I know I cannot control the rapidness of my chest. My heart wobbles there, balancing on a hot needle while my chest caves to ungodly heights. There in my black ribcage, are the pattering pressures that damn me. I cannot tell you how many times I've tried to resist.

   Her grey essence drags me by my forelimbs, moonlight staring me blank in my face, seeing through my yellow eyes, to lies that mock me. She knows. Celestial bondage bandages my effort. I know she's calling. Her eyes are in the moon: steely craters that whisper damnation in the gale. She is somewhere calling, and I cannot resist, though my heart may give to the withering heights if I do. But each dinner-plate hoofbeat crawls farther towards her siren stare. Beckoning. I tremble as my legs attempt to buckle beneath my massive hulk, but my eyes drive me onward, tranced by haphazard in the moonlight. I can only think of my brother while I walk. I can only imagine his matching eyes to lead me on home because none are as good, none are as true as Archibald.

   I am returning myself to the devil and her dogs.

   I can stop, but I won't. Justice is not one of those things that you can ignore. And I will not ignore the wrong I've birthed. There were more elegant ways to rip the Sentinel's bridle from his face and gloriously tie the glowing prize to newborn Knox. It was a way to secure his greatness. The Sentinel's child, born beautiful and willing, ready to undergo his training. He would drink his father's ambrosia, learning to suckle his mother appropriately. Learning that she was his only pedestal to greatness. I wronged them. I left Knox and my mother to themselves in the woodland.

   I will die, eagerly. I have accepted death's hands in mine, but only if my last breath is done right. I will not betray my mother's bidding. I will only allow the greatest to take my life. I can only imagine someone dauntless. I can only imagine my twin. He will strike his hoof to my face so my life may delicately pass, and my nostrils spew blood. I may die notoriously, readily, so my mother will not grieve much. I sacrifice myself tonight.

   But in my heart, the desire of mortality pushes in the chest, thrumming deeply, sorrowful, desperate to turn and leave - gallop back into the outskirts where I could at least be free. The battle drags on, and fear encases me. I should die this way because the guilt is eating me. I know that the quicksilver goddess watches from everywhere. She is too great to only see through her physical eyes.

   I draw to a halt, and open my eyes to the moon's harvest stare, heart ticking faster as I imagine my last breath once more. I am here atop the infamous ravine, watching the moon glow with a familiar tinge at the gates of Helovia, looking for my family to slay me as they should. I know that this is my last chance to turn back.

   But it does not matter what I know.