Don't Let Go (Third Book to the Other Side)

Chapter Twenty Eight (The Lord of the Sky)

Okay, first off, I suck. I'm super sorry, but I just had to take a break for a while. I'm going to try my best to finish this book, but I really can't make any promises, so don't expect a regular schedule or anything.

Second, this gets a little disturbing really quickly I guess? Just be careful, and if corpses, the concept of death, and self-harm aren't something you're comfortable with, please read with caution. 

~•~

I stood alone, the swell of music and cheering hitting a crescendo from a distant room, a place I could never join without that nauseating guilt worming its way into my stomach. Sweat gathered on the back of my neck, the heat beating down on me even through the still, stuffy air atmosphere as if knowing what I was doing and laughing at how gullible I had become. How dependent. How stupid. 

The rotten stench of death filled the room, as thick and pervasive as it always was, but by now, I had learned to ignore it. The metal of the tools I worked with burned my fingers even through the gloves I wore, but that too I had managed to become accustomed to. All of this would be worth it if I could just figure it out, but that seemed more and more like an impossible task with every passing second that flew by, announced with the ungentle ticking of the old clock in the corner. Every part of me wanted to hurl something at it, feel the amazing, uplifting satisfaction of watching something break beyond repair underneath my hands. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Didn't that make me even more sick with myself than I already was?

The bird underneath my fingers was dead.

There was no other way to put it. Dead, dead, dead, and even the maggots and flies trying to pervade her corpse seemed to agree. As I worked at her lifeless body, I started to question myself. My sanity. My own fucking morality. Did I even have that at this point, or did that all wash down the drain the first time I had Changed into that Divinity-damned dragon?

Amica chirped from his spot on my shoulder, watching the whole thing warily. Belletra had fled, unable to even stick around. The dried blood on my hands should have made me stop sooner, but something gripped me, convinced me to keep working. Perhaps it was the concept of death, the irreversible suddenness of a fate nobody wants, even when they think they do.

Or maybe it was the sinking sickness of failure tasting like bile in my throat.

As I stared down at the tiny, helpless creature, flipping through books and etching unintelligible things down on paper, I couldn't help but get the sense that I was staring down not at a bird, but at a girl.

A girl I had killed. 

I shook my head, dispelling the thoughts of her  from my mind. I would make this better, I would make it right. I'm going to save Eliza, no matter what it takes. I'll bring her back, even if it means that I have to go in return. I'd do it without thinking twice, without pausing for even a moment. For him. 

And maybe Alexander will love me again.

"Thomas?"

I jumped at the sudden nearness of the voice, so caught up in my work that I hadn't heard him enter. "W-what do you want?" I demanded, setting down the tiny scalpel; I had already managed to cut myself with it on accident. Amica chirped a few words of encouragement and took to the sky, retreating out the open door spilling harsh, yellow light into the dark room. 

"I was just making sure you were alright," the King replied as I peeled off the gloves, his concern failing to hide the tight, victorious smirk that I could find when I looked hard enough. He set his hand on my back, too careful, too gentle, too warm. Not friendly enough, something more, something I hated with every fiber of my being. I wanted to wrench his arm out of its socket, break it under my fingers, hurt him as he hurt me a thousand times before.