The End.

[This is not for you.]

((Conclusion for Hannah))


I thought I was done screwing up.

My first feeling of guilt suspicion to my blunder was the smug look on our employer's face as he watched the elf writhe with the burns I'd given her in the desert.

I knew I had really done it when I saw them all standing there. My friends, my literal execution line shimmering in the sun as the sheer weight of the magical defenses glistened off them. I thought to myself as I woke up breathless and weak with the sneering faces of people I thought were my family staring down at me- I would never make this mistake again. The lesson was taught, learned, and committed to memory, no way would this repeat.

And then I woke up in a place far away those people and my crimes, in what I thought was a second life, a new beginning only to find myself alone in a bed made for two. This is when I realized, I'd really screwed up.

The sting of reality hit me harder than the lynch mob comprised of my guilt friends. It was my fault, my mistake. I wasn't interesting anymore.

It was in the morning while I had given up waiting, while I was considering the rooftops of a town of legends and stories and tales, that I realized I was not living in one of those stories. He was not coming back. He was never going to whisk me away to a quiet life of freedom and peace. He was never going to save me. I didn't deserve to be saved.

I spent more time throwing things and getting thrown out of bars than I did crying. I don't want to admit how many people I bedded in spiteful rage. I was more angry at myself than anything else- for being this stupid to make this mistake again. When I was finally kicked out of Suzail, I considered the rooftops again, this time from face down on the road. No surprise, they looked a lot different from down here, while I watched wary travelers and merchants alike carefully walk around me as they carried on with their day.

I started crying a lot more when my mornings were spent with my head in a bucket, spilling the already barren contents of my stomach behind some stable in Raven's Bluff. I hadn't thought about my Tribe in a long, long time, but now while I sat in the throes of morning sickness, I cried for my mother like I was six again.

The worst of it was waking up in the morning, that small space of time when the illness hadn't gripped me yet and the sheets of my slumber made it difficult to tell reality from dream. It was during these times I'd see the old bookcase in that tiny room of the ranger station, and I'd start to think about how if I didn't wake up, I'd be late getting my supplies for the day, and if I was behind I wouldn't be able to have time to visit K-

Despite the more violent tendencies of my former Patron, I've always had a knack for divine healing. And while He sure wasn't going to answer my prayers, the Great Sky did. It took a lot of mental patience to pull the old songs my mother used to sing from the furthest memories of my mind, but when I had them I'd sing quietly to myself in the closet the innkeep passed as a room and I'd feel a little less lonely. And I could make decent coin off the locales with a minor healing spell or two.

I met a dog and I fed her better than I fed myself. It follows me, maybe waiting for the chance to eat me when I'm weak and can't defend myself. I named her Fang, because it's a stupid name that sounds cool and scary. She's old and has grey glossy eyes, but her jaw is strong enough to snap a lamb shank in half. Young enough though to wag her tail and make polite doggie pleads for my scraps.

Part of me believes that by showing this mongrel some kindness, it makes up for those elves I killed.

It doesn't. But it's nice to have someone that answers when I call.

Meager existence didn't fill the shame I carried like a noose around my neck. I felt the townsfolk staring at me, watching me. They must've known who I am, what I've done, I worried constantly that they were still chasing me. That Buppi was obsessed enough to send a gods-forsaken hunting party after me all the way here. He's definitely petty enough for it.

Part of me hopes he did.

When guilt thoughts kept me up at night, I thought about the elf I burned. I wondered with a bitter heart if she lived a warm and comforted life now, doted and protected by her peers. I'd think about Him, and if His sister was happy to have her brother back. I thought of discarded butterfly collections and robes of red and a place where the Masters were more broken than the Slaves.

And then I'd throw up again.

My leg god damn hurts. A lot. Worse than it ever used to. I considered trying to ride further back to Taan and find my family, my only hope of a life line, but I can't stomach a cart let alone walking. I can feel a fever burning and I spend my days owlishly staring at anyone who tries conversation with me until they leave. I don't want to die here. Every fiber of me wants to spite everyone and everything that set me up to die like this, but I know this is karma.

My stomach churned, a foreboding sense -or maybe that was the morning sickness. I heard the sound of metal greaves clacking against one another, when the heaviest armored of the men here wore chain and leathers.

The feeling of disgust only deepened when I felt the tears welling in my eyes. I tried to hide my swollen belly. I called for my dog but there was no answer. I cried to the Great Sky- but I felt my prayers go unheard. I whispered for my mother, but when I almost said the Thayan's name I caught myself.

If my life was just one big mistake, the least I could do is see it end with one more.

I grabbed my bow.

[This is not for you.]

Dying isn't what I thought it would be like.

For one, I didn't think it would take this god damn long.

I remember my cheek feeling brushed with warmth which stopped being pleasant the moment I realized the source of the comfort was the growing scarlet pool of my own blood oozing from wounds. Having been on the delivering end more than the receiving I know that murder is messy and ugly, but experiencing it for yourself puts it into a whole new perspective.

I realized I was watching his boots slowly carry himself, away and onward into the distance like the many boots and shoes and feet I watched walk around me at the road in front of Suzail. My eyes turned from my judge to the mangled and still mutt that lied bloodied and still across the way. In the end she came to my side and there she died, leaving me all alone to the slumberous thoughts of my mind as lights in my head began to go out.

Even though he was my executioner, I wished he would come back even if for a few more moments. I didn't know him, but I'd give anything to not have to die alone. My heart grew heavy with bitterness and scorn as my imagination put together all the people I once called my family, together and warm by a hearth, smiling, laughing, while I laid here alone like trash on the curb for garbage day. I hated them with parts of my being I didn't even realize I had.

Bitter, jealous, angry, I found in these the strength to pull my broken form toward the motionless hound that by now had grown luke-warm and limp. I put my face in her fur and my arm around what was left of her. A mongrel and her mutt. Another life I screwed up. Tears and blood clouded my vision as I felt my stomach grow colder and colder while blood left from the gaping wounds. It felt like an eternity, lying here in the cold and waiting for the end.

So I spent that eternity reliving my laughter and wishing I'd done it more. I spent it wishing I hadn't wasted so much of my time trying to dress a monster up to be anything other than what he was. Still I thought about the way He looked when I gave Him that knife. I thought about the one time since I'd left Taan that I'd been invited into someone's home, shared a meal with people that loved me, and I hated myself for pushing them away. I played the moments where I caught Him watching me and smiling to himself over and over and ov- I thought about the Eldathian and the Spider and if they had hatchlings or babies. I thought about how the only time I had ever seen him afraid was when he watched me dangle off a cliff. I thought about getting up early and burning myself on hot pans while I made buns to sell at the markets. I wondered if he still painted.

I regretted not going to those stupid Eldathian swimming lessons. Maybe if I had gone I'd be able to tred the waters of the should've, could've, would'ves that flooded my mind. I wish I had punched the Earl in the face, danced at a party, thank Amalair, rode a horse again, learning to paint, came up with a name for that thing growing inside my belly that wasn't going to need it now.

I kept searching for the precious moments in my life I had and replayed them again and again in hopes that it would keep me here for even seconds more. And while everything kept getting all wet and cold, and the mutt in my arms grew stiff, the memories grew blurry and melded into one another. The same way they do as you start to fall asleep. By now I was too tired to be afraid. Too cold to cry.

"I think..." I mumbled, as I buried my face in my dead hound's fur, trying to pretend I was anywhere else as the last of the lights flickered out and the curtains drew shut. "Hitlaaw, would've been a good name."



The end.