victims, vixens, vicodins. | lenox, day seven

I'm a serial killer, but the thought of it doesn't scare me like I know it should.

Seven days ago I'd have frozen in fear at the thought of being a body collector; how could I ever become death when I'd been running from it my whole life? The thought of violence and murder was the hellfire that made me tread every corner carefully and stare at the moon in the daylight because I was afraid of the sun. Open windows let the cold draft in and I'd lie awake, scared that the shadows could come crawling in during the night and snatch me from the comfort of my only escape.

I don't have to wait for the nightmares anymore. Their escape was solace, because in the isolation of even the worst dreams, I was free. There was no struggle to carry the impossible weight on my chest, no heartstrings to get tangled up, no target on my back, no walking into the crossfire, no ache, no pain, no fear. Nightmares felt mundane compared to my everyday life — they could contain the worst things but the fact they were never real made me feel at home, the fact that they were never as bad as the life I was living made them feel soft and safe.

The nightmares are real, now, and of course it's a bad thing. Of course it is. But I'd be lying if I said I was still afraid. Finding peace in the devilish things whilst I slept... maybe it was some sort of preparation for all of this. I mean, I'm a murderer now, there is blood on my hands yet somehow every situation I find myself in feels more delicate than the treachery of home. I don't want to go back to the routine of waking up and being crippled by fear, experiencing a self-induced heart attack just so that I had a reason to stay in bed and not face the world. I can't do it again — I've died enough times to know that life, sometimes, is a choice.

Standing over Silk Le Roux felt like some sort of affirmation, if I'm honest. Because for the longest time, I was so afraid of being in that exact position. Gazing down as the spirit slips from a someone's eyes into the sky — yeah, I stood there, but not only that, I stood there and watched. And that, too, felt like an escape.

I know it's bad to think that. I know it, dammit, I know it is. But it made me realise that I chose to stop feeling sorry for myself and it bought me an extra day. And maybe I am still running from fate, maybe that's what this all is — but Ripred, I'd rather keep running than drown in a sea of my own tears. Inflicting the pain, killing someone else, watching such a tragic thing happen and knowing it was my doing... it was a pivotal moment. The power was in my hands when I killed Silk.

I liked it.

And the same happened today with Syd, because when that spear went into his body, I didn't pull it out straight away. I left it there, knowing the damage it would do and the pain it would cause. I think I'm going crazy, either that, or I'm sick in the head — but I think the insane part of me is what has kept me alive. I've gone from one sorry extreme to the other because I'm a serial killer in the name of herself.

The ghosts behind me don't feel powerful enough to spur me on like they used to. Reese, Tobias and Diana wrap their hands around my body but they don't pull or prod, they just touch. Soft and safe, their touch is just like the nightmares I found peace in at home. But I don't feel that burning desire to do it for them anymore, and maybe that's the final stage of grief. Maybe I've moved on, and maybe it took breaking down a hundred and one times to end up here, but if that's the case, I'm glad. I don't want to be broken anymore.

I killed Silk and Syd because I wanted to. I killed them because I want to live, selfishly, wholeheartedly but unapologetically, I want to live. Lex told me that none of it has ever been my fault and you know what? I'm going to continue to believe that now. I never had a choice coming here and that is something I'll never forget.

So, I don't think guilt has a place inside my body anymore. There's control, content and power. My hands can create other people's fear and my hands can hold their lives. I'm okay with being a body collector or a soul snatcher or whatever they'll brand me as in the Districts because I've become a bigger lost cause than I ever thought I could become. This nothingness is my everything.

I'm a serial killer. Lenox LaChance, a serial killer, living for the death she creates.

Fate, you don't scare me anymore.

[ table by dars
title: lyrics from natalia kills controversy ]