It wouldn’t stop beating. She couldn’t make it stop.
Over and over, even as it was rent from its useless owner. When she finally saw it she was stunned. She had really begun to believe that when she finally did it – finally tore this women’s wretched heart from her chest – that it would be as black as her soul. Yet, like all the others she had mangled and maimed, this heart remained a healthy crimson, if tainted only by the thick scent that permeated the air from her careless drug usage.
That steady beat of her heart continued, even as it sat in the palm of her hand. Alice huddled over the body of her former best friend, silent tears weeping from her eyes to slide through the misted blood coating her face. I loved you, her mind sobbed, screaming. How could this have happened, she asked herself. Like all other broken objects, that question repeated itself relentlessly, one that would never receive an answer. How could this have happened to me?
And Alice knew. She knew Dante was coming. He always did, without fail. It seemed, recently, that her ability to hide herself had been lost. Along with her care to do so. There was always a nice scene she’d thought out in her head…how in the end, as her memories returned, that she would finally allow him to kill her. A bullet in the head, maybe, or the heart. She’d come to adore the fights they had, but could no longer see herself hurting him. No longer did she want to see his blood caked all over the floor beneath her, her feet bathing in a pool of his life. The memory of their lips – of instinct and heat searing through her mind and numbing the pain she thought would be the only drive left for her. Looking across the distance, the short, short distance, at his eyes, she realized…
She couldn’t kill Dante.
With a click of the door, she acknowledged the end was near. She felt the barrel of those guns, felt their cold aim at the center of her back, raising the hairs upon her neck as she straightened. Still in her grasp was the ever beating heart, sputtering as its remaining energy began to fade. Sera lay rather unharmed – no bruises or rendering of her limbs. Almost angelic…devoid for the corrupt hole gaping above her breast.
Alice turned her head, slowly, the bead of a single tear dangling from the edge of her jaw as those fiery lavender eyes turned to look at the face she had come to recognize. His biting words were met by the familiar urge to bite back, a snarling come-back ready in the depths of what remained of Fianna. Yet the same fact that she could not kill him came back to the forefront of her mind, and she knew that it was a fruitless idea – that maybe, just maybe, he might have mercy on her, as she had for him.
Without a word, she tiredly leapt out of the way of those searing bullets, her speed not reduced by the lack of her wings, although her footwork was sluggish. Downward she dived, begging herself for some kind of a resolve. Some kind of reason to fight back. Emotions had over taken her – that killer instinct dissolved. However, there was some kind of pleasure she got out of diving across the room, hurling that bloody organ at Dante with one last, deteriorated chuckle, barely audible through her stifled weeping.
“Finally come to kill me Dante?” Alice said softly, hidden but not advancing, not attacking.
She couldn’t…not anymore.
