Ophelia
I manage to pull away from him, slipping through the doorway and into the corridor before my resolve can falter.
The click of the latch follows, and I know he’ll come after me. I can feel it, the inevitability of him, the pull I can’t escape.
So I move, fast, before my courage gives out.
My footsteps echo along the floor, through the dim dormitory hall, until the cold night air hits my face.
I’m trembling, my breathing ragged. Everything feels wrong, weightless, void. I can’t make sense of it, of what I’ve remembered… of what I’ve done.
Murderer.
The word drums against my skull.
I killed someone.
Even if I hadn’t meant to, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the truth. It doesn’t dull the guilt clawing at my throat.
Rationally, I know it was self-defence, but the knowledge doesn’t make it easier to bear. The guilt still sinks its teeth in, refuses to let go, and I have no idea how to breathe around it.
They say your first kill breaks you, then hardens what’s left. My father says that often, as if it’s wisdom.
But he kills for a living. I don’t. I can’t. I was never made for this world, and he’s always known it.
That’s why he raised me the way he did, because in his eyes, I was weak, and naturally only ever meant to be a dutiful wife, not the one holding the weapon.
And perhaps he’s right. Because I don’t have it in me. And I don’t ever want to.
And then Arlo slips back into my thoughts, and I can hardly believe any of it, our love, our story, the impossible way we found each other despite everything set against us.
We were in love, madly, disastrously so.
And now I remember, the way he looked at me, the way I looked at him, how the world always seemed to fall quiet when he kissed me.
Even without my memory, I’d known we weren’t strangers… but I never imagined this.
And then what he did comes rushing back—the notes, the hatred, the cruelty… Zara.
It broke something in me.
Seeing him in that bed with her shattered whatever fragile piece of me was still standing.
And even through the wreckage, I finally understand why it hurt the way it did.
Because it was betrayal.
Because he was mine and I was his.
Because once, we were everything.
But none of it matters anymore.
I killed his brother. And there’s no coming back from that.
How could anyone stay with the person who killed their twin?
You don’t.
You can’t.
That’s not how life works.
I have a sister, and if anyone ever hurt her, I wouldn’t forgive them in a million years, let alone love them.
I run down the narrow path that meanders through the woods behind the dorms, a route that’s etched into my memory.
My feet strike the damp earth, vision blurring as I move. I’m not thinking. I’m just running.
By the time I reach the academy’s car park, my lungs burn, my skin slick with a mix of rain and tears.
One of the academy’s chauffeurs stands beside a black sedan, the faint glow of a cigarette between his fingers.
“Keys,” I say, breathless, my voice shaking despite my best effort to steady it. “Please.”
He hesitates, only for a moment, then, perhaps seeing something in my face that warns him not to question it, places the keys in my hand without a word.
I don’t remember getting into the car.
I don’t remember turning the key.
All I know is the sound of the engine, a low roar, and the gates of St. Monarche? vanishing in the rear view mirror.
I shouldn’t be driving. Not like this. With my hands shaking and my head a storm.
But I can’t stop. I can’t breathe inside those walls. I just need to get out… away from him.
Rain streaks across the windscreen, tears blurring my vision until the world becomes a smear of light and shadow.
My thoughts spiral, colliding with one another until there’s no sense left, only the ache in my chest and the pounding in my ears.
I realise I’m heading toward the port. Even if I despise the thought of going back home, anywhere feels better than here.
The road curves sharply ahead, the trees flashing past in a blur. My grip tightens on the wheel, knuckles white.
Then, a sudden glare spills around the bend, headlights slicing through the dark, blinding.
A car, overtaking on the blind curve, coming straight at me.
Instinct takes over. I hit the brakes hard, tyres screaming against the wet asphalt, but deep down I already know, it’s too late.
Tyres shriek, the metal grinds, and glass explodes. The world tips sideways and rolls, the noise deafening and endless until, suddenly, there’s silence.
I taste iron. The cold seeps in through the cracks.
Everything is spinning, then fading at the edges.
In the quiet, my thoughts reach for him, unbidden and inevitable.
“Arlo,” I whisper.
It’s the last thing I remember before the world falls away.