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38. Cutting Strings

I will never get tired of writing angst

TW: swearing, angst, crying, death, swords, blood,

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"You can't be serious," Roman said. His heart had almost stopped when he heard the puppet's words. "I know Virgil is still there somewhere."

"Of course he's here." It scoffed. "The body wouldn't be alive if he wasn't here. But he's not getting out from the back of the body's mind, so he's no threat here. He's not in control, and we're going to keep it that way."

"You can't lock him up forever," Roman stated. "He's going to break out eventually."

"He wasn't even strong enough to fight Madrina without us," the puppet said. Its voice was smug. "How is he going to push us out of his mind? He's nothing but weak. Find a new love, this one is pathetic."

"What?" The confidence left Roman's voice, dread replacing it instead.

"Virgil may be blind, but we are not." It was practically gloating. "We can see how you care for him. We can see how desperate you are for him to return. But maybe that's because we can feel the magic that's now in you. Clairvoyance... funny how it works, really. It's more likely to show you your worst nightmares than what will actually happen. Realities that could've happened, but were already long since over. Your magic calls to more magic, pulling in more than what was ever necessary. You're quite the curiosity."

"I'm not some exhibit in a museum for you to stare at," Roman hissed. "You don't belong in that body, and you don't belong anywhere near Virgil's mind. Leave him alone."

"It's funny how similar you both sound right now." It tilted its head, smiling coldly and confidently. "You're both so protective, all 'don't touch him' this and 'get away from him' that. It would be endearing if it wasn't sickening. We envy what you don't even realize you have."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Roman muttered. The puppet took a step forward, and Roman found himself taking a step back. Guilt welled up in him. He had never stepped away from Virgil, but this wasn't Virgil, even if it looked like him. He couldn't feel guilt now. He couldn't let it stop him.

"You love him, don't you?" The question made him freeze. Sure, he knew what he felt, but this was such an abrupt confrontation that he wasn't prepared for. "You love him, but you won't admit it. It's hopeless anyway. He's gone."

"Virgil isn't gone, you're just being an asshole."

"Such an elegant choice of words," the puppet said sarcastically. "God, you're both so sickening. You should just hear him in here. He's screaming, all because of you. He just won't give up. You give him strength and hope, and we hate you for that."

It stepped forward again, but when Roman went to step back he could no longer move. There was a heavy force pushing down on his body, like the gravity had been increased. It was dragging him down, stopping any sort of movement.

"We really don't have time for games, Roman," it said. False sympathy was poison in its voice. "Too bad you couldn't help your two friends off of the island before you die. They still don't know how to get off, and now they're there, all alone, with everyone dead around them."

"What are you talking about?" The magic pushed again, forcing Roman onto his knees. "What do you know about my friends?"

"We know that they're hiding in the old ruins, right where they got trapped." The puppet seemed to enjoy every bit of pain that was exposed in his eyes. "And we know that you cared for them like family. We are magic, Roman. We know everything that happens here. Magic has tainted that land once again, and we can finally see. We are connected, and we are far more powerful than you or the one inside this body."

"Anyone can be beaten," Roman said quietly. The magic pushed his jaw closed, effectively silencing anything else he could've said.

"We cannot be beaten," it hissed. "We control everything here. Once you let us in, there is no getting us out. And now, it's time for you to go. We don't have time for games."

Roma had no choice but to watch as it summoned a sword, holding it to his neck. The magic allowed him to close his eyes as the sword was brought back to swing. He couldn't stare death in the face. Not when it was the face of someone else he couldn't save.

So instead he held onto the final memories of Virgil in his mind. The trust that was crystal clear in his eyes. The protectiveness he'd had when Roman had been pushed into the spring. The extra precautions he had put into the original spell to be sure Roman would still get a choice. That was Virgil, not the puppet in front of him. Virgil was so much more than the puppet could ever be.

Roman knew he was about to die. As sure as the sun will set, the sword would swing down and end him. He would be the one to die in this reality.

But the magic disappeared from around him, and he almost fell from suddenly being able to move again. There was a small pained gasp that had him opening his eyes, only to meet the eyes of Virgil. Virgil, real Virgil, not the puppet.

"I'm sorry," Virgil whispered. Roman noticed the blood everywhere, covering Virgil and soaking the ground around them. The sword his body had held was now plunged into his gut, and he was half collapsed onto the ground in front of Roman. There was a sad, pained smile on his face as he looked at Roman. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."

And with one shaky breath, his eyes fluttered shut.

989 words.