Alister
An empty expanse of white that stretched out endlessly in every direction. The only thing that disrupted the stillness, were the rich and haunting notes of Le Gibet from the grand piano.
I sit in front it, my fingers pressing the keys calmly. But it's not just the sound of the keys filling the void—there's something else. The scraping of chains connected to my shackles sliding across the white floor with each movement.
The amount of cold metal across my body is admittedly uncomfortable. One end of the chains is fixed to the shackles, the other stretches upwards, disappearing into the endless white above. There's no ceiling—just an infinite stretch of chain, as far as the eye can see. A silent reminder that I'm bound to something beyond my control, far beyond my reach.
Just then, the water below my shoes ripples. I don't turn to look. I feel her presence, far to my right and try not to look so amused. "If you've come to see me, that means it's starting to take a serious effect on you."
"So that's it, then?" Her voice is sharp, cutting through the music. "All of this, your grand plan, was just a slow, drawn-out suicide?"
Actually, it wasn't supposed to be this drawn out. I didn't realize the poison was very slow. A contingency I couldn't look into, yet it still did the job to weaken her.
I exhale a quiet laugh. "You make it sound so dramatic."
"Isn't it?"
The notes stretch between us, filling the space where my answer should be. Then, finally, I turn to look at her.
And I see her.
Not Miranda. Not the face that haunted me for years—the woman who twisted me into what I am. The face she thought would make me complacent and obey her more.
Leora stands there, arms crossed, wearing an 18th-century maroon dress. Her once white hair is now a solid black with few silver strands, pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. Stray wisps soften the severity of her face, but nothing can truly dull its sharpness. High cheekbones. Dark eyes that burn with irritation.
"You look...weaker than I expected." My gaze drops to her hands, lingering on the way they clench into fists. "Trouble adjusting?"
It was probably her ego that led to her not noticing from the start that the body feels somewhat weak. Feverish. Even the fact that she couldn't find the strength to use most of her powers was chalked up to her soul trying to adjust in to the new vessel. Or that since two souls are inhabiting a body, there must be some resistance. Whatever the case, she pushed the problem to the back of her mind.
And if she's here now, to talk to me, it could only be for one reason.
"How far did you plan this?" she accuses, stepping closer. "How were you so sure the ritual wouldn't work? That I would take over your body."
This is perfect. How I've longed for you to be the one coming to me with questions and begging for answers.
I shake my head. "I wasn't sure."
Leora is silent for a moment, watching me, calculating. She knows. I wouldn't have poisoned myself without an antidote as a backup, incase the ritual was successful.
My gaze meets hers with quiet certainty. "Whatever happens, I refuse to die. And if I must, I'd be sure to take you down with me."
I like to believe that every move, every lie, led us here. But the truth? I gambled. I didn't know if the curse would break or if she'd win. I just… set the board and waited.
But then, isn't that what life is? A series of gambles? a dance with fate?
Leora watches me for a moment, then—unexpectedly—she chuckles too. It's a quiet, bitter sound, laced with something almost like pity. "Do you really believe Clara and the others can save you? That you'll be able to suppress me like before? They're out there bleeding for you. It's really pitiful how they're trying so hard to put aside their feelings for you and finish me off."
I keep playing. Controlling my expression. I won't let her see any breaks.
It would have been over quickly. If Clara hadn't hesitated. She had the chance, but she missed.
Because it was my body in front of her.
That second of hesitation was all it took. Their cover was blown. The fight started. And now, they were paying the price. Still, I had accounted for them needing to put up a fight. Just as I had accounted for the fact that Leora had more powers.
Which is why poisoning myself was killing two birds with one stone. Leora still doesn't know about the plan. That it's not to kill me clean off, but to incapacitate me.
What I didn't take into account was Zach being a traitor. From the start. The moment I knew Leora was miranda, that she personally knew me, I realized it wasn't a coincidence that we met. And the mystery of everything started unraveling like a ball of yarn.
Regardless, it just confirmed the fact that only the caster can remove the curse and this ritual was going to be a trap. But going along with it was the only way to get her to remove the gems. Making her think she won.
"Alister," she says, voice as quiet as it is demanding. "You know what I want. Where did you hide it?"
My hands come to a stop. The silence swells around us. I simply stare at the ivory keys. "Are you really not going to talk about it?"
"About what?"
"Why you helped me." I lift my gaze to her. "Why you ever approached me all those years ago. You're someone who kills her own children. So why me?"
After a long pause, she sighs. The sound is quieter than her usual dramatics, worn at the edges. "Maybe I was bored?" she says, almost too casually. "Maybe I wanted to try something new. When I saw you pushing that boy off the bridge—even if it was in self-defense—you had this look on your face." She takes a step closer. "That smile. That glint in your eyes while watching him struggle in the water. You reminded me of myself."
The chains creak softly as I sit straighter. "You… were there?" The words feel heavy in my mouth.
I remember that day. My first kill. It was an older neighborhood kid that would always hurt me. It was the first time I had fought someone off, and it felt so good. I was never caught, and no one knew what happened.
She nods, arms crossed again. "It really was an experiment. I wanted to see if I could cultivate that darkness. Make it bloom. Turn the raw instinct into something refined."
I let that sink in. Her words should feel like daggers to the heart. To think, the woman who changed my life, the one who taught me strength and to rely on myself, who was my inspiration and like a mother figure, Someone who understood me and avenged me, was just an old psychopathic witch. But...I don't feel anything. I wonder when it started to happen. When I started to let go of her memory and expectations. When I started to look ahead instead of to the past.
"I see..."
She snorts. "I would say it worked out terribly. Here you are, having successfully brainwashed those pawns to risk their lives to kill you. Just so I wouldn't use your body to hurt your family, who never truly cared for you."
"Too bad they didn't believe you about me being a manipulative bastard, huh?" I smirk.
She looks like she's resisting the urge to strangle me.
"That's the thing about emotional attachments." I say, recalling all their faces as they looked up to me and obeyed my commands. "They're dangerous. They can make you act like a fool. Make you reckless. Irrational."
I look at her then. "But they also give you something else. A clear sense of purpose. A reason to fight harder, to push forward, to protect what you have. It's not just a weakness like you taught me."
"If you're done wasting my time, tell me where the antidote is." She demands, finally calling me out on my stalling. I begin playing another song instead. Clair de Lune, by Paul Verlaine.
"If you tell me, I'll spare Clara and the others." she offers. "I'll take the book and let them go. They won't have to suffer as much. Or risk their lives for someone like you."
It's almost hilarious the way she says it. Like I'm still that same lost, eager boy who would've blindly trusted her every word. Although I might have considered it if she was telling the truth. For my sister and that reckless princess...And also for the rest, I suppose.
Truth is, I never really had control over any of this. For all my careful planning, all the schemes, all the lies, I never thought I'd actually...begin to care for Clara. Because something inside me slowly shifted. Until I couldn't deny it any longer.
I love her. In ways I don't have the language for. In ways that even if she killed me right now to end it all or backstabbed me, I'd only hope she's the last thing I see before I die.
But she's out there right now, risking everything, trying to follow through with my complicated plan. Because somehow…I matter to her.
And that? That undoes me. That matters to me more than I know how to put into words. And it pains me to realize I knew she'd risk her life to save me. My plan depended on it.
"If only you ever gave me a reason to trust you." I murmur as I continue playing.
"Fine." The fake kindness in her voice vanishes in an instant. "I'll kill every single one of them. And when I survive, I'll slaughter their families too. And I'll keep your soul here for the time being so you could watch everything unfold, knowing it's your—"
"IF you survive." I correct her as I grit my teeth.
Too bad Simon had made the genius move of shattering the gems. Leaving her with a taste of mortality until she can find another gem. Although I think I did mention something like breaking them the moment they are out of our bodies, so they can't be used again. I guess I didn't realize Clara would be too shocked to remember that. I'm sure there's a healing spell in the book too. But without the book and the slow poison inside us, Leora doesn't have time to do anything.
She can kill all the others. But she still won't survive. All she can do right now, is beg me to give it to her. Beautiful.
"I'll answer your question if you answer mine," I say smoothly.
Leora eyes me warily. "What?"
"Why are you so obsessed with immortality?"
She scoffs. "The answer should be obvious."
"Not really. If it were to watch your family grow, I would understand." I continue. "But you don't have a family, do you?"
Her eyes darken, but she says nothing.
"It's not for money or fame. You don't strike me as someone who prefers attention over solitude. It's definitely not for revenge. You don't need immortality for that. You probably got it over with at the start. And it's not to gain vast knowledge of the world," I add, my smirk widening, "because you never had much interest in that, either. So what is it for, then?" I ask, tilting my head. "All this struggle. Clinging to life and refusing to die. You just drift from one life to the next, without a clear goal, without ambition. Wasting away until you feel bored and shift your soul into your next victim."
Her nostrils flare, and I can't help but relish the moment. "I see what you're—"
I cut her off, slamming my fingers on the last note of the song. Then I push myself up from the bench. The chains drag against the floor as I step towards her, causing more ripples in the water.
"My ruthless mentor. I don't hate you for what you did to me all those years ago. Whatever your intention was, it did end up helping me be better than I was before. What I do hate is myself for holding on to you and your memory this whole time, believing you to be someone worth respect and remembering."
I finally stand in front of her and stare down at her. "Alas, you're nothing more than a parasite. Shedding bodies like old clothes. You've had lifetimes—centuries—to carve meaning into your existence. And yet, here you are, clinging to another day like a coward too afraid to face the end."
Her glare is unwavering. Her expression locked into something cold.
"And you won't win tonight," I press. "You will lose. And this time? There's no next life waiting for you. You'll finally be erased from reality."
In Clair de Lune, the masked dancers in the poem remind me of people like us. Wearing our little disguises, pretending we don't care, pretending we have it all figured out. But in the end, the music stops. The masks come off. And all that's left is whatever we were running from.
She grins, shaking her head like I've just told her a joke.
"You think purpose is what keeps people alive?" she muses. "Will is what matters. And I have more will than you could ever comprehend. I will never be erased. My name will outlive you, outlive all of this. There are still people who worship me—who kill for me, steal for me, slaughter families using my creations. Even if you manage to win tonight, even if you somehow rid the world of me, it won't matter. You'll be hunted like an animal. And when they catch you?" She tilts her head, her dark eyes glinting with something almost gleeful. "They'll take you apart, piece by piece, until they understand you. Until they find a way to take what you have."
I hold her gaze, letting her words settle between us. "Then I guess I'll just have to end your legacy," I murmur, stepping closer. "And make sure not a single person remembers you."
Leora's patience finally snaps, her voice sharp with frustration. " The antidote. Give it."
I shake my head, a smirk creeping onto my lips. "Ma'am, I'm not telling you anything." I reaching out gently touching beneath her nose with my finger.
Her eyes flicker with confusion until I lift it in front of her, stained with blood. Her surprised gaze shifts from it to me. My own nose begins to bleed too.
"I wonder how long your shield's going to last." I say backing away from her.
I've stalled her as much as I can while she conjured a shield outside. Around my body to talk to me in here and get the antidote.
I hope I've given you all time to come up with a solid plan.
Because now she's desperate.