As much as you would like to delay this horrendous act you know that waiting any longer would only be cruelty and you know it. You wait until he's sleeping - until all of those signs are impossible to ignore, until your instincts and long ignored powers gently inform you that this is the time and you know that if you so desired, you could join him in that dream and make sure it was something sweet.
But that would run the risk of giving into the darker side of your nature.
You stand. The sword is heavy in your hands now, if you were a weaker troll you'd have let it drag on the ground as you made your way over. But that would run the risk of waking him up and for the love of all that is holy, for the Messiahs and all that makes up the miracles and magic in this world, you don't want that. You can't do what needs to be done if you have to look into those loving, trusting eyes.
You look at that smile.
You remember the face underneath that paint, when you were both young, before Gamzee latched onto the teachings that you had always been uncertain of. His jaw has always been sharper than yours, the plains of his face harder and somehow more intimidating even though he was never anything but gentle. It's been so long since you last saw that face you can pretend it's someone else.
That's the only reason why your hand doesn't shake when it comes down.
That's the only reason that the sobs are manageable and the tears flooding down your cheeks aren't blinding you.
You lose it when you have to slice into his head. Tossing the sword far, far away and pulling the wet lump to your chest. Sliding down the wall, muffling the wail by stuffing a fist in your mouth and biting down until your own blood fills your mouth and the shaking quells. You don't sleep, you don't think you're ever going to sleep again.
Everything hurts and you're more alone than you've ever been. It might have been better had you never known what companionship was. You're suffocating in the vastness of the tent, it's only worse once you capchalogue the body.
You paint tiny pictures with the blood until moonrise. Your apologies fall on deaf ears as you toss him into that small, dark space you carry with you and set out alone under the pale green light. You need both hands. ]
Tavros: Be the murderer
As much as you would like to delay this horrendous act you know that waiting any longer would only be cruelty and you know it. You wait until he's sleeping - until all of those signs are impossible to ignore, until your instincts and long ignored powers gently inform you that this is the time and you know that if you so desired, you could join him in that dream and make sure it was something sweet.
But that would run the risk of giving into the darker side of your nature.
You stand. The sword is heavy in your hands now, if you were a weaker troll you'd have let it drag on the ground as you made your way over. But that would run the risk of waking him up and for the love of all that is holy, for the Messiahs and all that makes up the miracles and magic in this world, you don't want that. You can't do what needs to be done if you have to look into those loving, trusting eyes.
You look at that smile.
You remember the face underneath that paint, when you were both young, before Gamzee latched onto the teachings that you had always been uncertain of. His jaw has always been sharper than yours, the plains of his face harder and somehow more intimidating even though he was never anything but gentle. It's been so long since you last saw that face you can pretend it's someone else.
That's the only reason why your hand doesn't shake when it comes down.
That's the only reason that the sobs are manageable and the tears flooding down your cheeks aren't blinding you.
You lose it when you have to slice into his head. Tossing the sword far, far away and pulling the wet lump to your chest. Sliding down the wall, muffling the wail by stuffing a fist in your mouth and biting down until your own blood fills your mouth and the shaking quells. You don't sleep, you don't think you're ever going to sleep again.
Everything hurts and you're more alone than you've ever been. It might have been better had you never known what companionship was. You're suffocating in the vastness of the tent, it's only worse once you capchalogue the body.
You paint tiny pictures with the blood until moonrise. Your apologies fall on deaf ears as you toss him into that small, dark space you carry with you and set out alone under the pale green light. You need both hands. ]