( @upgradecomplete | meme )
She can still feel itâ- the pain of the knife tearing through her. The confusion, the fear, the betrayal. The desperation. The sinking realisation that, no, thereâs no way out of this one. The flash of self-hatred, knowing that all of this could have been prevented if sheâd just stopped herself getting distracted. The knowledge that all of those deaths, all of the pain she had caused, Artie and Angie. All of that was for nothing. Because she had lost.
She could remember the feeling of âherâ body becoming heavier. âHerâ movements becoming sluggish. âHerâ breath becoming shallower. âHerâ vision darkening.
Wellâ- nothing except for her dark, empty room.
But that wasnât right, either. Because her room wasnât dark, it was being lit up slightly by those awful pale blue lights. And it certainly wasnât empty, because there beside her was him. The person who was to blame for all of this. The Cyberplanner.
âIâ- Iâm fine, dear.â The word makes her stomach turn, makes her feel as if sheâs betraying herself and everything sheâs ever stood for.
Take a deep breath, Clara Oswin. You can do this. You will make everything alright again.
He'd killed her. That fact was one he hadn't - and wouldn't - apologize for. He'd done it for himself, for the Cyberiad. A distracted, attached Cyberplanner was a less effective Cyberplanner. He had allowed himself to be distracted long enough. The distraction, Clara, had to be eliminated. And she had been. Fitting, that she had been killed with a knife. That she had bled out in front of him. That he had seen each breath come farther and farther apart.
She'd been buried. She still was. He'd checked. Multiple times.
Yet whatever he'd hoped to achieve with killing + burying her, it was undone by her return. The return that he had no logical explanation for. It was aggrevating, to not know why, how, his life was being upset once more. It seemed even death wouldn't stop Clara Oswald from being a nusiance. From being a mystery.
Perhaps that is why he'd stationed himself beside her bed, a chair pulled up while she slept. To study, first hand, the increasingly impossible girl. Not out of any sort of sentintement, to confirm that her breaths were still deep, still continuing. No.
And it certainly didn't cause any amount of fear when that breathing changed, grew so similar to how it had been when her blood was on his hands. If there had been, it was extingushed by the time she woke up. His question was asked in a unshaking voice. Answered by her quivering one.
"Good. Any chance of you returning to sleep?"
