All that is dark | ✓

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FORGIVENESS WAS SOMETHING SHE had become so accustomed to that she almost choked on all the anger she never showed. It was why even now, when Nathan had shot a bullet straight through Dante's head, she couldn't bring herself to hate him. At the same time, she also was unable to evade her gaze from Dante, or at least, what had used to be him. Most importantly of all, she couldn't allow herself the mercy of forgetting his name. Remembering him was the least she could do when she hadn't even been able to save him. Would she ever do anything but bring misery and death to the people in her life?

It was no wonder she was destined for doom. When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel her body shutting down to the point of rigor mortis already. If she would dream again, it would be of this forgiveness of hers rotting in her body, until she couldn't breathe anymore.

Still, she couldn't help but feel the vomit rising in her throat as she watched the blood puddle deepen and the victims around her increased. How many had it been now who had died because of her? Until what point was she allowed to close her eyes to it? Had she ever been allowed to do so at all?

"Helene," Nathan said.

He looked almost feverish as he stood in front of her, graveyard eyes a sheen to them she hadn't seen before. His hair was a mess, his black clothes clinging to his body in the rain, droplets catching in his long eyelashes. Blood had splattered everywhere on him; his face, his hands, his clothes. Somehow he didn't seem to mind, his gaze instead fixated on her. Even the storm couldn't wash him clean, even the thunder hadn't been able to deafen the sound of a gunshot. It was like even nature herself didn't want to interfere anymore in a scene this cruel.

"Why are you silent?" Nathan said," I did this for you, for us. He would have taken you from me."

She didn't speak, but it didn't matter. Nothing she could say would make this all less gruesome, her conscience less smeared. All she had wanted was to be loved. Why did she have to leave a trail of corpses behind just to achieve that? When she was younger she had dreamed of running away until no one knew her name to a small cottage in the hills, but nowhere would be far enough. How could she ever let go of this grief she was carrying, of this mourning for the girl she could have been?

He started walking towards her, the storm raging around them still. In the puddles below his face was reflected eerily, the night coloring him navy blue. The rain even darkened the roses, droplets so heavy they seemed to wither. When he reached her, he gently placed his blood-stained hand on her cheek, the gun held loosely in his other hand. Her gaze flicked to the body on the floor, sick to her stomach.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she replied, unsure whether the truth was a curse or her salvation.

She leaned in to hug him, hands going past his face down to his beating heart. For a moment she lingered there, wondering what it would be like to hold it in her hands. He would give it to her if asked, would rip it straight out of his chest, and she didn't know whether that scared or enamored her. The answer didn't matter. In the end, nothing did, that was what she had come to realize.

When she grabbed his gun and held it up to his head, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he watched her curiously as she took a couple of steps back, her finger hovering above the trigger.

"Walk away from me," she said," please, Nathan."

"What are you talking about?" he said," we both know I can't do so."

She breathed out, grip tightening on the gun. "Walk away or I'll shoot."

He bridged the distance between them without any hesitation, leaning forward to place his forehead against the gun. When he spoke, his voice was steady, eyes clear.