by Elizabeth Lo
At long last, the final body bursts into air like the ending to a choreographed skit, and the girl stares at the place the last man stood for the longest time. Her deep breaths are now the only sound in the air, and if Glorieux listens hard enough, she can hear the sound of the girl’s heartbeat too.
After a few long, painstaking seconds, the girl rushes over to the middle of the room, where the collapsed Falcon lays, also watching her.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “Are you…”
“Well, I’m alive,” he says, managing to sit up, holding his chest. “As always.”
He maybe nods to the scene where Midnight’s dance with the Hanburians took place. In Glorieux’s foggy vision, it looks like her corpse soldiers never existed at all.
“I see you did some work,” he notes.
“Whether or not it was the right thing to do… I’m not really sure.”
“You managed to do it painlessly, so good for you. But…” Something in his voice changes. “I didn’t know you had something so convenient like that. That spell of yours.”
“It was meant to kill myself,” she says quietly. “Who knew… I would use it to kill others.”
There’s no remorse in her voice. When she held Glorieux in the palm of her hand, the Decomposition was slowly and acid-like. When she touched each and every Hanburian, Decomposition was released in an explosion.
She would only kill to save someone. That is the defining difference between Midnight and Glorieux. Thinking about that, Glorieux feels even more pathetic.
Usually, by now, Glorieux would be feeling some form of anger. Despite her distance away and her lack of clear vision, Glorieux can still make out those frightening red eyes. Like glowing, emotionless orbs that float in her vision.
Where did her anger go? Why can’t she feel anything?
Why can she think?
It’s ugly, feeling this. She feels… vulnerable.
Her body feels shaky, her hands trembling. When those red dots flick towards her, her stomach lurches.
What is this?
Oh. That’s right.
Fear.
Fear? She’s scared of that little girl?
No—yes. She’s scared of that little girl. The moment that hand wrapped itself around her face, scrunching her nose and squishing her eyes, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time.
Mortal fear.
Not the fear she felt before—the fear that drove her to want to kill more and destroy more before she could be destroyed. No, that was the fear of anticipation.
This fear. Yes, this fear, was something different.
It was the feeling of being in checkmate. The feeling of someone else’s inescapable anger towering over her and consuming her.
The fear of her illusion coming to her end. In a way, Midnight had killed Glorieux as fast as she had killed the Hanburians without fully taking her life. All of Glorieux’s momentum halted at once, and it makes her shake as she realizes this.
It’s the first time in three days she’s experienced something like this.
The power of consequence.
Her anger really isn’t gone—in fact, it’s still sitting on her tongue.
But her rationality has come back through the overpowering feeling of defeat and the draining effects of magic deprivation.
And the more she starts to think back on herself the past couple of days, the more ashamed she starts to feel.
Did she actually accomplish anything?
Her power is gone. That boy took it from her. In fact, he’s still sitting on the side of the foyer a few feet away writhing in pain, bearing the burden of the magic of Glorieux’s foreign souls inside of him. The actual souls are still inside of her, but their magic energy, as well as hers, pours into him at an alarmingly fast rate. And so, the voices in her head are silent for once and she’s been stripped of the inhuman magic she had wielded only just an hour ago.
“Artemis!” someone yells from the collapsed remains of the entrance. Footsteps thud on the rubble-covered carpet and tap softly on the marble. “Artemis! Answer me!”
He groans in response, making an attempt to say a three-syllable name.
“What’s wrong?” the new girl exclaims, kneeling next to him, her red hair bouncing all over the place. “What happened to you? How are you here?”
But of course, the poor boy can’t answer.
“Artemis,” Midnight says quietly, gently touching his forehead. “You’re suffering from magic intoxication, aren’t you. You’re using that enchantment that Sucre mentioned before.”
He makes a small noise in confirmation.
“The cat… He’s dead… isn’t he…” she says, her voice so quiet, Glorieux has to strain her ears to hear. “Sucre.”
And the boy, who had stayed so silent through the pain, starts sobbing.
“Mid… Mid, how do I help him?” the Aroma cries. “How do I… What do I…”
Midnight Thunder seems to shrink. That dominating presence that she had just moments ago folds itself in and hides.
“I don’t know…” she whispers. “I don’t know… At this point, I haven’t saved anyone.”
The Falcon watches their exchange wordlessly. All he does is place an arm around the silver-haired girl’s shoulders and stare off ahead blankly.
“Save me.”
Glorieux’s own voice surprises her. Through the quiet sobbing, her voice seems to ring through the hallway.
“You can save me, right? Like you did with them.” She starts to drag herself in their direction. “Save me. Save me. That cat instructed you how to, right? You can save me, right?”
Three pairs of eyes turn to her. She can only make out the red ones.
“If you want to save someone, save me,” she repeats.
“Why?” the taller figure says back to her. “Why do you suddenly want to be saved?”
“Doesn’t everyone want to be saved?” she says back, her voice creeping up in volume. “Why can’t anyone bother to save me? Why do I have to scream and shout and burn the world in order for anyone to notice me? Why can’t—”
“Save you?” the redhead yells over her. “Why do we have to save a murderer like you? Someone who couldn’t see past her own problems, who pushed them onto other people, and hurt everyone she touched!”
Her voice echoes through the entire hall and through Glorieux’s stone heart.
“You kill your family, you burn a city, and you destroy your own home bit by bit, and you think you deserve to ask for help? To be saved?” She stands up, strides over, and punches Glorieux’s newly formed face with a strength that Glorieux fears might have shattered her jaw. “Don’t fuck with me, you arrogant bitch.”
As Glorieux lays there, a laugh bubbles in her throat. She rolls over on the ground, her chest shaking.
“Yes, yes! What right do I have to ask for help? What right do I have to be saved? Yes, yes…” She sits back up. “Just like everyone else, deciding what rights other people should have. You’re right. I’m the worst sort of person possible. But I think everyone is a monster in their own way. We blame others for our mistakes. We swing hammers against each other and call it justice. We say ugly things about people behind their backs because they don’t meet our ideals, yet we hide our own ugly selves behind pretty, smiling masks. It’s a human thing, yes, a human thing to expect others to be perfect. So to be perfect is to not be human. So tell me, human. Tell me if I deserve to live or not.”
The girl trembles with anger.
“Don’t. Compare me. With you. No, I’m not perfect, just like anyone else, but just because we know we’re imperfect doesn’t mean we can be forgiven for everything we do. There are still consequences.”
It’s Glorieux’s turn to clench her teeth and squeeze her hands into fists.
“I know what I did, you deaf little imbecile,” she snarls under her breath, but it fades out into a begging whisper. “I just… I want to feel the joy that Marigold had. Or laugh like a little kid ag
ain. Or be given a real smile one day. Is it… Is it so wrong to want to be happy?”
“Glorieux,” Midnight says, finally speaking. “Do you want to live?”
The question makes her pause.
“Yes,” she practically whispers. “Yes, I do.”
Those red eyes close.
“Do you know what it means to live?” she asks.
Something in Glorieux sinks.
“What… do you…”
“Do you know what it means to live?” she asks again. “Or are you only scared of death?”
“Does it matter?” Glorieux asks back. “Why do you need a reason to want to live?”
Those eyes flick open and focus in on Glorieux.
Again. That gaze that seems to rip her soul out for all to see.
“You can desire to live as much as you want, but that doesn’t mean you’ll live.”
There’s a sense of bitterness in that soft, sweet voice.
“So then,” Glorieux says. “What about you? What do you wish to do with your life? After all, you’re alive right now, right? Don’t you want to make this remaining time mean something? Not only to you, but to other people. After all, your life will only fizzle out and leave nothing behind but dust unless you do something about it.”
“What are you…?”
“You said it yourself, didn’t you? That you haven’t saved anyone yet. Then break this curse. If not for me, but for others. For all those like the people you Decomposed. You can save them without destroying them. You can fulfill your meaning.”
She twitches.
Did Glorieux hit the mark?
“You’re the only one who can do it,” she continues. “You’ll make an impact on the world. You’ll be remembered as a hero.”
The one behind her, the Falcon, tenses.
“You’ll—”
“I know,” Midnight cuts in. “I know what breaking this curse means already.”
“Then why are you hesitating?”
“Why…”
“You, too, are simply afraid of death? But how lucky of you, you get to die an honorable death. Because after all, even if you want to live, the world will be the one to tell you when to die, isn’t that right?”
The other two next to her stay silent.
“The only way you can save that boy is if you break the curse. Then all the souls in my body will be set free, and his pain will be alleviated.”
She can only imagine what’s on their faces. Guilt maybe? It’s obvious on the redhead… not so much on the Falcon. But he’s a heartless man—she saw with her own eyes how he didn’t hesitate to shoot. He’s probably used to using others as tools at his disposal. He probably saved Midnight from Glorieux earlier because he wasn’t done using her. Surely that’s it.
“Go on, Midnight Thunder,” she coaxes. “Go on and save people. The door is all yours.”
She gestures at the stoic painting watching the whole encounter, somehow still untouched.
To her satisfaction, the small girl stands up sullenly and walks past Glorieux to the painting.
“Mid—” the Aroma starts, but Glorieux cuts her off.
“She’ll save your little boyfriend. Who do you value more? Midnight Thunder or Artemis Frost?”
The Aroma goes silent.
Why does the soldier look so uptight?
Midnight’s steps, the sizzle of canvas under a Decomposing palm, and the faint echo of a sniffle are the only sounds anyone can hear. Even the groaning boy goes quiet.
“Goodbye,” Midnight says feebly.
And she pushes in the stone brick behind the place she disintegrated, watches as the stone wall slowly slides open, and steps in.
She looks back once.
The door closes.
The rune on the door is Nakh.
“Love and care, synonymous with soul.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lafayette
Lafayette stares at the silver gun in his hand. There are only two bullets left. After shooting all of his soldiers in the head and then wasting more bullets on the indomitable deranged queen and her minions, he has been careful to preserve these last two. What a strange turn of events these past few days have been.
He stashes away one gold-glinting bullet in his pocket. The other, he rolls in his hand.
Wouldn’t it be nice to live the way I want someday? I think that’s what I might have been thinking. What if there was a way to do that?
Lafayette is placing the bullet in the cartridge when Glorieux pipes up again.
“Today,” she says, “we will be set free from this hell.”
Lafayette’s hands stop moving, resting the gun in his left hand. He grins and twirls the pistol.
“Well then today will be quite the day of liberty,” he says.
“What are the bullets for?” the white-haired woman asks. “Not for me, I assume.”
Lafayette eyes her over the pistol. He shouldn’t let her leave his sight.
“An insane person,” he answers, pushing the magazine back into the gun.
“I see…” she says, her eyes watchful of Lafayette instead of the gun. “You know…” she continues, “they say… you shouldn’t fear the gun… But fear the man holding the gun.”
Those silver eyes flick towards Lafayette.
“Too true,” he says, the gun feeling heavy and burdensome in his hands. Mr. Guns and Knives, he is indeed.
It’s too easy to kill a person. It’s infinitely harder to see every single person as… another person, really. He wonders how Midnight manages to do it.
Funny how she’s the one running into the heat of the problem to give herself up for the rest of Galviton. For him. For everyone. Without actually being seen herself.
Midnight Thunder is just a little too complacent.
“Are you a friend of hers? That pink-eyed girl,” the woman says.
She’s making small talk like it’s no big deal. As if this is just a casual exchange between two strangers.
He shrugs in response.
There are some words that this person said to Midnight that still make him uneasy. He doesn’t know how to judge them.
What she’d said to Midnight… Were they really the right words? About meaning something in this world… Should your life be measured by how much you mattered to other people?
Was it better that he just let it go on? Or should he have stepped in?
What would he know? Killer that he is.
The one who could have hit the bird at any moment.
He’s here for one job. That’s it.
Oh, come on… Orion says. You could’ve said something more.
I’m no magician, Orion, but I think even for you, trying to solve the Memento Mori curse would be impossible without Midnight. You know that.
Orion’s silence is enough to speak his confliction.
Lafayette sighs and decides to turn back to the woman before him.
“You know,” he says, “Why did you say those things to Midnight? To encourage her? To guilt her?”
Glorieux’s body looks up towards him, eyes slowly glazing over. It’s like watching layers of molasses slowly build up over those eyes, clouding up a mirror. Calculating still, but progressively losing its edge.
“I didn’t actually believe what I told her, you know. About her meaning and such. I just knew it was what she needed to hear.”
Instinctively, Lafayette’s gun hand snaps up to the ready, muzzle pointed right between Glorieux’s pale eyebrows with a rock sinking in his stomach.
“Oh?” he says, trying to force himself to look calm. “You thought you played the hero for a moment? Just yesterday, you burned down a city. But today you actually want to break the curse?”
The head starts to bob up and down. The molasses is withering. Washing off to reveal a melted mind hiding within. The body is weakening with this prolonged period of magic deficiency.
“I’ve realized now…” the white-haired body says between breaths, “tha
t that’s the only way to be free. This curse has bound us all, but I realize with it gone… I can really be free. What’s one more sacrifice for more freedom, right?”
Lafayette’s hand tightens.
“I may be wrong,” he says, “but that just sounds like a trap. A hole you’ve dug for yourself. You were never free, Glorieux Frost. And all you others in there. You all just tricked yourselves into thinking that buying self-satisfaction with blood was a type of freedom.”
“Then what about you?” she says, with an unnaturally hysterical laugh. “One of those last bullets is for you, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is, Your Majesty.”
“Wait… really?” the girl named Annabelle pipes up. She’s been silent ever since Midnight’s descent into the basement having settled back down in the middle of the foyer with Lafayette and the queen. “You’re going to commit suicide? After all this?”
He glances at her. “What of it?”
She shakes her head.
“Middie said so herself, right? That you can continue to live.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair for the hundredth time. She tenses.
But instead of being cross with her, he simply leans back and looks at the patchy ceiling.
“She did, didn’t she…” he says to himself.
Annabelle’s eyes, though tired, spark with a little interest.
“Don’t you want to live too?” she asks.
“Hmm… I do. That would be nice. But I want Midnight to live too.”
She pauses, holding the thought on her tongue.
“Of course, not every wish can be fulfilled,” he says, sitting up again. “What about you? Do you want Midnight to live?”
“What did you do anyway?” she asks, not answering his question. “You two were talking as if you had committed some sort of crime before.”
He points his gun at his temple.
“Killed some people is all,” he says, flicking his hand upward as if he shot it.
A head bobs backwards as he drops his hand back down, and mirror eyes meet his. All that’s left in them is a fog. A fog with tears.
“I’m sorry,” Glorieux says, calling through the mist. “All I wanted was to be free.”