The Edge of Insanity | Rosalie Hale

Chapter 28: Pity Is for the Living

Tw: Gore

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He closed his eyes.

He reached for it—the thing Caius had described. That thread of humanity buried somewhere deep inside the ruin of him. He searched for it through the noise, the grief, the bone-deep exhaustion.

And then... he found it.

His brothers—barefoot in the tall grass, sunlight catching in their hair as they ran, breathless with laughter. Their joy had been wild, uncontained, golden. He remembered the way they used to grab his hands and spin, dizzy with summer, shouting nonsense just to hear each other laugh.

He saw his mother—soft and radiant, her eyes always tired but full of love. She'd pull him close and hum lullabies into his hair. He could still feel the way her fingers combed through the knots, the press of her kiss to his forehead, the way she whispered "you're safe now" even when the world was falling apart outside their door.

He saw himself.

Younger. Not yet shattered. A smile on his face that he hadn't worn in decades—one that reached his eyes, that curled in the corners without guilt or weight. He remembered what it felt like to be light. To breathe without a storm behind every breath.

And then—Rosalie.

God, Rosalie.

Walking toward him in that tiny chapel, the light hitting her veil just right so it glowed like the wings of something divine. Her smile when she saw him—open, fearless, full of love—it undid him. Like he was the center of her universe and somehow, miraculously, that was enough.

She had looked at him like he was good. Like she saw only the good.

And for a moment—just a flicker—he let himself believe it. That he had deserved her. That maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in the world where happiness didn't end in ruin.

But then came the voice again.

"Turn it off."

The words echoed, sharp and final.

He didn't want to—but he couldn't keep hurting. Couldn't keep being.

The images slowed. One by one, those memories slipped through his grasp like sand through trembling fingers. His mother's voice dimmed. His brothers faded. Rosalie's smile began to blur.

Then came the others.

His mother, trembling, counting with him—"One, two, three,"—trying to help him breathe through the panic.

His father's shadow. The blood. The screams.

His siblings, lifeless. His own hands, drenched in the red of strangers and friends alike. Cities he burned. Eyes he closed forever.

It was too much. Too loud. Too real.

He didn't want this.

He whispered it—not to Caius, not to anyone—but to himself. To the part of him still screaming for mercy.

"One... two... three... I'm free."

And then—

Silence.

It didn't hurt anymore. Not the guilt. Not the fear. Not the aching, endless grief.

But the joy was gone too. The laughter. The warmth. The love.
Everything that had made him Daniel was hollowed out, shut down, switched off.

He opened his eyes.

Caius stood in front of him, smiling with triumph.

Daniel didn't smile back.