Evelyn Disgrace

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Evelyn Tiras

Nat is dead. Nat is dead. Nat is dead.

It rings in my head, like a rhythm of gunshots. The boy who I'd befriended had died. By a gun. The general had killed him. General Welk had killed him. He's dead.

No, he's not dead. He can't be. Nat is a survivor, a kidnapper, and someone who fights for the ones he loves. He's not dead.

But he is.

No, he's not. This isn't real. This is just a dream. Everything's a dream. I want to wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Nat is dead. Nat's alive. Old Hancock's dead. Old Hancock's alive. Everything is going to be destroyed. No, everything's going to be alright. It has to be. I can't just lose everything. That's not possible. This isn't real.

The words whirl in my head, and all I want to do is for it to stop. What happened down there? Where is everyone? Why did Aster leave? Did he really leave? He can't have left. No, Aster isn't that way.

But Aster believes I'm poisoned. He believes I'm infected. I am Veran. I lied. I murdered. What's wrong with me? What if I am poisoned? What if my blood made me kill Jeremy? What if that's why everything is falling apart?

Shut it. Shut it. Shut it. Why can't the voices in my head just be quiet? Why are they so loud? SHUT IT.

I curl onto the floor, feeling like my whole life is shattering with one blow. But it's taken several so far. Anneth and Jeremy's engagement. Jeremy's death. Murdering the Piper. Hancock's death. Now this. Every little and large thing seems to have been chipping away at my fragile self. They've been sawing at my heart all this time.

Cut. Cut. Cut. Now there's nothing left to give. Nothing else to say. Is this what I am now? Wasting all away?

I want to go off into a town. I want to be safe and loved and live a simple life. I don't want to be a murderer, or a girl who is known for killing the Piper of the Dead. I don't want to be a person known for disgracing her family, who carelessly left a track of ruin behind her as she fled in fear.

If only life was so simple. If only I'd never met Jeremy Faux on that night of Durgat's Pitch. Perhaps, then, I would have controlled myself more. Perhaps I would have intervened the impending disaster that awaited the poor thirteen-year-old. How was he supposed to know that this new girl, this new friend, would kill him? How was I to know what my fate held?

Swallowing and clutching grasps of my brunette strands, I let out a low sob of grief and anger. Nat did not deserve to die the way he did. Nat is supposed to be a fourteen-year-old boy living in a good family, not some dead child laying on Veran ground. This is unjust, and I am not sorry for Zalia Felipe. I am sorry for Nat, and only him. I want to avenge him. General Welk will die.

I lift myself up from the floor, tears soaking my cheeks and sliding into my hair. The moon glows down onto my wet face, and I feel a soft breeze floating through the shattered glass of the pane. A cool night wind, unsuitable for the horrors of this world. Vera does not deserve rest. The children sleeping in these homes do not deserve peace. These men do not deserve their positions. These women do not deserve their silks.

Not when there are children like Nat, starving lowlifes who are willing to kidnap in vengeance. Not when there are men like Old Hancock, scraping pennies for their families. Not when there are girls like me, attempting to survive in a society they were not born into, and who were disgraced by just that society.

This city. This district. It deserves to burn. Perhaps there is one last crime that needs to be committed.