It seemed her palace hadnāt changed much in the three years heād spent as a strayāit was still cold and overbearing in its intimidating stone gown, steadfast as ever but not without some air of delicate beauty and flawless grace. He always thought it was a rather fitting abode for those who called themselves gods... inviting and merciless at the same time. After all, it was with perfect allure that all evils beckoned their preyāpromising good to all but only truly delivering to someālike carnivorous plants that boast oxygen to those larger and food to those smaller. Oh, did you think the plant would just sit there and let you eat at its expense? No, little flyāthe food that was promised to you is yoursāsurelyābut to attain it you must part with your life.
As he left the surrounding night for the innards of the palace, he dimly wondered where and when this sudden eloquence had broken into his soul, but it didnāt loiter around long enough for him to take any real notice. No pretty words could change the truth of the matter. Her palace was a prison. A pound for hopeless tramps and strays like him and an adventure for the obedient and trusting pedigrees like everyone else. It was a prison. But it was only his prison, and as such the bars were visible only to him. No one else really noticed how everything got darker the more steps you take inside. No one noticed how cold it was. How empty. How dark.
It was quite a long time before he reached the darkest place of all. Noāit was the second darkest place. His room was the darkest. His empty room with nothing but bars and chains and airless darkness. Her room was the second darkest. Thatās what he realized as he stared darkly at the door of her room. There werenāt any bars in her room, for some reason. Her room was the only place that wasnāt a prison. It took him a minute to remember why, but he regretted thinking about it when he did. Why wasnāt the second darkest room a prison cell? He knew why. It was an execution chamber. The place where god died. When he thought about it, staring at her door, he started to wonder if she knew that her father was killed there. If it was him, he wouldnāt want to lay in the same place someone else died. But then again, thatās exactly what he used to do.
He stared at the door for a few minutes before he started to realize how stupid it was. No one else saw this place as he didāthe darkness was only reflected in his eyes. And because of that he was more afraid of the door than actually facing what heād done. So he decided he didnāt have to go through the door. He didnāt even have to touch it. Well, maybe he had to touch it. The old man would want him to suffer for running off for three years, and touching the door seemed like a good way to do that. Maybe if he started his own suffering it wouldnāt be as bad. And maybe Alexandria wasnāt even in there. Itād been three years, after all. Maybe he could just lean against the door and start talking and do what he shouldāve done then, and be rewarded with a clean conscience without all the trouble of facing her again. Maybe he could slip out before morning and no one would ever know. Maybe there was some god out there that loved him.
āIā¦ umā¦ you asked meā¦ why I killed your old manā¦,ā he whispered, stalking the door to lean a fist and a forehead on it. As he continued, he couldnāt quite keep his voice at a steady volume. It fluctuated somewhere between a breath and a low, strained murmur, like he couldnāt quite decide if he should be a man about itāquietly, of course; there was no need to wake anyone else in the palaceāin case she wasnāt there or do everything in his power not to be heard if she was. āā¦Three years agoā¦ well, three years and twenty-two daysā¦uh, not that I counted or anythingā¦ or kept track from the beginning... damn it. I, uhā¦ I have to answer you sooner or laterā¦ since Iā¦ well, ran away in tears like a littleā¦ you know what, letās just start this over. Iām sure youāre sleeping anywayā¦ in a roomā¦ that isnāt this oneā¦ Godā¦ Why didnāt Iā¦ why the hell didnāt I practice this shit? God damn itā¦ I had three yearsā¦ I shoulda practicedā¦ā
He fell silent for a moment, listening to the air behind the door, trying to judge if she was there or not. It probably wasnāt too late to run again. Heād done it once right in front of her, so what was the shame of doing it again like this? She might not even be there.
But the old man was. It was a scary thoughtāone that he hadnāt fully grasped before. Her dad already had it coming to him for runningāhe knew that muchāso to even think about running again was justā¦ manā¦ what had he become? And why was talking so damn hard for him? Was he always this much of a pussy? He couldnāt quite remember. That worried him.
āIā¦ umā¦ are youā¦ are you there? Alexandriaā¦ about what happenedā¦with the old manā¦ Iā¦ I made a deal with him, onceā¦ I exchanged my life forā¦ wellā¦ something I thoughtā¦ was important to meā¦ but I didnātā¦ I didnāt understand the price I would pay. So when heā¦ heā¦ tookā¦ something from meā¦ something I wasnāt expecting him to takeā¦ I killed him because I didnāt realize it was part of the price... I killed your father because I wanted revengeā¦ I killed him because I was stupidā¦,ā realizing something, he backed away from the door to shake his head. āI shouldāve just said that when youād askedā¦ I killed him because I was stupid.ā
He knew a simple answer like thatāblaming it on stupidityāwouldāve never satisfied her. Hell, he didnāt even know if his legitimate answer would satisfy her. Thatās partially why he was internally petrified. Would the master still tolerate the mutt that not only killed her father, but ran away when he was supposed to be making up for it? Making up for itā¦? Well, as much as a mutt could make up for biting all his previous masters. āIām sorry failing your command before.ā