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A dog waits for the hand to strike. That is the pact. The chain may chafe, the belly may hollow, but the dog waits, no matter the want. Because that is what love means. To wait for pain and call it devotion. To wait for death and call it mercy.
But Rumi did not have anyone left – no Zoey, no Mira, not even Celine. She had nothing. The leash had been loosed, the dog set free not in love, but in revulsion. In fear. In shame. And now she sat here with the bowl empty, the chain broken, nothing left to worship but the blade at her feet.
Or - The night of the Idol Awards, rewritten. A character study in Rumi as she unravels against her demons (literally), and a hell of a warped ending to the one we all love. What if Rumi thinks her greatest gift is not her voice, not her strength or her love, but her absence?
They didn't take long to get to her. Only minutes, really. But Rumi had been dying for what felt like hours.
(+ new epilogue!! chap 2)
Bookmarked by findingfish
28 Sep 2025