Killing (And Other Games)

(Epilogue)

(Epilogue)

Down below in the pits they fight. I don't know who they are and frankly I don't really care. The pits scare me now, memories embedded in the dungeons. It will be a while before I go back down there, that's for sure.

Upstairs we celebrate. 'Neo Hand to Hand' Ryker jokes but in the comfort of the box it looks exactly the same as it always does. White carnations and privilege crowd my vision, glasses of champagne in constant motion, a buffet of gossip and conversations, all leaving a strange taste in your mouth afterwards. I stand in the exact centre of the room with a redhead Prince who is engaged to his sister on my right, a German fleshseeker who killed the love of his life on my left. Me; a displaced human? A disillusioned teenager? A girl in imminent danger? A person with all their priorities changing before their eyes? Maybe. Maybe I'm just Immy Killing, no description needed.

Zane's sister died a month ago. He killed Ryker a month ago. Everything fell apart for him a month ago. He's by the window, leaning in the exact same position that Aster was once, with a cognac glass clutched in his hand. He hasn't drunk from Ryker in a month. His hands are completely black and underneath his white shirt you can see the strange black veins snaking up towards his collarbone. Everyone in the room makes a conscious effort to stay away from him even though he's the host of the event. Or, perhaps, because of that.

"Immy." It's almost startling to hear Zane say my name. Ryker and I exchange a quick glance. "Immy come over here, quick."

Shakily, carefully, I inch over to where Zane is standing in front of the window. He's grinning back at me with a particular animosity. I can't help but notice the darkness in his eyes.

"What is it?" I whisper, biting my lip.

Zane places a hand on my back, squeezes my shoulder. "Look."

"I don't-"

"Look."

The hand on my back feels like a weight. My throat constricts, my heart explodes. In this moment I know that whatever I thought was over is not over. Lines have been crossed and there is no going back.

Down in the pits, a girl is dragged out by a guard and she's thrown into the dirt. For once the audience is silent. The silence grows and inflates, permeates and infects. How. Did. I. Get. Here?

The girl stands and faces her opponent. Even from up here I can see. Zane grins at me and his grip tightens.

The girl is Joan.