Former noblewoman Mistral, now a terrorist who had taken hundreds of lives – whether warranted was up to the individual – knew that she would die soon. It was inevitable, she’d been arrested, had instructed her proteges to leave her to die, she didn’t want them going down with her, and had accepted her fate long ago. She just didn’t expect to see her son again before that happened. Now, Gaster sat in front of her, albeit a young man now rather than a child of 6 summers as she’d seen him last. Her in prison garb, removed of anything that could identify her as Mistral, and him wearing clothes bearing no resemblance to anything Kuragian yet still wearing that painted design on his face that she’d had to do for him all those years ago because he’d keep on dropping the paintbrush. Her handcuffed, he leaning at ease against the back wall of the cell, staring down at her with an expression she could not quite place.
“They are telling me that I have the choice to kill you, Mother. Martyr you on behalf of our race. Kill you on our own terms,” He signed in the same way she had taught him all of those years ago, the same way she had been taught to understand her mother, repeated for many generations prior. “If it is your wish, I will do so.”
“Why would I wish to die at the blade of my son?”
“The humans do not know our traditions, they are making assumptions. Kind hearted assumptions, but assumptions nonetheless.” He paused. “Father did not teach me many of our traditions. I was hoping you would someday.”
“If you wish to kill me you did not need an excuse-”
“I do not.” This was signed jaggedly, swift strokes stopped abruptly. “You assume me to be like Father. I am not. But if you wish for me to kill you, I shall.”
Mistral paused, looking directly into the eyes of her son, who after a few moments of silence from the both of them, let out a breath, annoyed.
“This is pointless, everything’s pointless, this is all mindlessness and overthought nonsense-”
“Regardless of if you wish to kill me or not, I am glad you came. I have a few things to say to you, mother to son, before the noose takes away the opportunity."
Gaster paused his erratic signing. Finally, he looked to Mistral, eye to eye.
“I apologise for leaving you to your father’s whims. I thought I was powerless to him, and only the Angel knows what would have happened if I tried to bring you with me. It seems you’ve ended up fine, though your eyes are dimmer than last I saw you. All I wish is that I could have been there.”
“You had every opportunity to not join a terrorist group, Mother.”
“Your father made me hate society, Gaster. I wished to fix the thing that had made him the way he was. Amend the root of the problem.”
“And yet, last I checked, he still remains the same.”
“Gaster, I do not have long.”
“It is safe to say that Mother, I will not be killing you. Regardless, your execution date is tomorrow at dawn by way of blade. I hope that is to your liking.”
Resigned, Mistral bowed her head. It was useless attempting to fix her wrongs. Her son had never listened well. She had never been around to teach him. In a cruel way, this seemed to be every mistake she had ever made conglomerating into a final crescendo.
“I love you, my dear son,” she eventually said when her words finally decided to form. “I am sorry that I couldn’t be a better mother.”
“I wish that I had known you enough to love you back.”
Before Mistral could respond, Gaster turned to leave. With a creak and a thunk of metal against metal, the convict was once again alone.