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"Oh, when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect."
𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚
My mother's grip is like iron as she drags me through the narrow corridors of Nyx, her fingers digging into my arm with a force that borders on painful. I stumble, trying to keep up, my heart pounding in my chest. I don't know where she's taking me, but the cold fury in her eyes tells me it's somewhere I don't want to go.
"Mom, what's going on?" I ask, my voice trembling, but she doesn't respond. Her silence is more terrifying than any words she could have spoken. My mind races, trying to piece together what I could've done wrong, but nothing makes sense.
The walls seem to close in on us as we approach the old barracks, a place we rarely use anymore. The door is ajar, the dim light inside casting eerie shadows on the concrete floor.
My mother shoves the door open with a force that makes it slam against the wall, the sound echoing in the empty space. Inside, the room is dark and musty, filled with old equipment and forgotten supplies. But my eyes are immediately drawn to the figure lying on the floor.
Sarah.
My breath catches in my throat. She's lying there, unnaturally still, her face pale and lifeless. A gun lies beside her, its cold metal gleaming faintly in the dim light. I try to ignore the blood, I don't want to look at the blood.
"Look at her, Arabella," my mother hisses, pushing me forward. "Look at what you've done."
I stumble, almost falling to my knees as I stare at Sarah's body. My mind recoils in horror, trying to reject what I'm seeing, trying to convince myself that this isn't real. But it is. It always is.
"Mom, I—" The words stick in my throat, choked by the rising tide of panic and guilt. I can't think, can't breathe. All I can do is stare at Sarah's lifeless form and wonder how this happened.
My mother steps closer, her voice cutting through my confusion like a knife. "Do you remember what you said to her?" she asks. "What did you tell her?"
I blink, trying to recall.
I had just joined the rebellion, barely understanding the depth of the conflict or the people around me. But I was eager, desperate to prove myself, to show that I belonged there. Sarah was one of the first people I met.
We weren't close—not really. We shared a few conversations, but she was more like someone who made the darkness seem less overwhelming. I didn't know much about her, and maybe that's why I let my guard down.
One evening, after a day of training, we found ourselves alone in the storage room, sorting through supplies. The air was thick with exhaustion, the kind that makes you vulnerable, that strips away the carefully constructed walls. I was tired, mentally and physically, and for a brief moment, I let myself feel it. I let myself express that fatigue, that frustration with the endless fight, the overwhelming sense that we were all just pawns in a game too big for us to understand.
