{therapeutic chain of events.} geebs

Darling, don’t let the tears tarnish the porcelain of your skin. Never let the sins you have committed corrupt you completely, because what point is there in winning if you didn’t really win at all? It was never a case of slaughter – in the end it was a Game of sanity, a Game of chance. And you prevailed, my dear. Now, what are you? It is so easy for your knees to crumple beneath you, the ground hard and cold and comforting as it greets you. Gravity can tug you no further down that rock bottom itself, and here you are safe. For now. You came here not for yourself but for the ones who allowed you to cry when you ached. To breathe when you struggled for air, to love despite all you have lost. In truth, you are here for Fitz Ripley, kneeling by the grave of one of his inconsequential victims. She was not the first, nor the last, nor the eldest, the youngest, the murder that weakened him the most. She was simply another death among a million, a fallen tribute at the hands of an unsuccessful suitor for the crown. You know this, and this is surely yet another reason you are kneeling at her grave, struggling against the torrent of rain that has washed away so many cruelties of the past. You refuse to let it beat you now. Splintered words linger on the edges of your lips. They jar with one another, finding solace in silence. Isn’t this always the way, my dear? A scared little boy unable to put everything he wishes to say together, stumbling and whispering and choking back tears. That’s all you’ve ever been and all you ever be. Forget bravery and triumph, love and loss. You, darling, are Klaus Goravich. You lived while the girl who lies six feet beneath your feet never made it as far as her home with her eyes still open. And you didn’t deserve it, did you? Not one little bit.

Far away, little boy Goravich, there is a camera. Once, it held everything you loved. You captured moments like sand through an hourglass, holding them close so they could never escape your fickle grasp. All at once your moments became too big, your loves too easily lost. And perhaps that it when you began to fall. How can a boy who has never learned to let go deal with such loss all at once? The Libertine girl, drowning in tears, snatched so suddenly. Without warning she was taken and you never again saw her with air in her lungs nor a smile on her lips. And then there was Destiny, the girl from District Two who loved in parallel to you, who was so much more easily broken when that love was gone. Is it better, darling, to have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all? Is that the advice you will give the tributes that follow in your hesitant footsteps? Don’t let yourself love, or feel, or befriend, or lose. Because that hurts more than the swords that pierce and maim and destroy. Is that what you will tell them, Klaus? Or will you let them find that out for themselves? There are too many lost souls to count. Too many stars in the sky to tally up upon the wall of your prison. And yet you count them just the same, starting over again and again. Penelope, Destiny, Fitz. The boy who never did break, who always did exactly what was right. Who was supposed to die from the beginning in order to save the girl he loved. Her blood was spilled, yet as it soaked into the ocean, he breathed. In that moment, Fitz Ripley failed what he was there to do. In the end, my sweet, you all failed. No matter what you might think, might hope, Destiny never found her mother. Penelope never escaped from her nightmare. Fitz lost in his own simple game. Elon was too far gone to appreciate the love you spilled from your lips onto his. Mahlah broke. Jae shattered. Stark Harper was strong, but never strong enough. Jana slayed the Kraken but in the end was slain herself. Every last one of the parade of beautiful faces was ripped apart, never to be whole again.

Finally, you stumble upon the words you have been searching for. You hold them to yourself for another moment, simply breathing. Breathing today is a luxury you never imagined you would hold, and yet now it seems almost too much. It hurts. Searing pain burns at your knees as you sink closer to the frostbitten ground. The sun has barely risen, the sky is clear. You are alone. “I don’t regret it, Stark Harper.” You say, finally, a fragile whisper. It is as though you are afraid your words will break as they pass from the safety of your mind. "I don't regret living while you died." Are you lying, Klaus? Those words that pass so easily from your lips, they are lies. You are not the Klaus Goravich you were two weeks ago, unable to say simple sentences with confidence and ease. Every thought that crossed your mind was painted clearly on your face, your emotions dancing in your eyes for all to see. And now, you lie. Easily, thoughtlessly, brilliantly, that mistruth slips from your lips. Do you believe it, or have you truly left yourself behind? No, that is wrong. You didn't abandon yourself, you lost yourself. And now you search desperately for something that is beyond your grasp. You retrace your steps to no avail so you have no choice but to move on. Move on, darling. Please, let yourself flee from this nightmare. But of course it is hard to forgive when you never held a grudge. Long ago, you sat right at the end of the garden in winter all night, although you were afraid. With Hopper sleeping beside you, your frostbitten fingers fiddled with the edge of the blanket, wondering how many more seconds there were until morning. You managed to figure it out, too. And you were correct, based on the height of the moon in the sky. You pointed out constellations to nobody, counted stars under your breath, and learned once and for all that there are no creatures in the garden at night. All the while, you captured the sky inside your magic box.

You whisper goodbye to the grave, but like the rest it is far too late for goodbyes. This is no time for sorries, and yet you say them just the same. Perhaps you are the same boy, somehow, deep down. Still Klaus Goravich, but changed. Murders can be happy too, you know.