It came in waves.

  That was the first descriptor that came to mind. There would be a period of emptiness, as if all color was being sucked out of the world, all thoughts and emotions falling down a bottomless pit, leaving her drained for however long she stayed awake. Then something would trigger a memory, some reminder in her environment would set off a flood of the worst anguish imaginable, pain so bad she would cry herself hoarse until she fell asleep.

  But sleep wasn't better, because she would be there again, back on the field, failing to save the love of her life. It tore her apart every time. There was no way out, no way to forget what happened. What she had and hadn’t done. Her last words to him…

  Only, she would open her eyes again, starting the cycle over, feeling as if she'd drowned before another flood would come. Hence, waves.

  Lyra Chen had given up. Things weren’t going to get better, not for her. She was nothing but a husk now, sluggishly trudging through the days. Even getting out of bed would've been too much if she didn't have people actively making sure she left her room.

  The one thing she had left was the voice. Something she could do without, and also something she could not ignore for much longer.

  You're ending it? Like this? What would Finn think if he saw what you were doing?

  “Don't you dare say his name,” she shot back in a tired, harsh whisper.

  Feet planted firmly on the tiled floor, her grip on the handle tightened, cold steel resting against her wrist as she fought with herself to just push down. She needed to apply more pressure and stop hesitating already. What did she have left?

  Everything, all the things you see around you. They can be moulded by your notes, shaped however you desire, and you want to throw it all away over a mistake you wouldn't have made if you had let me help from the start?

  The voice wasn't shy about intruding on her every thought anymore. It had been observing her from the start, and now that she was finally making a decision for herself, something of consequence, it was trying to batter her down by berating her about her failures. She knew she was a failure, which was why this was going to be easy. Two strokes, and she'd be gone after a few minutes.

  I'm not doing this to hurt you.

  It had resorted to lying, so she stretched out her arm and repositioned the knife vertically. A world without Finn was a world without Lyra. When she thought of it like that, nothing seemed more fitting than this.

  I want to be free, with you. I understand your pain. What I'm giving you is a way to express it. If you choose to embrace me, you'll reach heights you never thought possible before. We can show the world what he meant to you.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, grinding her jaws down so hard she thought her teeth would break. With a grimace, she let out a sound halfway between a groan and a scream.

  I'm here for you.

  Feeling all the strength leave her, she let her arms flop to her sides, exhaling slowly. Tears streamed down her cheeks, not accompanied by sobs this time. She merely stared at herself in the mirror, an utter wreck of a girl. Gaunt cheeks because she couldn't keep her food down. Sunken, dead eyes. Someone who didn't want to go on any longer. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and never get up again. But something had called to her.

  “Would I…” she tried, her words careful. “Would I have done it?”

  Without me? You would have. Your conviction is there.

  It was hard to decide how she felt about that. Distant satisfaction at the knowledge that she wasn't all talk, or disappointment that she couldn't have been so resolved earlier when it could have made a difference. She eyed the sharpened metal in her hand. The aftershock of realizing how close she'd just come to making such a final decision still wracked her body, leaving her taking shallow breaths while the weight of her future, bleak as it looked, settled on her shoulders. Followed by a realization.

  This… this was the first time she'd deliberately let the suggestions of the voice alter her course of action. For as long as it had talked to her, she had dismissed it as a forbidden part of her, but here she was, talking to it like its opinion had relevance. And now that she had given in once, she was self-aware it would happen again. She'd anticipated that it would be a slippery slope from the start; that wasn't a new revelation. What shocked her was how… fine she felt about it. Because what else was she going to do? Who did she have left?

  At one point, making things right with her parents had been her primary drive, yet today, that was at best a distant concern. She didn't know if that made her cold or if she'd just spent too much time away from them. Back when she came here to this district, her mind had been on fixing the people she had broken, and now she didn't think about them nearly as much as she should. The voice was aware of that, which was why it hadn't used them to appeal to her when she was at her lowest. That said more about her than anything. All those years, she had wanted them to accept her choices, until today, when she acknowledged the fact that their approval hardly held meaning anymore.

  Aiden had offered to heal them, and she hadn't accepted, even days later. She was stalling, anybody could see that. The reason for it was that she didn't want to go back. She couldn't. After all that time spent looking for a healer, she had gotten what, and it barely registered on her scale of priorities by the time she did.

  Mama deserved to recover, but she couldn't return to how things used to be. She would call Nar later and arrange for that healing session. After she got out of her bathroom.

  Blinking, her eyes drifted back to her reflection. “What now?” she asked, searching mirror-Lyra's gaze like the voice wore her face.

  Now you shed the old you and move on.

  Shed the old her, huh? That was well within her power to do. Her right hand lifted the knife up to her head, and channeled her power into the handle. Constant vibration, easier to perform when there was a constant sound in the air to sustain it. Or if she provided one herself. In this instance, she just latched onto the ambient noise, making the blade oscillate until it began to blur slightly, a dangerous hum emanating from it.

  Listlessly, she brought the edge down on her hair, separating dyed strands from the natural black that had been growing out. Brown locks fell to the ground with each pass, a few centimeters of hair remaining on her scalp.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The result was messy, to be honest. She looked somewhat boyish with her hair so short. She didn't remember the last time she had it at this length, nor did she care to. Just a few weeks ago, she would've been fussing over how it would come across to everyone else, but those thoughts had become unimportant. Beyond checking to see if she had gotten it all, she didn't have it in her to smile or frown at her haircut. She simply stared for a time before turning and heading for her bedroom.

  Familiar as the movements were, this was the first time since that day that she'd slid the box holding her costume out from underneath the bed.

  Clicking it open, she grabbed the white bird mask painted with red lines. Was she ready to do this again? No, she never would be. But did it matter?

  We have each other, and that's enough to keep going.

  In the end, Lyra didn't disagree.

  *******

  In another time, she might have found this trip lonely, isolating, but instead it was making her restless. She was back to roof hopping, out in the open like the old days. No fear of whomever it was that might get the bright idea to target her. She didn't know why she had always been so afraid before. The worst that could happen was death, which was preferable to being forced to continue breathing.

  That said, it wasn't the first thing she would resort to. If she died, that made things easier. And if she didn't, she could keep being a so-called “hero.” Whatever that term meant. She didn't love being out here in the least. It was just the least objectionable action she knew to take.

  More importantly, she knew Finn wouldn't have approved if he heard what she was thinking. He would be furious, and she loved that about him. All the little things, the precious moments in the short time they'd spent together. Ripped away so soon. It was cruelty of the highest order. For what?

  How was it that she was the one who had to suffer? What need was there to have the one bright spot in her life destroyed? Maybe she was cursed. There didn't seem to be an alternative explanation.

  She slowed her steps and slowly came to a halt. The hole where her heart used to be spread out, a stabbing pain that didn't let up. Raising a hand to her chest, she felt her throat constrict before swallowing. He was gone.

  Up ahead.

  No doubt, she would have given into the urge to curl up in a ball if not for the sound she heard to the northwest. The telltale sound of somebody's hand cocking a gun. And a person pleading. Through the haze, she felt herself jumping in its direction.

  Covering the distance didn't take too long. A short couple of blocks from here to there. She discovered that the source of the sounds came from an alley. What she saw was… a typical robbery. Mundane in its simplicity, she leaped off the building above and fired a shockwave, sending the armed man sprawling.

  The young woman he'd been threatening took off running the second Lyra touched down. Unsurprising, though she didn't pay it any more mind than that.

  Casually walking up to the downed robber, she slid the gun under a dumpster with her foot. The guy scrambled upright while she gazed down at him. His clothes were worn and scruffy; like they'd already seen days of use and weren't washed.

  “No need for this shit,” he said, leaning against the wall she'd cornered him to. “I wasn't gonna shoot that bitch, alright? It was just a scare. Go in, grab the money, get out. Tons of people like me gotta make ends meet ‘cause their house got turned to fucking ash! Don't you got somewhere else to be? Better shit to do than catching harmless guys like me.”

  When she said nothing, he continued, “‘sides, aren't you under capacity?”

  Her blood froze.

  The lowlife actually had the gall to smirk. “Yeah I know who you are. Your little fucking glowstick boytoy kicked the bucket and now you costumed fucks're stretched thin after the big names from Central left us to eat shit. Why not focus on more important stuff?”

  Lyra didn't remember throwing the first punch. She just saw red and the next thing she knew her fist was buried in his gut. His eyes bulged out and he wheezed. He tried to hit me with a haymaker but she sidestepped and countered with another straight in his solar plexus. He doubled over.

  She stood over the pitiful excuse for a man, knowing she could take him in and end the entire altercation here. She didn't.

  Grabbing him by the collar, she heaved and threw him into the reverberating wall, sending him bouncing off it back to her. Right on time for another hook found his face, flecks of red spattering on the filthy ground. He started to say something, only for her to grab his head and knee him in the nose, breaking it with a sickening crunch.

  The pathetic piece of trash stumbled past her, and she kicked him. He crashed to the ground, yelping in pain.

  Stepping closer, she hovered over him for a moment. Then she stomped on his stomach with moderate force, vibrating her leg to send a shockwave into his entire body. With a shudder, his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

  Doing it again, she brought her foot down and watched him come back to the world of the living. After all, she wouldn't let him pass on so easily. She wanted it to hurt.

  “P-please…” he begged, barely getting the word out past the blood filling his mouth. It did nothing to stop Lyra from grabbing his shirt and dragging him just high enough to begin whaling on him.

  Again and again, her fist impacted his face. With each consecutive hit, her glove became redder. Ceaseless, meaty thuds resounded through the alleyway. Some of it even splattered on her mask, a fine match in color. Her eyes widened in anticipation as the criminal's bruises began to swell and leak. He had stopped making noises of pain a while ago, and she hadn't noticed.

  Capturing the sound of her last hit made charging her balled-up hand for the killing blow, a shockwave at maximum strength that would crack a skull—

  “CALLIOPE, STOP!”

  Lyra stopped.

  Turning to look over her shoulder, she saw a girl in full plate armor save for her lower face which was covered by a veil. She stood with a sword at her side, and Lyra could make out the pursed lips the new arrival had upon seeing her.

  “...Damsel?” She tilted her head.

  “This is… No,” Damsel said firmly. “Enough. You need to let him go.”

  Regarding the knight heroine for a moment more, Lyra glanced down at the guy she was holding up. Blood was everywhere. His clothes, her gloves, dripping down to the pavement. She'd beaten him far beyond the point of recognition. His head was one big swollen clump. He was slumped, wet rattles of breath the only outward indication that he was alive. His heartbeat was perfectly audible, but working hard to keep him from crossing to the other side.

  It wasn't enough.

  “Does it matter if he lives?” she asked in a dull monotone.

  “What do you- Yes! Of course it matters! You are a hero. Don't throw that away for scum like him. Even if you’re experiencing loss.”

  Lyra dropped the worthless bottom feeder and stood up, staggering back as she registered what she had done. She grabbed her head with both hands. “What did you make me do?” she demanded from the voice. Finn wouldn't have let her. He wouldn't…

  You're becoming free. You aren't going to stop here, this is just the first step.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, shut up. Shut up.”

  “Calliope?”

  Her focus snapped back to Damsel, who was watching her warily. Or was that concern? She didn't know anymore.

  Looking left and right, Lyra took shaky steps back. “I should go. Yeah, I need to go.”

  “Wait—” Damsel said, reaching out a hand, but she was already out of sight.

  And the moment she escaped the scene, Lyra spoke to empty air the words she should've said to Finn back when she had the chance.

  “I’m sorry…”

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