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Sara’s never been especially religious. Her mother and father had never prioritised spiritual instruction. Before the game, she wasn’t preoccupied with questions of heaven or death. But now wondering about it dominates a significant portion of her day.
It’s only natural, she supposes. What else would she think of?
Shame festers inside of her, slowly eating away all else. She’s hardly herself anymore - guilt has turned into a walking shadow.
Even Nao has told her so. They rarely talk, despite living under the same roof since their escape. Sara resents her for this never-ending purgatory of regrets they’re trapped in, despite knowing that she’s just as culpable. She voted for Nao, knowing she was the Sacrifice. Nao may have planted the seed of the idea in her head, but she’s the one who allowed its roots to sink in and spread. She let the others die, so that they might escape and live on.
Foolish, foolish her. Turns out living is the far crueler fate.
Nao notices after she passes by a mirror. She stops Sara with a hand on her arm, then lets go when she flinches at the touch. “Sorry.” Nao whispers. They never speak above a low murmur, as if imprisoned in a perpetual state of mournful respect. As if raising their voices will somehow disturb the ghosts that hang around them.
Nao continues, eyes straying to the mirror beside them. “Sometimes, the way you look at yourself... It scares me. Your eyes...” She trails off. Anxiety creases her face and Sara can see tears beading on her eyelashes. She looks up, lips pulled tight with worry. “They look completely hollow.”
Sara isn’t surprised. She usually avoids reflective surfaces for that very reason. Instead, she holes up in her bedroom, fixating on what the next world might hold. Maybe she should take up praying, but she’s not naive enough to believe that will grant her forgiveness. She’s beyond salvation. The only thing she would wish for is that there is no life after death.
Because the thought of meeting the people she helped murder again in the inescapable void of the afterlife turns her stomach. It’s pathetic, but it’s the only thing that keeps her from the knife on particularly awful days; the fear of being confronted with her wrongdoings is so strong it’s singlehandedly keeping her heart beating.
She keeps seeing them. Joe’s been haunting her for as long as she can remember, but he was mostly constrained to lingering in dark corners. Now, they’re everywhere, regardless of the time. Sara almost chokes when she goes down to breakfast one day and sees Kanna and Sou sitting there in the clear morning light. They’re arranged casually, just like they were that day they spoke with Sara in the infirmary; a meeting from a lifetime ago, perfectly mimicked by her guilty conscience.
Their blank eyes gaze into space, unseeing, but when Sara tries to back up the stairs, their heads turn instantly. She half hopes that they’ll say something - tell her that the gory images of their dead bodies plaguing her are as unreal as they are. But they only stare, with the serene apathy of the dead.
“I’m so sorry.” she whispers into the early morning silence.
Kanna still doesn’t move. Sou smiles. His eyes aren’t even accusatory or angry; just knowing.
I told you so. They seem to say. I knew I was right about you. At the convenience and whims of the strong, the weak will die. I always knew you were going to betray us.
Sara wishes she could tell him he was wrong. But she can’t.
She proved him right the second she pressed Nao’s portrait on the voting screen.