Merlin entered the room almost skipping, the soft glow of late afternoon light catching in her hair and making her skin shine. Her smile was bright, effortless, as though the world had never once touched her with anything heavy. She moved toward Arthur with that usual air of cheer, a girl who had no idea that the ground beneath her life had already collapsed.
Arthur watched her in silence, his stomach tightening. That same smile that once warmed him now only made bile rise in his throat. He felt the weight of disgust settle in his chest, heavier than stone. When she reached for him, he stepped back, voice sharp and dry.
"Leave."
The word cut through the room like steel. Merlin blinked, her joy cracking instantly. Her lips trembled as if she hadn't quite heard him right. "W-what? Arthur, I don't understand… why are you—"
"I said leave."
His tone was cold, stripped of all softness, and the finality of it made her breath hitch. Tears were already gathering in her eyes, her throat tightening with confusion. She took a step forward, reaching as though she could pull him back with her touch. "Please… tell me what I did wrong. If I made a mistake—"
Arthur's jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. He wanted to spit the words out, make her choke on them. "You think I don't know?"
Her face froze, color draining.
"I saw it. All of it. You with them. Laughing, moaning, like it was the sweetest game. You thought you could hide it from me?" His voice cracked with fury, the words trembling in his throat.
Merlin shook her head, trembling herself, tears beginning to fall. "Arthur… no, please, it's not like that. You don't understand—"
"Not like that?" He stepped closer now, looming over her, forcing her to face the venom in his eyes. "If it wasn't wrong, then tell me… why hide it? Why never speak of it to me?"
The question struck her harder than any blow. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her breath caught, her body stiffened as if something inside had just shattered.
Her mind raced—why had she hidden it? She told herself, always, that it was kindness, duty, something innocent, something "for the family, for the village." Acts of filial piety, of care. But if it was truly so pure, why had she done it in secret? Why had she laughed only when Arthur wasn't watching?
Her thoughts tangled into knots, the ground suddenly unsteady beneath her. The brightness that defined her cracked, leaving only silence.
Arthur watched the dawning horror spread across her features. For the first time, he saw her not as the untouchable, carefree Merlin—but as something fragile, caught in the trap of her own excuses, finally facing the rot underneath.
And he felt no pity. Only the cold, gnawing satisfaction that at last, she was beginning to see what he had seen all along.
Arthur's chest rose and fell, each breath tight and shallow, as if the air itself resisted him. The room felt small—walls pressing in, shadows growing heavier with every heartbeat. Merlin stood frozen, her tears streaking down cheeks that had once been the portrait of joy. That brightness, that infuriating innocence she carried like armor, was crumbling now before his eyes.
Her lips parted, a faint sound escaping, half-breath, half-sob. "Arthur… I only wanted to—"
"Wanted to what?" His voice lashed out like a whip. "Spare me? Spare me the truth? Or spare yourself the shame of admitting what you really are?"
She flinched as though struck, her hands trembling at her sides. "I never meant—"
"You never meant." Arthur's laugh was sharp, jagged, cutting her words in half. "Every betrayal in this cursed world begins with those words. I never meant."
Merlin's knees weakened, her body folding in on itself. She pressed her palms against her chest, as if holding herself together. "Please… Arthur… don't look at me like this. Don't—don't hate me."
"Hate you?" The words came out quieter this time, lower, but deadlier. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "No, Merlin. Hate would mean you mattered enough to burn for. What I feel…" His lip curled, disdain thick in his voice. "What I feel is emptiness. A hollow where you used to stand."
The silence after rang heavier than any scream.
Merlin's sob broke it, raw and human, her frame shivering under the weight of his rejection. She looked up at him through blurred eyes, searching desperately for a trace of the Arthur she knew—the boy who once admired her glow, who once leaned on her warmth. But there was nothing. Only iron.
Arthur turned his head, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed anywhere but her. For him, the moment was already over, decided. For her, it was the shattering of a world she thought unbreakable.
And in that small, dim room, two childhoods ended. Hers in grief, his in ice.