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"Enough."

he heard the voice.

"I have decided my fate and yours. It is time you take what is not yours and return it to me, all of it, my power I have given to you, reclaimed finitely as mine."

He couldnt hear anything but he felt the ground shaking terribly. Whats going on? He worried about his fate.

He felt frighten.He couldn't saw anything and couldnt feel his arm, legs and part of his body. It felt like peeling his everything. But does it matter? Suddenly he recall his coach bed. Why he was here Why he came here Who made him came here, everything does not matter. He regret when he yelled to people, who woke him up.

And..and...

All things became obscure. He couldnt remain other impressive movement. All things went mist.

He felt the end. Finally shattered.

Marosa heard the voice, and couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and regret as he lifted his hand, watching it fade away.

How sad, and how tragic.

Was fighting for the Kingdom worth it? The memories, everything, fake?

No.... he loved. How could everything be a lie? How could he be nothing more than a fragment? Everything fell into place, yet nothing was explained. Marosa was confused, frowning as he stared off into the distance, wisps of hair falling over his face.

He loved. He didn't want to go, didn't want to fade away. One last time, He begged silently. Please, just one last time, to see Sharra once more...

The Ganerie slumped, closing his eyes. Please...

It was no use begging - he faded anyway.

Shattered into nothing...

Give it back. She would gladly. She could not be this Arachne anymore..the fragment that felt she had done so little for her King and Kingdom, but in reality she had tried the best she could, and in the end had not given up.

Not until now. There was the sensation again, of being two of them, and she saw the other - the real one? Now, there was confusion, a strong sense that she had forgotten something important that she had learned but it was to be of short duration.

The other her dissolved slowly, piece by piece, disappearing as she watched. As the last piece vanished, she fell. And never landed..

Nuk was no longer in that room. He was far away.


Sunlight through the trees in summer... endless masquerading...

Like a flower as the dawn is breaking...



the memory







is








fading

look, a new day has begun

He was free.

There was a sense of severing, what was one Rep became two, like facets of broken glass.

The self concious, bitter and hurting Rep went back to his mirror, laid out before the other. This Rep was confident, exuding the sort of self assured arrogance only a natural born queen was capable of. Even facing death, he was unafraid, he had lived well and lived long. He didn't feel cheated, didn't feel regret for his crimes and transgressions.

A life of crime and his one true crime had been not to be there when Harrison fell. That was his single regret.

A lifetime stretched out before him, an extended family to replace the one he'd never had in his life, contentment, perfect contentment. But perfect never lasted in the world of neon lights. You spun the wheel and that was all it took to lose everything. The game had changed and they had lost, easy come easy go.

There was no doubt in his mind he'd find Harrison again, his Harrison. Because what good were promises if not for this?

Maybe somewhere there was a bar that lived forever, where he'd find them all, and his memories. Candace, who he owed a round of drinks, and Jerry who he owed a hug and a broken nose, G who had earned that respect he always wanted, Nuk who he had hurt so deeply, and everyone else who had been part of blue, part of the life he was so proud of.

Somewhere, he'd show Melvin their world again and there would be nothing but hope ahead of them.

The Rep in the mirror was scruffy and haggard looking, he couldn't see him. He looked more tired than he had ever felt, harrowed and sad and he almost pitied the guy wondering what kind of life would leave him worse off than him. He shook his head and started to fade away, dissolving like everything did.

As he was thrown back, he reached out, seeking in that place of no light for the two hands he knew would be out there in the dark. Whispering the last thing this Rep would possibly ever say.

He didn't need to wake up, as long as the three of them were..

"Thegither."

It somehow was less real, though no less alarming, when the world, or what was left of it, began to shudder and come apart at the seams as The Voice reclaimed everything it had given and promised. He could feel it, but not hear it, bits of wood, stone, paper, everything whipping past, whipping into him, and the even stranger sense that he himself, like everything else, was being picked apart. Climbing the stairs, giving up Voice, Hearing, Sight, he'd wondered if this might not be the inevitable outcome. It had already taken much of him, why would it have stopped at taking the rest. He knew he should have been afraid but it felt strangely... orderly. Like a toy might feel if it was picked up and put away after play.

There were things he thought he should remember, people he'd talked to, things he'd done and said, or promised, but they were slipping away. It was like trying to hold onto water with a sive. Everything whisked away, back to where it had come from.

They were no longer wanted, one of the last organized thoughts he had was to wonder if they had ever really been wanted... but then it didn't really matter did it?

It was a strange and terrible calm he felt, briefly, before the fragment that was his existence shattered and was drawn into the relentless maelstrom.

The end came sooner than Sinclair imagined, or perhaps even hoped. He'd wanted this, didn't he? He had prepared himself during that arduous climb to the top of the Tower; in that empty silence, there was nothing else to think about but the fate that awaited them. A fragment didn't deserve "death". No, he was never truly alive, just a shadow of what could have been, and so he would simply cease to exist.

But the storyteller had told him even fragments deserved some closure. It gave him stolen moments; one last chance to pretend his life truly mattered.

It hadn't. He didn't accomplish anything. Memories -- failures fell around him, scattered bits of himself as he crumbled, and he found himself too weak to grasp at them. He saw names, precious to him when he was alive: Wilson, Nkosazana, Zephyros... if they were fading too, would any of them think about him in their final moments?

His fingers left Zephyros' hands, skin and nerves peeling apart as they slid up, up past arms, shoulders, barely managing to feel anything by the time he reached his face and drew him close.

I love you, He spelled the words onto Zephyros' lips, slow, deliberate, and ridiculous because it meant nothing and everything.

Sinclair wanted answers. There were none. In his fabricated dreams, he wanted to be remembered, to be revered, to be loved...

The boy in the mirror with the smile that could command the world stood alone. Sinclair's existence would end in the arms of someone who, in their final, stolen moments, had loved him. And perhaps, that counted as a success.