The Way We Fall

Chapter 67 (Roche)

The first thing she registered was how much her head throbbed. She groaned, trying to clutch the ache radiating from a lump on her head, but she found that she couldn't move her arms. Roche's eyes popped open and bright light sliced across her corneas painfully.

"Ah, you're awake."

Roche's eyes darted to the figure in front of her. Her fuzzy memories snapped into place as she met those empty eyes of Fake Harold. He grinned at her, a mirthless stretch of his sinister lips that made Roche shiver. She tried to scramble away, but her arms and legs were bound tightly to her body. She looked down to find heavy metal chains loops around her tightly.

Her chest constricted almost painfully. She reached for her inkblood.

"Auk-"

"I could knock you out again, you know. I thought letting you experience your last moments would be a mercy." Harold warned, grabbing the chain over her chest to yank her upright. The sudden change in elevation made her head spin.

"What would you know of mercy?" Roche rasped. Her throat felt like it was lined with crumpled paper.

"I am a knight," Fake Harold replied.

Roche felt a rush of rage. "No you're not. The real Sir Harold would never tie up a defenseless civilian and kill them."

"Defenseless?" Fake Harold chuckled, dragging Roche forward a step. One of her heels popped off her feet, dragging against scraggly rock. Roche could hear the thunderous crash of waves nearby. "You are hardly defenseless, Roche. You are an inkblood, a danger to the princess. I'm merely doing my duty as a knight."

"You aren't a knight." Roche repeated, "Where's the real Harold? What have you done with him?"

"You don't need to worry about that, little maid." the copy dragged her forward a step. The salty wind blew his chestnut hair away from his glittering green eyes, "Do you really want your last words to be about someone else?"

Roche felt a surge of cool fury. "Annodtan." she spat. To her surprise, instead of unwinding, the chains squeezed tighter and bit into her ribs. Roche cried out, folding forward. Harold chuckled lowly, dragging her forward another step by the shirt.

"Did you really think I didn't plan for that?" he looped a finger around the chain lovingly, "These have been enchanted by the Council themself. Anything you try to incant upon them won't work."

Roche ignored him, struggling harder as he dragged her towards the edge of the craggy rock face. "Olepjid!" A concussive blast of inkblood spewed out from her body, knocking Harold onto his ass and sending up a cloud of rocks and sand. Still, the chains only tightened. Pain coursed up her spine and she cried out. Roche could barely breathe. She arched, trying to get in a bit more air. The idea of escape was unfathomable now. One wrong move, one wrong incantation, and her chest would be too constricted to breathe.

"Nice trick." Harold growled, stalking towards her. He seized her roughly by the chest, holding her a foot off the ground with ease. Roche stared down at him as fiercely as she could manage.

"Where... is... real Harold?" she gasped out.

Fake Harold smiled. "I don't think you have to worry about him." He dragged her over to the edge of the cliff. Roche couldn't see anything but open ocean waves beneath her, crashing against the rocks. "I think this has gone on long enough, don't you?"

Roche felt nothing but open air against her. She leaned forward, cutting off her air completely for one last attempt as he dangled her above the depthless ocean.

"Xeosure."

Harold ducked as inkblood swept over his head, the chains tightening. Roche couldn't get a breath in anymore. The chains cut into her skin, releasing trickles of blood down her skin. She gasped desperately, trying to focus her waning energy into a mental incantation. Agony rushed through her, more potent than her inkblood.

"Pity, you missed." Harold chuckled, "I won't fall for that twice."

Her lips curved with soundless words. Dark spots danced at the edge of her vision. Gods, her chest burned desperately, her inkblood frenzying furiously.

There had to be a way out.

She couldn't die like this. There was still so much to do.

"Goodbye, Roche." Fake Harold whispered jovially, "I'm sure the real Sir Harold will miss you."

Roche could do nothing but widen her eyes as he let go.

For a moment, she was suspended, staring at the clone's face. She saw past the fake skin and glittering eyes. She saw a form of pure inkblood, a gap in its face curved like a triumphant grin.

Then the moment passed and she was falling. Open air rushed past her, air she couldn't get into her lungs. She twisted, wishing she could taste the salty brine of the ocean air one last time as she crashed into the dark, unforgiving waves, her cuts stinging as inkblood flowed out of them, trying to slow her fall.

Klajai. She managed to think. There was a cracking beneath her as water gathered and froze.

Then Roche knew nothing but darkness.

A/N: The end.

Jk lol. I was tempted to end it there for a moment haha, but let's see what happens to Roche next.

How'd you like the chapter? As always, happy reading!