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The rain felt harsh on her skin. As if it was burning her, burning the witch, like in that old American movie Shannon had gone to see with Jessica once. The witch had screamed and screamed, ugly and deformed and other, and she had melted away. Like the water was erasing a stain upon the world.
…Was that what she was? A stain? Surely that was the case. She wasn’t something that could be loved.
”That's perfect. I love you, Beatrice. I'll stick your name in here. In that case, I'll choose the second choice. Happy now?”
“I’m not happy,” she muttered. Of course she wasn’t happy. Why else had this game been created?
A person that had become complete, that had tasted the sweetness of love and had devoured it whole, keeping that precious thing to themself, was not the sort of person who would become a witch. Witches were born from cruel things. They were not the sort of things that could be easily loved, they were not the kinds of broken children that could be easily understood. And so, to protect their hearts, to claim some sort of power over their broken fates, they became witches. They sold their souls to darkness and demons and magic, consigned their human vessels to oblivion, and laughed at all those who had loved their pathetic former selves.
What was a weak little girl to a powerful, grand witch? What sort of person would prefer the former to the latter?
”...What would you do if I said I liked flat-chested lolis with long, black hair? That wouldn't match you at all, right?”
Battler’s words kept echoing in her head. She didn’t need them. She’d already cast that person away. She’d already thrown away her heart. He was residing in the abyss now, and all she had to do was finish this board that even her piece could not bear to remain on. After this she could hide away with Maria and forget about all of these painful things. After this she could reside in the Golden Land. (Somewhere deep inside, she knew this wasn’t the Golden Land that she desired, but she no longer cared.)
“If you liked me… I think I’d die, Battler,” she murmured. “I think I’d die…” She already had, after all. She had already died because she could not bear to be loved by him if it was not in full, if she was to be nothing but a burden, an albatross around his neck, a cursed thing that he could not truly love, an illusion that she was forcing upon him.
She was a murderer and a monster and a horrific witch that should not torment a human like Ushiromiya Battler. And even then, she’d been too hasty. She’d made a mistake. She should have waited to kill herself, should have waited until they got to shore and she could give him access to funds and then say that for safety they should go separate ways and only then die, without a trace left behind, and so her life or death would forever be preserved within a catbox, and Battler would not need to deeply mourn.
Instead she’d selfishly kissed him before diving into the sea, and as a result he had followed her all the way down to hell. She looked up at the sky, dark and stormy, and laughed. This world was too cruel, too unkind. If Battler had at least remembered the sin she had committed, the sin she truly regretted, then she would have accepted anything from him. But he didn’t remember. He didn’t recall his own sin, let alone hers.
She wasn’t even angry. She wasn’t even sad. She was just empty. An empty doll that danced in the night, haunting the VIP room, the witch, Beatrice… Dance, dance, dance. You are the lord of the night, the star of the show, Beatrice, so smile, sneer, laugh, and dance amongst the blood-red roses, even if your bare feet bleed upon the thorns. It is your blood that makes the roses so beautiful. So bleed more for me.
“...Ah…” She closed her eyes. “I told you to sleep, did I not?”
But I wanted to be here. I wanted to see it. The very end of this very last board of ‘ours.’ I’m the one who made this world. I’m the one who dove into the sea. I’m the one who died. Come on, Beatrice. There’s not much time. You have to kill me (us) with those trembling hands. Come, kill the human, and become a true witch. Isn’t that what will make Battler-san love you?
“...He won’t,” she muttered. “No matter what, that man won’t… He can’t remember. He can’t solve it. He can’t do anything. Even though he promised…”
Battler had made and broken so many promises, as many as there were stars in the sky. He’d said he’d come on a white horse. He’d said he’d come back. He’d said he’d take them away. He’d said he’d defeat Beato. He’d said he’d wait for her to become a worthy opponent. He’d said that he’d bear her sin with her.
But he’d forgotten all of them, abandoned all of them, broken all of them. So I don’t want to love him anymore. So I don’t want to live anymore. Come on, Beatrice. You were born from my flesh, written with the ink of my blood. I crushed and flattened my bones to make the binding for the book of your tale. Take my soul, take my existence, take my love…
“To sleep is not enough?” Beato asked. The rain felt so cold. As if the chill of it was being absorbed into their very body, their very being. She was so, so cold…
No. It’s not enough. I want to disappear. I can’t play anymore. You and Shannon and Kanon, go ahead without me. I’ll die right here, by your hands. I’ll die with Shannon’s face, which is so similar to my own. And then, for my sake… forget everything in the Golden Land. You don’t need a liar like that, right? We don’t need a liar like that, do we…?
“Okay.” The gun against her temple, everything set to create the illusion that a suicide was a murder. “If that is what you wish, then I shall grant it.” Beatrice smiled. Her face was slightly hot with tears, but the rain soon washed them away, leaving her cold again. “I am, after all, a witch.”
The witch felled a god with a single gunshot.