I need to see. I let you into my life. I trusted you. I allowed myself to be vulnerable with someone who left, who saw me as a monster after what I asked of you with an open heart, who would later hunt down people like me. I can accept someone seeing me as a monster, even after the heartbreak, but I can’t accept how you chose to take your hatred out on my people. I want payment. If you’re going to continue to live in my home by the grace of your wolf keeper, I need to see who you still believe to be the monster.
“I need to see who you still believe to be the monster.”
It would all be painfully clear soon enough. Aemilia wanted to see, so she would see. Eyes closed and she was sent into the crevices of her mind that exposed fears. Amaya’s nightmares reflected details that couldn’t fully be expressed in words. Nightmares she had on and off for so long, detailing fractures of events that had led up to the present. From her dark days as an agent to the broken days of the present, with every mistake she’d ever made sprinkled in between like flung pieces of glass. A string of events that ignited a domino effect in the mind of a broken wolf who hardly had anything left than this. A look inside her mind. The mind of Amaya Falco. It was dark. Not only a reflection of night, but shrouds of darkness like eerie shadows were around the edges of the moving pictures they were seeing.
Visions of nightmares being ironically framed by shadows, perhaps to symbolize the darkness that was gradually consuming Amaya’s soul and everything she was.
Government days. Nights of witch roundups. Police vehicles, large trucks that looked to be for black ops forces, were everywhere. Sirens blared. Orders were being barked out. Crying could be heard by the people being round up. Handcuffed. Most on their knees while some were being forced toward the trucks like they were prisoners being sent off to a maximum-security prison. In some ways, perhaps they were. Or worse. And in the middle of the fray was Amaya, her past self. A government agent who had complied with all orders. She let it all happen, looking comfortable with barking her own orders and even gripping a gun. This was an Amaya who was overcome with blind anger and disdain toward witches.
After witches were sent off, Amaya never asked questions. She didn’t know what happened in facilities or anything of the sort. Only did her job. Hunted witches with other agents. A soldier, just not one she should’ve been. It was like a shadow was attached to her back too, symbolizing the darkness inside of her that had blinded her for so long.
Here came the fear. The feelings that consumed her nightmares. She was feeling it. Writhing with the pain of guilt and regret. It hurt to see her past actions from another point of view. The view she saw and understood nowadays. If she could take it all back, she would. Fuck, she wished she could. And yet she’d never be able to. This was what she had done. She did this. This was her legacy, something she’d have to live with for the rest of her life. Amaya accepted it, despite wishing that she could change it. Seeing that enraged, resenting version of herself was a cruel shock to her system. That scared her.
Then the faces of familiarity flashed before the agent from the huddle of witches. It almost knocked her off her feet when she recognized the faces of both her brother and her ex-lover. Derrick and Aemilia. That facial structure and dark hair. And those blonde locks that ignited memories she would have rather forgotten. It wasn’t really them, but for those few seconds, Amaya had believed they were. And their faces were shown clearly in those visions, signaling what Amaya had seen in that moment that finally made her crack. Bouts of sadness crossed through her soul but it was fear that was the main factor in reactions. Fear at the cold, desolate fact that she might as well be rounding up people she knew. People who had been important to her life in whatever which way.
She imagined Derrick and Aemilia screaming out or pain being brought to them. She was terrorized by the thought of them being hurt, all while she held the gun that might as well be the cause of it.
Conflicted. The night she returned home from that jarring day; her mind full of so much confusion and terror. The fear from what she saw and felt earlier in the day was only emphasized as she curled up on the bed, her hands gripping at her hair as she tried to make sense of any of it. Anything at all. Confused. Hurt. Wary. Scared. It had felt like voices were screaming in her head, especially the loud voices of Derrick and Aemilia, shouting at her to wake the fuck up. An endless cycle that went on for days, Amaya not coming into work since she was barely in a sane mindset. And the thought of putting on a bulletproof vest again and gripping a gun like it was a natural thing to do hurt. And that scared her.
Fallout. The letter of resignation that ended her career as a government agent. The anger and exasperation of the higher authorities when she tried to explain her reasoning. That she needed to stop, figure things out, try to make sense of what she was feeling. None of it went over well, not even with men and women she once called comrades. “So you’re a fucking witch sympathizer now, Falco?!” A shout from a co-worker as they ambushed her in the locker rooms, right as she was in the middle of packing her belongings. “Fuck you, Amaya! You’re pathetic!” Arms yanked her back against the lockers, holding her back. She didn’t fight back. Only let it happen. Maybe a part of her thought she deserved it. If only she knew she would truly believe she did months later.
Then there was the fear. Not of being beaten up, but the fear of realizing that maybe she had truly made a horrible mistake. A fist to the jaw. Fear of being a disgrace to her family. A punch to the gut. Fear of never truly knowing the line of right and wrong. Hit to the temple. Fear that maybe she was a monster. And that scared her.
Aftermath. Months of lonely, conflicted travels were summed up in a minute of visions that pretty much all said the same thing. That Amaya’s mind was breaking. More and more. With every day. She was desperately trying to find the answer to the questions she had been hopelessly asking herself. What was right and what was wrong? Had she truly been wrong? Was her resentment toward witches always just misguided? Was she even more selfish than anyone thought before? Would Derrick ever look at her the same if he knew? Derrick. The thought of her brother not seeing her as his sister but of a heartless traitor hurt her. It pained her. And it scared the living hell out of her.
Return. Her return to the pack, and how everything began to crumble down around her. All of the events that Amaya had told Aemilia and Victoria were coming to life in flashes of visions, through Amaya’s eyes, and what she had been feeling. The pain. The steep guilt. The haunting regret. Her cowardness. But most of all, the desolate fear that had been consuming her more and more with every horrible thing that happened on that property. With Derrick revealing that he knew everything, and how he still forgave her and he would love her always. And then her brother’s death, when the world truly felt like it came down on top of her. How she truly wanted to be better now, better than she was, and how she wanted her brother to see that. Now he never would, and it hurt so fucking much. Every string of emotion she felt. All of it was came flooding back.
True fear. Nightmares of those events didn’t compare to the most frequent nightmare, the one Amaya had for so long. The one that mostly haunted her during the witch plague at Carden. Darkness was all around her. Solid black. It was just her in a sea of darkness. The click sound behind her caused Amaya to spin around in surprise. She then froze at the sight of herself, the merciless agent with a gun pointed forward. It felt and seemed so real. The vest, the gun, the cold look in that agent’s eyes. That was her. Even if it was a past version. Amaya felt the gun pressed against her forehead, her past self cocking it and glaring at her with no sliver of remorse.
She was a sinner. A traitor. A liar. She might as well have the words tattooed on her face. What is it you fear, Amaya Falco? All of the mentioned fears were perhaps fractures of the overall truth.
Amaya feared herself. She feared the monster she used to be. She feared becoming that monster again. She was the monster. Not anyone else. Her. Amaya Falco.
Then it was like every voice of every person who’d ever impacted her were all saying the same thing simultaneously. It was one of the loudest, most jarring things she had ever heard, and she thought that every night she had that nightmare. The ringing in her ears wouldn’t stop. Half of her wanted this to stop, the other half wanted it to keep going until her mind and soul exploded. Like this was her reckoning. Finally, her day of reckoning was here. The voices wouldn’t stop and maybe they never would.
 “Traitor! Die, Amaya! You will never be like your brother! You’re worse than Elias! You should have never returned! Run, Amaya! Never come back! No one wants you here! Dig your grave and lie in it, traitor! You did this to yourself! You’re a fucking liar! We hate you! You betrayed us! How could you betray us? Derrick would be ashamed! You’re a selfish, traitorous wolf who’s barely a wolf at all! Fuck you!”
Amaya had collapsed onto her knees as her nails dug into her skull. Her whole body was shaking, her mind was ringing from the explosion of voices, and her heart was being stabbed by everyone she had wronged. And she screamed. Amaya screamed at the top of her lungs as the pain and the fear tore her apart.
Another click. Her eyes barely opened before she saw her past self in front of her again, the gun pressed firmly against her head, while present Amaya was on her knees like it was execution style.
“BURN IN HELL, AMAYA FALCO!”
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