My Life as a Protector.

The Vision.

I'm alone and frightened, in a cold, sterile lab, blood all over me, and tears streaming down my face. No... Frightened wasn't the right word, that would insinuate I was afraid of others and what they would do to me. It was quite the opposite. They were afraid of me and what I would do to them. But it's ok, because I killed them all.

"I'm so tired," I finally managed to choke out between sobs, my voice breaking under the strain. "Tired of fighting... tired of pretending." 

"Then don't fight anymore," they replied gently, stroking my hair in a rhythmic motion that felt oddly comforting. "You don't have to pretend with me. Just be yourself."

"But who am I?"

***

I finally calmed down.

"Ew, you got blood all over me!" they exclaimed, their voice laced with mock disgust that momentarily lifted the heaviness in the air.

"I'm sorry..." I mumbled, guilt creeping in as I braced for their reaction.

"Haha! No, it's okay! Come to think of it... You don't seem very hurt for someone with so much blood on them," they remarked, a playful glint in their eyes.

"It's not my blood," I replied, trying to maintain a light tone, but I could sense the subtle shift in the atmosphere.

"I see..." The words fell from my lips like stones into still water. I felt as if I had just ruined the moment, letting my heavy admission cast a shadow over her joy.

"...I'm sorry," I added softly, the weight of self-reproach heavy in my chest.

"Quit apologizing! It's not your fault!" they declared emphatically, their demeanor shifting as they faced me with newfound intensity. But even as they said it, I felt a twinge of disbelief; deep down, I knew that it was my turmoil that had seeped out into our exchange.

I could feel their intensity, their determination to shield me from my own self-blame. But the truth was there, lodged in my chest like a shard of glass—I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow responsible for all the darkness that had followed me.