oh. as the stardust settles and the memory ends, orion is standing still, their usually fairly stiff posture maybe even worse than usual. harrow's grief, her anger, the decision she made - it sits with them, and they're silent for a very long, thoughtful moment. ]
... What decisions that you've had to make.
[ is what they say, at first, very quietly. ] I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Nonagesimus.
She's alive. [she says that as the memory ends, more emphasizing it for herself than anything else, digging her nails into her arm.] Or...she will be. She will live. So it wasn't all for nothing.
[ they rub the back of their neck, and seem like they're going to say something else, but. nah. stardust time!
for a single, shining moment, you felt like yourself. not like the shell of the person you've become, you've existed as. you were someone who worked hard, who lived up to your ambitions. someone who knew who you were, who recognized your failures, but did the right thing anyway. even if you hated the person who cries at your side now, you still did the right thing. for a moment, you were strong. you were worthy. for a moment, your conviction flared like a sunburst, that you'd rather work hard for something than steal it from someone else, even if it hurt.
...but, as it has been every time in your life, you never stood a chance in the first place, and the emperor snuffs you out.
everything happens faster than you're ready for. the emperor moves his hand. the pain hits; it is white hot, unbelievable agony, worse than anything you've ever felt, as your life is sucked from your body instant by painstaking instant. blood drains from your veins, your tissues, and you see your hand go limp as the rest of it starts to travel up your body.
there's nothing to fight back against. there's nothing but death. for the second time, your death comes for you and you stare it in the face. you can't breathe. you can't do anything. you collapse to the ground, and you can only lay there and watch as your consciousness swims, your now pale and gaunt fingers twitching with every fresh jolt of pain, and your failures finally come calling to end your life once and for all.
what a pitiable existence.
you snap with the last of your strength as someone cries on you - you feel them, bleeding and sniffling and crying, getting snot all over your face, as the strength leaves your body and you want them to stop, can you not even have any dignity in this moment, and as someone else comes to carefully lift your frail body - it's getting frailer, your life literally drained from you, bit by agonizing bit - and pulls you into a hug. you can't even find the energy to cry about it.
as you lay there, as the person hugs you, you close your eyes. i wish i could have said goodbye, you think. your shaking hand touches your forehead. you think, to her. you are the best thing that could have happened to someone like me, to a voice now in your head, soft and female and concerned. you want her to know that much, at least. you're going to die, but you don't want her to know that - you want her to know that you love her. that you'll fade into obscurity, forgotten immediately as you always are, but - at least her last memory of you can be kind until it fades to nothing.
you were happy. or at least - maybe you were starting to be, starting to change, starting to be someone again. your former experiences, your first death, they changed you, strengthened you, helped you find support and love that you thought you didn't deserve. she helped with that, and now you'll leave and -
unfair. it's so unfair. are you allowed to air your grievances, the last things you have as your body withers, as someone takes the happiness you'd found and shatters it into a thousand glittering pieces again, right in front of your eyes?
the one holding you calls you good. it's laughable. you only ever wanted... all you ever wanted...
"to be a kind and perfect person. and... i couldn't even do that," you hear yourself saying, and you close your eyes. the last thing you think, as you breathe your last breath, is simple:
what you've wanted never mattered. what you couldn't attain - that was the only thing that did.
... as the memory ends, orion seems to breathe for the first time sense, and then shakes their head. ]
Yes. They do. [...] I would grant you privacy, if you wish, and not ask you any questions about it. You don't deserve to have to share something that causes you pain.
I know. But I'm a little used to all of you being able to know things about me. Some of you choose not to pry, which I appreciate, but...I tend to assume things are not secrets if someone has access to them, whether or not they admit to looking.
I'm sure those files kept in the employee lounge contain many things about me.
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[if she's still alive next week, that is.
anyway, have a memory.]
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oh. as the stardust settles and the memory ends, orion is standing still, their usually fairly stiff posture maybe even worse than usual. harrow's grief, her anger, the decision she made - it sits with them, and they're silent for a very long, thoughtful moment. ]
... What decisions that you've had to make.
[ is what they say, at first, very quietly. ] I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Nonagesimus.
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some of that stiffness fades, just minutely? enough to be noticed. ]
... Good. Was that because of the Station?
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[ they rub the back of their neck, and seem like they're going to say something else, but. nah. stardust time!
... as the memory ends, orion seems to breathe for the first time sense, and then shakes their head. ]
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harrow also seems startled by the memory, tears welling in her eyes, which she blinks away.]
...I'm sorry.
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... well. the apology is a bit of a surprise, too. they're quiet for a longer moment, and take a noticeable, deep breath. inhale, exhale. ]
... There's no need to apologize. [ they say, quietly. ] Rather, I'm sorry you had to see me in such a ... pitiable state.
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... they nod, though. ]
This place is... These sorts of places, are rather fond of throwing out our moments of great suffering and weakness for everyone to see.
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...Thank you, Miss Nonagesimus. [ a beat. ] You are much allowed the same courtesy, you know.
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I'm sure those files kept in the employee lounge contain many things about me.