FATE PLAYS its part by joining them again — star-crossed lovers, if nothing else, destined to take each other down. Those are no fake tears; testimony of the sin both of them had committed. He was supposed to serve God and she, a heretic, should be hunted down. No, that was not how they were supposed to meet again. It’s bitter-sweet and heart-wrenching; melancholic, but still Zero. The lack of comfort is no stranger to her ( he was not one to do that often but it would certainly be appreciated. ) and now she sighs.
“Zero always talked like this.” a mention to him, almost if they were strangers. Once comrades and now enemies: those hands used to wipe her tears away but now they will end everything. I’d take a bullet for you but I had no idea you’d be the one to pull the trigger. Hand moves, gathering shiny accessories that would soon find a new owner; someone who’d use them better than she did, that’s for sure. “I would rather look after you but I’m sure you know that.”
How TERRIBLE those words sound, especially coming from her.
Eyes meet his once more and this is when she knows how they could have never made it that far. A smile, as gentle as it could be, for she wanted to be remembered as a happy person instead of a crybaby. Zero, he… Must have gone through a lot of things. Those words were merely a reminder of what happened between them. That’s right, I… I did this. I ruined us both. A deep breath and now she closes her eyes, waiting for it. She loved him enough to allow him to end her life. That’s how things would always be between them.
“ —- Go on, then. Do what you must.”
‘ you left, you could never have taken care of me. ’
lost in the abyss of monotonous words, bitter resentment is his unsaid regrets: i cannot protect you, i cannot take care of you. painting himself selfish, condescending and outright villainous if he must to rekindle the ire in her melancholic eyes. to run farther and farther from his reach; away from his horrendous hands seeking to forcibly steal her hard earned freedom.
a tool for the order: a manufactured beast.
his expression remains placid, serene and enduring like the sea on the day before a tsunami, not showing the slightest hint of disappoint in her resignation to her morbid fate. to die by his hands, hands that used to comfort and offer minimal love; hands of comrades, of cataclysmic love. his resolution still stands, unwavering; naught disintegrated, only disgruntled by her words.
he hates her, he hates her; only within the limits of love.
a hefty blow to his rotten heart, she knows him well to twist the knife imbued with a hint of their former relationship; his vision red, dormant personality reaching from the darkness of his soul. crimson coloured hues, protruding fangs; emotions are awry and for a moment his role as the dispassionate and apathetic partner is dismantled. bloody rose suffers the onslaught of his rising agitation, hand tensing in his grip of the gun; he is in ruins -- they both are.
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