I’m feeling the pain flowing through my body and can feel my head start to pound. I look around the room and see the IV dripping into my arm. The beeps from the monitors are steady which is something new since I first arrived here. I know they told me there was a flat line initially when they first brought me in last night. I’m here only by the luck of the draw; my passenger wasn’t so lucky.   The doctor looks me over and says, “Nice to see you back with us. You were out for a little bit.” I can barely hear the man speaking to the woman next to him, I don’t know who she is, but she seems concerned about me. She comes over and holds my hand and says, “Oh honey, I’m so glad you are alive.”. I stare at her for a second and finally ask, “Who are you?”, the look on her face tells me I should know her.   She stands up and turns away and says something to the doctor, and then turns back to me and she says, “I’m your wife, Barbara. Don’t you remember me.”. I shake my head letting her know I don’t. She begins to sob and walks out of the room. The doctor approaches my bed and asks, “Do you know who you are?”. I must admit to him that I have no idea, but I know there was someone with me that died in what I can only assume was a car crash.   The doctor seems upset and asks me if I know what happened. Then he begins to explain about the accident and that my friend Joey didn’t make it, and there was something else. He lifted the blanket, and I can see that my legs have been amputated, and I begin to sob. That’s when I see my next visitor in the corner.   The figure appears to me with the black cloak and sickle. He points at me and mouths, “It’s your turn.”. I nod to him and a smile appears across my face. I’m happy when I suddenly hear the machine beside me flatline and he takes my hand. My legs are there, and it is time for me to leave.   As I’m walking past the doctor and Barbara my wife and here the doctor say as he looks me directly in the eyes and says, “He will give you death, and you will love him for it.”, and he is right there is now peace in my heart as I make my way to the bright light.

He will give you death and you will love him for it. It was a ominous tune a voice. Why would I love him for death? I will not let kill him kill me for I am beyond death and life An eye for an eye of mine revenge is revenge. What is the difference for? There is none I may be sick or perfect in hell but so is the world and therefore if it gives me death I will give him death and we will both go to hell.

The shot rang out like a thunderclap, the pressure hit just as hard, sending a recoil into my chest that pushed me back a couple steps.

Red bloomed from the middle of my chest, soaking my already sweat drenched shirt. Pain didn’t come though, just a buzz of numbness and pins and needles. Perhaps it nicked my spinal cord, perhaps death is soft. The man across from me frurrowd his brow as he lowered his pistol, his deep set gray eyes aglow. I wobbled, my feet giving away to gravity. I crumpled to the snow, my breath wheezed out and I couldn’t seem to get a breath in.

He crouched down next to me, his figure fuzzy. “I-hnng don’t w-want to go.” I coughed out, blood filled my mouth.

“Quiet, you’ll need your strength now.” He hushed, his brass voice cracking. He laid a warm rough hand upon my forehead. “When you get there, when you see him, don’t be fearful, don’t run, don’t hide.”

I felt so cold, my vision twinged black. I was all numb, laying on a blanket of red snow.

“You’ll thank me in the end, girl.” His voice moved away, snow crunched under his footsteps. “Find me when you’re back.” He echoed off into the distance.

Red bloomed around me, like a pair of wings.

Mist filled the land of death, cooling the ever cold terrain. The terrain was large and covered with buildings, mountains and lakes that are no longer in the land above. In the dark misty place below earth. Dead things go. Because this is the underworld.

When in the world of the dead, the way to leave is to die which here means to live. Everything here is switched from normal reality. It’s sort of confusing if you try to think about it from stand point of an alive human.

Like a man stubborn Like a heart torn Like an angry heart Like a vengeful heart Like a sad heart Like a nostalgic heart Like an agonizing heart…

Like the tides we wish to breathe in without break. Cant we? No, no we cant. But he’ll stand there, waiting for my downfall the more he whispers to me. Yet he’s a coward, he whispers from a distance. He knows i’ll grab him by the ear and show him who truly is the authority. Certainly, it’s not me. And yet the more the question will never not linger, am I a fool? So the more I change for my life to continue, to present me with it’s own proposals, I can only hang my head as my chants turn to seemingly nothing. The more I write here, the more a part of me is lost, unable to hide, unable to covet, unable to breathe, blink, watch. Watch me. Does this paragraph make more sense than anyone who wants it to? No, no it doesnt. I wanted a theme. I cant find one. Yet I cant find myself to enjoy the thought of death, as most of the population would. I just cant. I have a destiny. I do. Really. Right? Yeah.. Yeah? I have a destiny? Wait, what? I’m spiraling the more these thoughts drown and the more they surface. Whether here or not, hear this or not. Thanks, really, for this interesting proposal of death, devil. No, I cant thank you or love you for it. Because why would I love the one who caused such ruckus among my brain? Barbaric! And Oh, The Irony of life kicks in no matter the place I try to drown away in.

Kylo stood at the door, his broad bare back facing me. Chills ran down my skin, wondering what he was thinking. He sighed and walked over to his dresser and grabbed his shirt. I was somewhat sad to see his body covered up in the cloth. He walked out without a word to me, and I huffed. ‘Who was he to think that he could leave without saying anything to me.’ I thought. “I wouldn’t be upset if I were you.” Gracelyn my maid commented. “Huh?” I asked spinning around in my chair, suddenly feeling naked in my nightgown. “Don’t be sad dear. He’s usually gruff when things like this happen.” She said smiling. None of the gaurds or other captives on the ship knew I was really a prisoner. A rebel at that. One he was using to get information. But the words she said peaked my interest. “What do you mean Grace?” I said, cringing. My father would shoot me with a blaster if he found out I addressed an elder with her first name. “You are very slow dear.” She chuckled and it took everything in me not to use Jedi mind tricks to get her to tell me. “He loves you. But he doesn’t know how to feel. No one does actually. He’s happier around you, brighter and dare I say not as evil.” I shook my head. There was no way. Sure he was hot beyond expectation and he was sweet to me, even though I was his captive. But he couldn’t love me, could he? He was about to start a war with the rebels, he was about to kill the people I cared about for power. Gracelyn noticed my silence. “And I’ve wondered, if you could love him too?” I wondered the same thing the night he kissed me and told me that he would burn the world to make me happy. When he kissed my neck and hummed against my skin. When he danced with me at the Emperor Ball. And especially when he held me last night, crying as he admitted he was wrong to confess such things. I looked at the old maid. I knew if there was anyone in the Galaxy I could trust with my life, it was her. “To be honest, I think I might. I’m just scared of what will happen if I tell him.” I could feel tears reach my eyes. Oh darling don’t cry.” She said as she wrapped an arm around me. “The way I see it, He will give you Death and you will love him for it.” That statement shook me to the core. I scooted back and stared into her eyes, she wasn’t joking. I sighed and went to the closet and dressed myself as she left. When she did I sat back down, this time on the floor, and said aloud what I feared most. “If he gave me death, I would love him for it.” I heard a clatter and looked up. Kylo. He dropped his helmet. I stood up, realizing my cheeks were burning and picked it up for him. When I looked into his eyes I saw the hunger I had seen when he kissed me the first time. “You love me?” He asked, his deep voice surprising me again. “Yes, I do.” I said as he grabbed the helmet from me. “I would watch the world burn for you Kylo.”

Her back pressed into matted carpet, as her eyes followed the ceiling fan move round and round and round and round again. Even as she shut her eyes, they kept spinning underneath the cover of eyelid. She outstretched her arm, forming a cross with her body and turned her palms up towards the ceiling. It was never easy to give up the little control she felt she had, but the release of tension was intoxicating. Her jaw became slack and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Every muscle in her face twitched trying to adjust to the turnover of power. Her whole body began to convulse and contort. And then black silence filled the space around her. It crept its way into her until she had no control. “I see you are back, little one,” the void’s voice was smooth and sinister. The tone reflected malice, but a gentle sort animosity. Its voice sought control, not through brute force, but manipulation. It never took control without Lydia’s release. It waited for her patiently, “I was starting to wonder when you let go again.” Though she gave up control of her body, Lydia was able to communicate with the darkness through her consciousness. “I needed a break,” she knew she sounded weak and defeated, but this was the only space she’d let her weakness show. “You can always come to me for a break. Rest here, child." The darkness engulfed her. Its cold embrace wrapped around he, holding her mind at bay. Whenever she released control to the void, she felt a sense of belonging, she felt needed. A feeling she hasn’t experienced in the last twleve years of her life. She never cared or paid much attention to the actions of the void. It can’t do any worse than I have already done on my own, she once thought ot herself. When Lydia first discovered the void, she was seeking out anything to numb her mind. To quiet the voices in her head. She tried pain killer after pain killer. She would take anything anyone would give her, but nothing gave her the release she desired. After years of seeking, she found Lady Millword. She was supposedly a natural healer. She was able to reach into the minds of the suffering and pull out whatever they desired most. Whether it be calm, happiness, or rage, she was abl to provide. In their first meeting, Lady Millword laid crystals on Lydia’s wrists, her chest, and up her legs. At first, Lydia thought this woman was a hoax, but again, she was willing to try anything. Millword sat crisscrossed above Lydia’s head. She pressed her ring and middle fingers into Lydia’s temples. Immediately, Lydia’s mind went blank. For the first time in 7 years, she felt light. Heavy weight lifted from her and she was at peace. When she awoke, crystals were flung about. Lady Millword was breathing heavily; her hands holding up her head. “You must leave,” Millword insisted. “How did you do that?” “Get out,” Millword stood up and pushed open the door. “No. Tell me how you did that,” the weight off reality fell back onto her and filled her with impatience and anger. “You must never go to the place again. Leave.” Lydia’s frustrations grew. The first taste of peace she has had and it was already being threatened to go away. To leave her. She wouldn’t be abandoned again. She pulled out her knife and flung it into Lady Millord’s hand, pinning it to the door. Millword didn’t flinch. She looked Lydia in the eye, unwilling to back down. “He will give you death, and you will love him for it. That’s what he told me. You shouldn’t go back to that state. He is too powerful.” “If death is the only release I can get, I will gladly take it,” Lydia pulled the knife from Millword’s hand and dragged it along her throat.

My mother spat the words in my face as I held my knife to her throat. I had her pinned to my bedroom wall, the paint of the walls surrounding us had faded over de years. I haven't been in this room for a while, haven't been near my mother, my enemy. I felt sorry for her, she was jealous of the love I shared with Luther. The love she cant feel for anyone anymore, after the passing of my father. I saw the change in her face, her features, after she had witnessed the murder of her lover. I observed the moment she lost the spark in her eyes, the moment after which she would hate me forever. I watched her yell out, but being denied any space to move, as Luther held her tight. And I kept watching her, while stabbing my father over and over again. I didn't care where or how many times my knife cut him. All I cared was that my mother would lose everything, that she would suffer a pain worse then dead. It wasn't until Luther let go of my mother and pulled me from my father that I had stopped. He took me into the next room, that way I could still hear my mothers screams. 'She will be next', Luther promised with delight. 'You have my word'. He always kept his word, it's what I loved most about him. He has helped me kill my siblings and aunts and uncles, it's why I'm so loyal to him and he to me. He stood behind me as I applied more pressure to her neck with my knife. I hesitated, as I knew what would be next. 'Don't worry,' he breathed in my ear, 'it will all be over soon'. I closed my eyes and with a deep breath, I cut through my mother's throat. Her body fell with a loud bump on my bedroom floor. My tears mixed with the blood on my white, now red, carpet. I turned around, handing the knife over to Luther. 'You've done well my love,' he whispered as he dried my tears, 'it's your turn now'. He hugged me tight and stabbed me in my gut. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would,' I love you', I thrembled as he twisted the knife.

_ Il m'a dit, ‘Je t'aime’, mais j'ai secoué la tête._

He would give you beautiful love but you would hate him entirely. All of your friends decide it better, for you to play hard to get, you see.

And what’s better than faking? Oh, my dear, reality is far superior. Because if you get a little attached, your worthy love will feel inferior.

You knew quite enough about love, and its treacherous connection to hell. It lures you in, with sappy words, “I do.” as if instead of show, they just would tell.

They would let your heart swoon, but they would let it burst into flames; let the sun spark the fiery ashes, ‘till you’re the only scapegoat to blame.

You told yourself and your friends that hard to get was the game of a kid. But truly, my dear, it never really was. You had yet to accept even one nice gift.

And even if he was a kind soul, he would give you a slow death, because everything else he tried, the time he spent to give them depth, the lovely things, all had yet to suffice. And on your hurried last breath, you mumbled a quiet “I love you” and with that brought a surprise, whether it was right or true, it still mattered to both him and you.

He gave you death, as if it were coffee.

He gave you death and you—

_ Et je l'ai aimé pour ça._

he will give you death and you wil love him for it - a whisper every soul has uttered since peters diagnoses. Sadness now suffocates me, a relentless force pressing against my lungs, demanding i surrender. The past 8 months have been endless pilgrimage to sterile hospital corridors, where the putrid sent of suffering lingers like an unwelcome specter