"He never felt anything for you. He thought you were a muddle, a distraction. I agree. You are a weak, confused woman with no true identity."
"I am more than you could ever know."
A surge of force burst out of her, enveloping him in pure bright purple, sending him flying backwards. It took everything out of her, in every way possible. Tears streaming down her face, she watched as his limp body crumpled to the floor, his arms frozen in front of him, an attempt to block a blast that no one ever could have. Stumbling forward, she sank to her knees next to him, completely powerless. The only thing she had left was the weapon in her hand, the only one that had the power to end it. It would end his tyranny. It would end his life. It would end her, too.
"Now, Elizabeth...do this." She quietly spoke to herself, as a way to talk herself into doing the one thing she never wanted to do. "You can..."
"You have grown. Not enough."
She felt her body get tossed away, like an unwanted piece of garbage, as she tumbled over the side of the fortress wall, hurtling toward the ground that was far, far away. She could count the seconds as she fell, wondering where she went wrong... wondering where they went wrong. She failed him; they all did. By that point, he was merely a product of evil, in many ways unaware of what he was doing. He was someone else, by that point, no longer the man she loved. He'd been taken from her. And though it was his face, his errant locks of golden curls peeking out of the cold steel of his helmet, it all looked like him... it was him no longer. He had done too much, killed too many, and she had to end it. Even as she hurtled toward the rock floor below, she plotted her next move. Watching the rock below come closer... closer... closer...
She turned, bringing the sheets with her. She'd always denied ever being a blanket hog, but when she was in the midst of one of her (now seemingly regular) nightmares, she had a habit of wrapping herself up in a cocoon. It could've been contributing to the overwhelming feeling of suffocating, but she didn't know that. She always would wake up with the blankets kicked away anyhow. Her eyes remained closed as she had partially been awakened, trying to avoid the jolt of hitting the ground in her sleep. Her brother had always told her the rumour that if you died in your sleep, you died for real. She'd managed to avoid it up until recently, but it was hard to shake a habit. Soon, her brain returned to her dream, barely as though she'd ever left off.
Hot tears streamed from her eyes, mixing in with the blood on her face, as she held the weapon deep in his stomach, feeling the life drain slowly from him upon impact. He sank to his knees, his hands grasping at the weapon that was lodged deep within him, his eyes blankly staring forward. She stood, hands over her face, not able to watch as he slowly came back to her, his words tumbling out of his mouth as he slowly died. "Betsy? I... W-where are we--"
Streaks of light burst forth from him as his body was sent flying backward, a crumpled mess on the ground below. His guttural wails cut through the air as she sobbed, falling to his side, her face near his. "Warren?"
"Hurts...hurts so bad...dying, Bets...I'm really..." His breath was shuddering, blood seeping out of his mouth, a stark contrast against his blue skin. A golden curl still peeked out of his helmet, and her fingers twirled it for a moment before she pressed two fingertips against his temple, her other hand holding his head up from the ground.
"No, you're fine. It's going to be okay, Angel. I'm not going to let you die. Just listen to my voice. Close your eyes. When you wake up..."
Wake up...wake up...wake up...wake up...
A sharp gasp brought her back to reality, sitting straight up in bed. She clutched the sheets to her chest, pieces of dark hair falling from her loose ponytail into her face. The rapid thudding of her heart came straight through her chest as she felt it against her clenched fists, and her eyes darted around the dark room. She heard a set of footsteps coming down the hall, followed by two sets of clackety-clackety from the dogs, and soon the door opened to her bedroom. Her throat was clenched shut, painfully so, and she could hardly breathe without wanting to openly sob. The tip of her nose began to tingle, and soon her eyes began to fill.
She'd done enough crying in the last several months; she missed being unequivocally, unquestionably happy. With any little shred of happiness, there'd been some sadness to go along with it. Any rush of joy was soon met by a tidal wave of tears, resulting in a body-shaking, heart-wrenching, sobbing mess. She was tired of being sad. Anymore, she wasn't sure for which reason she was sad, only that she felt it in spades. Even those that cared for her most, the ones she would normally confess her sadness to, they would ask her what was wrong, and she could never say. It wasn't that she didn't want to; she just...never knew. The simplest things would make her cry, like the sight of a falling leaf, or a piece of burnt toast that she otherwise would've laughed off and slathered with jam. Instead, it would reduce her to tears.
A question of if she was alright. Rather than meeting the question with an answer, she slid down into the bed, pulling the sheet up over her head, the warmth enveloping her as she wept. Another reason to cry--this time, it was because she was crying. Or was it the dream? It all stacked up, anymore. Her shoulders shook as she cried, her warm breath bouncing back against the sheet into her own face, hot tears streaking across her temples and onto the bed below. She might've been audibly sobbing, she couldn't tell. All she was concerned about was trying to cry out this knot in her chest, the one that had wrenched her stomach, the one that had dipped its dark fingertips into her brain, toying with her emotions, her memories, her relationships. She wanted it out, and crying seemed like the only answer at that moment.