesn’t seem to care, we were dancing to our own music.

I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Your hands are cold,” he points out.

“It’s cold outside,” I remind him.

“Well, we could have been inside the walls of a beautiful castle covered in blankets doing something much more excit-“

“It will never happen, Prince.”

“I have no clue what you mean. I was simply saying you wouldn’t be cold if someone hadn’t suggesting dancing in the pouring rain,” his grip tightened slightly as I met his eyes.

“But you seem to be having so much fun.”

“Indeed I am,” is his only response.

So we continue dancing, even when the piano stops playing. Even as I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heart beating just as quickly as mine.

Everyday…

Everyday I walk the same path.

I pass those on the street with a kind greeting and wave of my hand. I smile at those who speak to me and laugh with the humour in their tones.

I cry with those who feel pain and sadness. I comfort those who confide in me with hugs and words of reassurance that life gets better.

I feel pain. I feel sadness. I feel sympathy. I feel happiness.

I tell myself these things. I tell myself I feel what a human… what a living breathing person would — should feel.

But when I look in the mirror…

I see the monster that lies beneath the surface. I see the darkness lingering behind the eyes. I see the wolf baring it’s teeth underneath the sheep’s clothing.

And I hope everyday that when I look in the mirror… I hope it disappears.

That the monster I see everyday is a figment of my imagination.

I am human. I have light. I have hope. I feel emotions — I do, I do, I do.

But as I stare into the mirror, the demon stares back. I know, then, I am as heartless and emotionless as I feel. That the monster inside of me is simply… me.

Because I feel nothing. Remorse, pain, happiness — where have you gone?

Why have you left me with the monster in my mirror?

“I told you the plan wasn’t going to work-”

“Yes, I get it. You were right,” Grey groans in frustration.

The room we’re being held in is pitch black so I can’t locate exactly where his voice is coming from.

“Did you just admit I was right? Say it again, slowly. I wanna cherish it,” I smile.

“Yeah right. Not after that statement,” I can practically feel him roll his eyes at me when he lets out a harsh laugh. Immediately I hear him wince.

“You alright?” My tone turns serious.

He had taken a knife to his lower abdomen — a spot that wouldn’t lead to immediate death but definitely hurts like hell. When the enemy had captured us, they did a sloppy job of cleaning it up.

“Could be better. I think I’ve lost too much blood.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you don’t pass out,” I add.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Relax, you just need a distraction from the pain. Believe it or not, I would really prefer you didn’t die,” I sigh.

“Funny, just four hours ago you were aiming a gun at my head for being annoying and now you seem to actually care?”

“Okay, you need a distraction because you are getting cranky from all that blood loss. So how about some good old Truth Or Dare? Huh? Bring back some good memories?” I suggest.

“We’ve never played Truth Or Dare together.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about good memories with you.”

“I’m going to ignore that. But how exactly would we do the ‘dare’ part of the game, Nicolette?”

“Fair point. How about we just ask each other questions and the other has to answer truthfully?”

“Okay, you start,” I hear him relax his head against the wall.

I may not be able to see him but I can practically picture him now. I think of Grey’s hair, as black as the room we are in, and his gorgeous, light blue eyes — what I wouldn’t give to see those eyes right now.

“Why did you take this job?” I decide to ask.

He’s silent for a handful of seconds before saying: “Emerson found me on the streets like most of the other recruits. She promised I would receive combat training, three meals a day, and a sturdy roof over my head,” I hear him sigh as if considering whether or not he should continue. “But she said she would never promise my happiness. I guess that convinced me because I knew she was telling the truth. That’s better than most people these days.”

“Well. Now you’re a trained assassin at age seventeen with a stab wound in your abdomen.”

He lets out a pained laugh. “Yeah, but it’s better than starving in the streets.”

“I suppose…”

“What about you? What convinced you to get this job?”

“Bad people were taking over our country. Getting paid to kill them didn’t seem like a terrible idea.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Ask me a different question. You just repeated mine so it doesn’t count.”

“What’s your biggest fear?”

“Hard pass,” I say immediately, “Don’t need you sharing that around the compound.”

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” when I don’t say anything he continues, “You’ll trust me to lead you into a battlefield with a plan you knew would fail yet you won’t tell me what you’re scared of?”

I press my now sweaty palms to my thigh, “I should’ve known this game would suck.”

There’s that laugh again.

I think for a moment, deciding if I should say anything, “Vulnerability.“

“So, like those nightmares of being naked at school? That kind of thing?”

“No, it’s… it’s stupid. I just don’t like knowing people have an advantage over me. Like at any moment someone will do the unexpected and I’ll be defenseless. It’s terrifying.”

He’s silent for a while before saying, “Wow. Sounds like you got some issues.”

“You know what? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” I shut my eyes.

“So,” he hesitates for a millisecond, “what about falling in love? That makes you pretty vulnerable.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You get even more depressing by the second.”

“Gee, thanks, Grey. You ever been in love?”

“I have,” he says it so casually I almost miss it.

“You gonna elaborate?”

“I’ll tell you all about it once we get out of this mess,” he chuckles lightly.

I laugh without humour. I lied. I have been in love, and it terrifies me.

His name was Grey.

I hate her.

She stands in front of me now. She is admired by many yet I see nothing to admire.

Her voice too high and annoying. Every word out of her mouth only irritates me more. She says too much, reveals too much. Who cares? Who needs to know? No one is listening because no one wants to. She never stops talking, her obnoxious voice pestering anyone who looks remotely interested.

Her personality is so fake. Her emotions seem so forced as if nothing she feels is genuine. How could anyone enjoy a conversation with someone so truly heartless?

Is it her beauty that attracts all that admiration?

People call her beautiful and gorgeous, yet I see so many imperfections I can’t imagine where they get that from.

Her skin scarred and uneven, spotted with red acne. Spots and indents like craters on her skin. She has too much fat on her arms, belly, thighs, and face.

Under her eyes are bags like purple crescents. Yet, she puts no effort in trying to cover them up. Lazy. Her irises are dull like dark pits, boring. Her face shape is all wrong. To look at her disgusts me.

Then her hair. It’s never tame, always messy and frizzy. A gross color, an uncomfortable length and always greasy.

Her body repels me. She’s too tall but not like the models. She’s tall in the way that makes her look clumsy and disproportionate. Her legs are skinny but her thighs are too big as are her feet. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if her chest and ass weren’t so flat.

How could people think her attractive? I look at her now and all I feel is disgust. She makes me feel beyond rage. How disappointed everyone must be of her. I want to ask what they really think of this disaster but I know they wouldn’t tell me the truth.

I want to hit her. Over and over. But I can’t do that without breaking the mirror.

“Tonight will be our last sunset. You will never see me again.”

The words were barely a whisper, yet I hear them echo through my mind like a shout of warning.

I will never see him again, I repeat in my head.

My eyes drift shut, the scenery in front of me fading to black. I can still imagine the ghost of his being standing by my side where he said those words.

“That is, of course, if everything goes according to plan,” I remember responding. Tears were threatening to fall, stinging my eyes as they do now.

A lifetime of training taught me to shield my emotions just as much as teach me to shoot a gun. But as of that moment, it was as if I never experienced such a thing.

I turned to look at Ryder but it seemed his training was better than mine. He showed no sign of fear or loss or even any acknowledgment of the situation at all. I could almost pretend we were just two teenagers watching the sunset. Almost.

He simply nods his head once in response to my statement.

“Ryder?” I whispered it as if his name was a secret.

“Yes, Evanna?” unlike me, he maintained his composure.

I forget what I planned to say while I studied his face. His brown eyes — normally so dark they were almost black — were like pools of honey due to the sunlight reflecting off of them. His blonde hair shone almost white. He had a slight crease between his brows as though he was deep in thought.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

His shoulders reluctantly relaxed and the crease between his brows disappeared.

“Nothing of importance,” he sighed with his eyes studying the dirt beneath his shoes.

“I doubt you could be thinking nothing in a situation such as this,” I say, slightly stunned. “Ryder, you are giving up everything. Our plan may lead to peace or it may lead to war. Are you sure you are willing to take this risk?You’re leaving everyone on a maybe,”

You’re leaving me on a maybe, is what I wanted to say.

Ryder had run a hand through his hair in what seemed like frustration, temporarily losing his calm tone. “What do you want me to say?”

Say you’ll stay, I plead in my head, Say you won’t leave me behind.

But those words were left unspoken by the both of us. Now I stand alone on the same cliff overlooking a new sunset. Five years after.

I wish I could say Ryder was wrong. I wish I could say we had a thousand more sunsets together. I wish I could say I saw him again. I wish I could say that I told him I loved him before he vanished.

Unfortunately, Ryder was right. It was our last sunset together. And I never did see him again.

“I love you,” I whisper to no one as the sun finally disappears beneath the horizon, “and one day I will see you again. I will see you and wrap my arms around your neck and tell you that I love you. I refuse to let those words remain unspoken.”

⚠️VIOLENCE AND SOME SWEARING⚠️

I pulled the trigger.

Almost immediately am I scolded by Valentina.

“You weren’t supposed to kill her! The mission was to bring her in alive!”

I stare at the woman sprawled out on the concrete. I wait for the guilt to hit, or the fear to kick in. It doesn’t.

“You told me I had the ‘all clear!’” I counter.

“To capture! Not kill- Ugh!” she practically falls onto the bench pressing her hand to her forehead, gun in hand. “We are so very fired.”

I look back down to the blood pooling around her body and take a cautious step back. Juliet Quinn. I tilt my head. Unlucky first name — almost like she was destined for tragedy.

I look back at Valentina, “What are you thinking?”

“Well, Kris, I am deciding whether to put my one remaining bullet in your head or mine,” she snaps, eyes still shut.

“I don’t see how that would solve anything,” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I crouch down at Juliet’s body, “Let’s think rational-“

“I’m surprised you have the ability to think. You sure it isn’t hollow up there?” She gestures to my head with her gun.

Her previous idea of putting a bullet in one of our heads doesn’t seem so terrible right now. I’m about to say that when a startling ring interrupts me.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Valentina jumps to her feet, phone flashing.

“What? Who is it?” I step closer to see the phone in her hands.

“Ethan. He’s gonna be pissed at us.”

“Relax, he won’t be pissed…” Yes he will be.

Val simply stares. If I didn’t know better I’d think she was trying to drill holes into my skull with her eyes. Which doesn’t seem impossible at the moment.

“Ethan?” She answers the phone on speaker.

“Val, Kris? Aaron and I ran into a bit of trouble down here, do you have Juliet Quinn?” his English accent muffled through the phone.

“Yes. Sort of,” Valentina cringes at the body.

“‘Sort of?’ What is that supposed to mean Val? Listen, we desperately need the information from Juliet. We just killed the only other people who might offer it.”

“Juliet is dead. I shot her,” I cut in before Val says anything. She shoots me a look and rolls her eyes.

“Look, we will figure something out. Don’t panic. Can you meet us somewhere?” she adds.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Kris. But your timing for a first kill couldn’t be worse,” he’s breathing heavily now, wind causing his words to be barely understood. “We’re about two minutes away from where we split up. Meet there as quickly as possible. One of you stay back to dispose the body. Hurry up, Aaron’s got a bullet in his arm.”

“Shit, you couldn’t have told us that earlier?” A sudden panic barely escaping through her words.

“Just hurry up,” the line cuts off.

“Your mess Kris. Clean it up, I have to go fix the rest of this,” and she’s off. Speeding away while I’m left with Juliet Quinn.

Great. My mess.

I thought I knew heartbreak. I thought I understood the pain of it through witnessing it in real life or on screen. But nothing could mimic the real feeling of having your heart broken. Shattered.

The movies don’t talk about the ones who leave. The ones who didn’t have a choice. They are usually the bad people in the story. The heartbreakers that everyone hates. I wish they shared those stories, too. Maybe that would’ve prepared me.

I was told that if I loved them, I would stay. That love was so powerful nothing could tear us apart. But I guess this was a different kind of love. The one you have to sacrifice so the other can be happy.

I will never forget the pain behind those eyes. The eyes that once carried wonder and beauty and millions of stories were flooded with such hurt.

I told them goodbye and watched in silence as their heart broke. And mine shattered.

I’m doing this for them, I tell myself, So they can be happy.

Without me? What if I’m wrong? What if this isn’t fixing things but making them worse?

That thought alone convinced me to turn. To yell their name and apologize with tears in my eyes over and over and over. Tell them I made a mistake. But when I turn…

When I turn they are gone.

My heart has shattered once more, never to be fixed.

It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain.

The sky seemed to be screaming down at the world, trying desperately to warn us about something. The clouds so dark they were almost black as they covered the once blue sky like a blanket of smoke. It was supposed to be midday yet I could barely see a few steps in front of me. I began to rely on the flashes of lightning that came all too quickly.

I couldn’t afford to stumble. A little slip could cost me my life. The uneven rock below me was slippery from the rain making it difficult to avoid either of those things. But it doesn’t take much for me to remember why I’m doing this.

I peer over the edge and see red. Everywhere. The reddish glow of fire spreading across the trees too many miles below. The red of brick houses crumbling to the ground. The red meaning war. Death. Pain. The red that I had to use to convince my legs to keep steady.

The sight of the blood makes me nauseous enough that I have to regain my balance. This is not a mission I can afford to fail.

The map I had used served no use now that the ink smudged together due to the harsh rain. My clothes providing no warmth now that they are drenched. Yet I continue through the unknown path. I may be going the wrong way, or maybe the spirits decided to guide me. Maybe this time I would finally get lucky.

Somewhere near the peak of this mountain lies a cave. A cave supposedly holding the secrets of this world. I was told to travel there and find a way to end this war. But it’s been hours. Too many hours. And my hope is starting to wither away. Still, I place one foot in front of the other.

Every step hurts. I lift my leg and pain stabs at my thigh forcing it down. Once my foot touches the ground a similar pain shoots all the way up to my hip. My breaths are uneven and my lungs feel like they want to collapse. My body’s telling me to stop but my mind won’t let it.

Eventually, there is a light — although dim — coming from a slight dip in the rocky wall of the mountain peak. I can barely think. I can barely feel. Feel my legs screaming with pain or my lungs struggling to breathe or my head pounding like drums as I run to the cave.

I am not lost. And I am not alone. There is something better out there. There is still hope.

It was silent. So so silent.

Maybe if I closed my eyes I could pretend the silence was from a peaceful day and not from an explosion damaging my eardrums. Maybe if I closed my eyes I could pretend the heat was from a beautiful sunny day and not the fire burning the houses neighboring mine. Maybe if I closed my eyes I could pretend the smell of smoke was from our neighbor’s barbecue and not from my memories burning to ash. Maybe if I closed my eyes I could pretend my legs were tired from chasing my baby sister around the house and not running for my life. Maybe if I closed my eyes… maybe I could pretend everything was okay.

But it doesn’t work like that. If I close my eyes now, I will only have to open them again later. And reality will hit harder, harder, harder. So instead I keep them open; I look for a way to survive this. To survive the silence hinting at death. To survive the pain of my knees hitting the concrete ground below me as my legs finally give out…