“I know I can’t change your mind, but I want you to listen.”

Pippa has never heard his voice with so much desperation before.

It curls and twists in her stomach, making her feel sick. Coming from him, it sounds wrong, like nails on a blackboard kind of wrong.

“Ok. I’m listening,” she promises, though not moving. If he wants her to listen, he better do it fast.

She stays with a pitch black dagger, swirls of darkness coming off of it in waves. It’s point directed right at Ink Spill’s neck.

For the position she is in, Ink Spill doesn’t appear fazed. She already has a cut where Pippa sliced into her vocal cords. She underestimated Pippa before, she won’t do it again.

“I know it hurts. Salen was my friend too. But I know it was different. She was your best friend. A sister of sorts. I’m begging you to remember her last words. Not to get bitter. Stay a beacon of hope,” Water Craze pleads.

Hearing Salen’s words from Cotton’s mouth brings her back to that moment. The pivotal scene that changed everything.

When she closes her eyes, she can see the obsidian veins creeping up Salen’s skin. The blackness she coughed up. The life leaving the eyes that used to hold so much joy.

She wants to scream, but instead she calmly says, “I remember her last words quite well.”

She hopes her tone is sharp and unforgiving. With how Water Craze winces, she guesses it was.

“Then you know this isn’t what she wanted to happen,” he persists. “Think about it, Tink.”

Pippa lets her eyelids slip shut and tries to picture Salen in any other situation that isn’t her death. There are clouds of darkness, but little rays of light shine through.

Moments flash in a millisecond, so fast she barely can comprehend what she’s seeing. She does get glimpses. Fits of laughter. Toothy smiles. Her warm hugs.

Her heart thaws the tiniest bit. But it also aches.

“I’m not the same person she said that about. That was the Beacon of before,” she admits, though with less firmness than before.

He must visualize the cracks in her composure because he practically jumps. “You’re right. A death like this changes someone. But no matter how you change, you’re still Beacon to everyone else.”

Is she though? How can she still be Beacon when she doesn’t feel like a hero?

“I’ll never be able to live up to Salen’s sacrifice. She was the hero. Not me.”

“She was the best,” he agrees, “And you won’t honor her like this.”

“You’re right,” she echoes his own words. “I’m not trying to honor her. I’m trying to avenge her. Grieve her.”

His hands hold a slight tremble. He’s holding back in this conversation. She can tell.

“You’re not grieving her though. This won’t make you feel better,” he retorts.

_You’re not grieving her_. _You’re not grieving her. _

_She’s_ not grieving her?

Is there a right way to grieve?

“You’re distracting yourself. But once you step over that boundary, you’re not only changing yourself but you won’t have anything to distract yourself with anymore.”

Mulling over his comments, she reflects. Just a little. Pippa was always aware that what she wanted to do would be going against what Salen told her, but having Cotton point it out brings the direct betrayal to the forefront.

At the same time, she isn’t the same girl that Salen told that to.

She can’t just sit by and do nothing. Not with Ink Spill still alive.

But Cotton isn’t incorrect either.

Will killing Ink Spill make her feel better?

Even if it does, what will she do afterwards?

“Would you kill her if Salen were still here?” He asks. That’s when she realizes that he’s got her there. That he wormed his way into her bleeding heart.

The answer is a definite negative.

“No,” she mumbles. In defeat.

“Then you shouldn’t do it,” he repeats.

His logic has invaded her mind. He’s right. She would never kill anyone if Salen, her beautiful best friend, was still on the planet. She would take her by the shoulders and shake her, question her about what she is even thinking. Salen was relentless in the best way.

Her soul aches. People talk about soulmates. Salen’s was her platonic soulmate.

Sighing, she lets the knife dissolve into nothing. “We’re bringing her to the police.”

Cotton’s eyes widen, “Seriously?” Ink Spill doesn’t share his surprise. Her expression is neutral.

Throwing him an unimpressed look, she asks,“Do you want me to change my mind?”

He put his hands up in mock (or maybe real) surrender. “Nope. Shutting up now.”

Pippa conjures another dagger, and this time, it is normal, pure brightness. Cotton’s composure visibly sags at the light.

Cutting the restraints loose but not removing the power dampening band locked around her wrist, she lets Ink Spill up. The villain glares at her. Probably the only reason she doesn’t curse her out is because of the fact that Pippa damaged her vocal cords.

“Come on, let’s go,” Pippa orders, pushing Ink Spill towards the door.

Cotton falls into step with Pippa. “Nice to have you back, Tink.”

The way he says that should make her happy, but she can’t help but feel like it doesn’t sound right. She’s not the same. She’s not back.

Ink Spill trips in front of them, landing on her hands and knees. Neither Pippa nor Cotton go to help her. Yes, she may not be harming Ink Spill anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to actively help her.

What she doesn’t expect is her standing up with a knife in hand. A real metal blade.

The danger reflects in the dim lighting.

Neither of them were prepared for that. Ink Spill lunges.

On instinct, Pippa pushes Cotton to the side. Usually, he is much more agile. Not today when he is mentally exhausted. He stumbles into the doorframe.

In that moment, the knife comes down. It all happens in slow motion and sped up at the same time. Pippa could have said that she doesn’t even remember what she did. It would’ve been believable with the swift attack.

But she knows exactly what she did.

When Ink Spill goes to swipe at Cotton, Pippa counters it with her own and then with her other hand grabs her wrist. Her blade disappears and she turns Ink Spills force inwards into her own body.

Ink Spill spills deep maroon blood.

It is beautiful.

The murderer of so many, especially Salen, is dead. Killed with her own weapon. How poetic.

A villain’s powers that had no cure is gone.

She can’t help but feel relief, set deep in her bones.

As her slumped body continues to bleed on the ground, Cotton just stares at Pippa, with an emotion that isn’t fear but isn’t positive either.

Pippa knows how it looks. Like she took the first opportunity to kill Ink Spill so she has an excuse. A good reason to have done murdered her. It wasn’t like that.

Ink Spill went after Cotton. Another person Pippa loves.

There was not going to be a repeat of last time. He can get mad at her. At least he would be alive to be mad. She could live with that.

“I’m Beacon,” she turns to Cotton as if it is their first time meeting.

“But I don’t represent the same thing that I did when we first met. Not the pure goodness.” With each passing word, her voice becomes more confident, gaining their footing. “Protection at all costs. That is what I represent.”

She still wants to help and save people. That hasn’t changed. Just maybe her way of going about doing that. There’s this brutal and feral side, a shadow, living inside of her. It probably won’t ever go away.

But she won’t do something out of revenge. Not like she was going to do.

No. She killed Ink Spill because she wanted to save Cotton.

Some may not be able to differentiate between the two.

Intention matters. At least to her.

It must make a difference to her powers since when she creates an orb of light, it isn’t entirely light. Though not total darkness either.

It’s a clash of both gold and obsidian.

———

(What songs do you listen to when you write, if you listen to anything?

I like listening to instrumentals or soundtracks because I cannot listen to words without getting distracted. Right now it is the Cobra Kai season 6 part 3 soundtrack.)