THE LADY FOUND HERSELF CRAVING STATIC, as she often did. It had become more frequent with age, the allure of nostalgia heightening her desire to return to that corpse of a city and get her fill from the one person who could give it to her. The tantalizing, electrifying sliver of life and power she once stole from Mono’s hands, swilling its flavour in her mouth as she watched his fear grow and her grip weaken, tormented her... A fitting punishment for the paragon of consumption.
She could not say what happened that night was forgotten. In The Lady’s heart of hearts, remorse had replaced revenge in its chamber. Scarred tissue in the shape of a boy’s boxy silhouette. The chasm between her childhood rage and the knowledge she held now was great, maddening beyond belief. But she could not say there was complete regret, either.
Getting too close to him was what damned them both. Of this, The Lady was sure. Their fates were a thread that tangled and frayed against the other so deeply nobody could hope to undo them. Whatever began this story was unimportant ------ there was no longer any going back, any killing of the ouroboros they were trapped in, even if they knew who was to blame. Their ends would come, regardless of their struggling. A cosmic punchline that never changed.
Roger’s television awakened with a squeal and burst of light that made her eye twitch. It was wholly selfish to seek out the one she once threw away for the sake of her own amusement, her own needs and desires and satisfaction, but if there was one thing these decades had taught, it was this:
The Lady always got she wanted.
Fingers pressed against the screen, tickled by the strange crackling sensation where flesh met glass. Shadows twirled amongst the technicolour carnage.
❝I know you can hear me.❞