Darkness held her like a hand that would not loosen. It was absolute: no shape, no sound, only the pressure of something that had erased motion. Lily—if that was still her name—was trapped inside it. Breath thinned. Panic came as a hollow echo.
From the blackness, a voice came. It was faint, like air through a cracked door. "Give up," it said.
Somewhere else, another voice answered, sharper, colder. "I hope you rot in hell," a girl snapped. The syllables scraped Lily's bones.
What is happening? Why can't I move?
A flash of light lanced into her eyes as if the world had been a film negative and someone turned on the projector. Lily felt herself lift, weightless. For a wild second she was nothing but vertigo and blinding white.
Then voices, clear and alive.
"Noah—finish it. Do it now, before this spreads." The voice that said Noah's name carried a calm that was not kind; it carried purpose. It rolled the name with the easy authority of someone for whom killing had become an answered prayer.
"Yes, Miss Ema. An evil creature should never be allowed to exist." Metal sang—hard and bright—as a sword was drawn. There was the wet, horrifying sound of flesh yielding.
Noah. Ema. Those names struck Lily like a blow. This is a game, she thought. I'd played this game. It was only a game.
A heavy thud broke the air. A head hit the floor. Lily's stomach dropped with the sound. Then she realized: the head belonged to her. She had been beheaded. A blade stuck out where her neck should have been; dark, hot blood pooled and blurred the world into a watercolor of red. Above her a man with long white hair and silvered armor loomed. Beside him, a slight blond girl with skin like burnished copper. Their faces were shadows. Then there was only darkness again.