The Way We Fall

Chapter 117 (Roche)

TW: Bl00d, d3ath

The world came to her in fragments as she stood in the courtyard.

There was a pale hand gripping a sword slicked in ink.

There were glowing torches held by shouting knights.

And then, there was the gorgon.

Roche couldn't believe it was the woman she loved. The creature of inkblood peered up at her, lips curled back into an animallistic sneer. At the sight of Roche's eyes, that cruel smile dropped, something like shock painting across its features and stilling the snakes wreathing its face. Warmth flooded the air between them, a mix of love and something too wrenching to be called heartbreak.

Those obsidian eyes flickered, revealing soft grey-blue irises beneath.

Roche staggered, the sight hitting her like a punch to the gut. Medea was the gorgon. Medea had kept this from her.

Both she and Medea were so stunned that they missed the way Tigris prowled forward, growling something guttural and heartbroken.

The gorgon flinched as the sword pierced its chest. Roche could only watch with numb horror. Her mind could only process a few things.

Tigris.

Her sword embedded in Medea's chest.

Medea howling, the sound of her pain ripping Roche's breath away as if she'd been the one stabbed.

Tigris yanked the blade out, frowning at the gushing wound with detached interest.

"Behead it!" Finn shouted across the courtyard, limping towards his sister. His eyes connected with Roche's and he faltered for just a moment. Then he straightened regally, holding her gaze as he added, "We can't take a chance."

Tigris lofted her sword, angling the blade.

Roche couldn't do this. She couldn't watch. Finn's eyes bored into hers as the world slowed.

You're supposed to fight for Tigris, he had shouted at her earlier. His eyes pleaded with her now, begging her to turn away. To let the gorgon die.

No. To let Medea die.

But Roche couldn't shake the memory of starry nights and kisses that tasted like honey. She couldn't forget the sound of tinkling laughter, words shared over glowing lights. Most of all, Roche couldn't forget those beautiful blue grey eyes that locked with hers now.

Time sped up again. Roche lifted her hand faster than Tigris could move, barely hearing herself speak over the sound of her roaring thoughts.

"Olepjid!"

Invisible inkblood spewed from her hands, sailing over Tigris' head and colliding with the castle behind her. With an earthshaking boom, the stone walls imploded in a shower of dust and rock. Tigris cried out in shock and dove away before she could be crushed.

The knights were shouting, running to their princess' aid. But Roche wasn't looking at them. She watched the gorgon's body begin to shrink as it spread its wings, showering the courtyard with sizzling blood that corroded the courtyard's cobblestone. With a pained wail, Medea took flight, soaring into the night sky.

Roche already knew where she was going, to the one place she'd feel safe.

She was running, her legs pumping and chest burning as she raced away from Tigris, from Finn's accusing eyes, from the shouting knights and half destroyed castle. The journey to the tunnel felt too slow and too quick all at once, like a heartbeat before the grave. Roche skidded to a stop in the mouth of the tunnel.