blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires

His words were like fumbling hands in the darkness, reaching out to feel his way, withdrawing at the slightest contact, feather-soft. But whether he was alone or not, he didn't know yet, hesitantly laying the groundwork for more understanding—for any understanding. And just as his words encountered only silence, until the end, he found no one in the dark, no one to grasp his hand and pull him to his feet. He was, after all, alone in this. If he couldn't be strong for himself, no one else would be, either. And that, perhaps, was what spurred his marginal confession, the first traces of real, solid truth spilling from his dark lips. But there was no catharsis, only the slightest feeling of relief, of finally unveiling the one thing which had lain on his mind for too long. Barely a day had passed without his mind touching upon that day, upon Torasin, the half-step and his smile as death took him.

If he could simply show them what had happened... If he could, somehow, make them understand that he wasn't, after all, so different—that he, too, was afraid of things. That he felt things. That he could commit terrible mistakes, and that they were just that—mistakes. Accidents. Unintentional.

But to make them understand, he had to tell them. He had to admit it, to himself, and to his greatest, oldest enemy. And that was the strength he wasn't sure if he had.

He didn't know if he was strong enough to be weak.

Kahlua was silent. Terribly silent, to Mauja's aching heart, as if his words had frozen her over. Nothing was ever easy, was it? Nothing could ever just be perfect, and nice? And just how far had he fallen, that he could taint innocence this way..? That he could do this to her, when all he tried was to do the right thing?

I have damned myself.

He'd known. He'd known it even then but kept his head down and slogged on for far too long. Until he stood here, with something he hadn't event meant to do weighing down his heart.

His weary gaze turned to Hellena when she moved, breaking what felt like an eternity of silence, but hardly could've been more than a second. Her dainty head reached out, violet eyes searching, and Mauja—he met them, and met them with an open, tired honesty. She had not condemned him; she had not said that he was heartless, and lying. ".. for what you have done?" It stung, bitterly, unfairly; what had he done but defend himself? What had he done? He'd been terrified. His eyes, his face, his pose, carried a certain melancholy to it; if they truly wanted his honesty, he would give it to them. "Yes," he answered softly, quietly. If there only was some way he could show them... Word against word, and his hopes were dulling. Not all would be as non-judgmental as Hellena. If they cried their lies loud enough...

"Are you here to answer for your actions?" He closed his eyes. They didn't know. They didn't know how it stung to be accused of something you'd spent forever regretting, when all you'd done was defend yourself; they didn't know what had happened, and because of that, he bridled his desire to, brokenly, yell that he hadn't done anything wrong, it had all been a damn accident... And in that silence, he heard her too clearly. “You're lying.” Slowly, Mauja's blue eyes opened again, and turned to hers, infinitely sad. “Irma.” Irma..? Irma was as heartless as no one he had ever met—it had been Irma who had killed Delinne's clone, not Mauja. Irma was a predator. Irma had no qualms killing anyone.

He was silent a moment, a heartbeat, just looking at her—two pairs of blue, sorrowful eyes. Lying. Was she trying to defend him? To deny the truth? Did she want him to not have done it? "It was an accident, Kahlua," he said softly. "I didn't mean to.. I never wanted this..." Would she understand? Or would her eyes just spill over with those unshed tears, and her heart forever be barred to him? She had given him something beautiful, a gift of trust and faith—and he'd repaid her with this. With honesty.

It had been the only way to stop looking over his shoulder.

"Hellena," he said softly. It seemed that everything in life just pointed to another heart-wrenching moment, when every mistake was paraded in front of you, blackening your future even as you sought to cut yourself free from your tarnished past. "You know them better than I do." His heart was beating too fast again, his breath quivering in his throat. I just don't want to die. Not now. Not yet. He blinked, forced himself to look at her, somehow composed, guarded, but for his eyes. "What hope do I have?"