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Quackity saw Wilbur close the door of his little house with Tallulah. The warm evening light glittered on the water, creating a magnificent contrast with the gray wall overgrown with moss and vines. A few red flowers waved in the wind.
The shade of a spreading tree sheltered a small house that had been built literally in one evening. It also hid the Quackity’s silhouette as he approached the door.
It creaked and sagged a little on the crooked hinges. Tallulah made an indignant sound and wrapped herself more tightly in her blanket, but did not wake up. Her little body was lying on the bed, which must have been the neatest object in this house. Every board has been cleaned and polished. The girl's name is neatly written on the headboard. It was clearly made with love.
Quackity quickly closed the door and slipped inside. His gaze immediately catches on the note left on the wall. "Can you sing for me before heading to bed?" Quackity quickly lowered his head so as not to see it. Something stirred in his chest as he stared at the girl. While sleeping, she looked so much like his own child. Hair scattered on the pillow, a sharp nose, a strip of saliva sloppily flowing from his mouth.
Tallulahh in general was very similar to Tilín. When Quackity first saw her hesitantly hiding behind Wilbur's leg, he even thought for a moment that it was his baby. His huevo. For that brief moment, his heart stopped and he wanted to scream. But it was only a trick of the eye. His left eye often failed him, although no one except himself noticed it.
Now he could get a dangerously closer look at Tallulah. She was smaller than Tilín. Her cheekbones were clearly outlined because of the pale sunken cheeks. The sight of her could become physically painful. But Quackity just couldn't get any worse.
The sword in his hand was shaking. For some reason, the weapon has become incredibly heavy.
"All it takes is a one blow and everything will change..." he whispered ecstatically.
Tallulah moved again, he recoiled as if scalded, almost bumping into a hastily made wooden chair and an easel blocked with all kinds of paints.
Quackity quickly approached the door, but his hand froze without touching it.
«Why would I care for other children if no one fucking cared for mine?» He was shaking. «Why would I care for other children if no one cared for mine?»
With his free hand, he began to pull the red ribbon that he wore tied to his wrist.
His frantic gaze returned to Tallulahh. His fingers were white on the hilt of his sword.
«All it takes is one blow and she’s gone...»
Quackity approached the bed. His long shadow in the light of a lone torch covered the girl.
One punch and he'll know how I feel! Everyone will know!
«I'm sorry, Tallulah, you came into a very cold world...»
А tear rolled down his cheek. The image of Tilín flashed into his mind again, forcing him to close his eyes. A small child runs around his yard, quarrels with a neighbor's boy and jumps so high that it seemed he could touch the sky.
The red ribbon tickles his fingers.
Quackity raises a sword over Tallulah. His hands are shaking, and he notices another note that she left-"I have a lot of love to offer."
For some reason, the weapon in his hands felt like it was hot. Scalding. Quackity wants to throw it away and run away as if it was never here.
"She didn't deserve this" flashes through his mind.
Quackity freezes.
Tilín either didn't deserve it!
With an inhuman cry, the sword abruptly descended, and the world stopped for a moment.
Tallulahh did not scream or struggle in agony. She was still lying there, and only the blood that bloomed like a scarlet flower on her blanket gave away that she was not sleeping.
The sword fell with a clang. Quackity inhaled unevenly, holding back sobs.
«My God!» He put his hands trying to stop the bleeding. «What have I done?! Tallulah!»
The girl did not answer, and the blood did not stop, staining his hands and everything around in red.
«No! No! No! Tallulah!» He continued to scream, tearing his throat to the point of terrible pain, but he could no longer correct his mistake.
Tallulah was dead.
She won't wake up and go play her flute for her father. She will never collect a bouquet of poppies again and will not catch a single fish. Now she was just a cold body. Just like Tilín.
Quackity staggered back and fell to the ground. The blood on his hands was like acid. His own sobs threatened to strangle him. The scarlet spot where the girl's bed had been shimmered in the torchlight. And it seemed that the gates of hell were about to burst out there and the devil would drag him away to eternal torment.
But nothing happened. The house remained painfully quiet.
And Quackity ran away, leaving this horror behind. God, what had he done?! How could he kill an innocent child?! Tears were streaming down his face, making it difficult to see, and it was physically painful to breathe, but he ran without stopping. He ran fast and without purpose, just to get away from this torment. From this small house, built literally in a day, that was now stained with blood. But no matter how long he ran, stumbling over rocks, losing his balance and breaking his limbs on the cruel ground, the image of the dying girl did not leave him, now painfully mixed with thoughts of his own child.
When Quackity collapsed, soiling the ground, he curled up and sobbed until a familiar fragrance broke through the sickening smell of a life taken away. Lilac. With a huge effort, Quackity raised his head and smiled painfully.
Of course, the stupid body had led him to Tilín's grave. Neatly planted lilacs, swaying, framed the passage. And Quackity had no choice but to go down to his child.
The grave, as always, greeted him with cold. But he was in it so often that he didn't even pay attention anymore. Tilín was lying in bed surrounded by lilacs, and his face, in cruel contrast with his father, expressed nothing but calm. His wound was covered by a thick blanket.
Quackity knelt down in front of them and tremblingly took such a cold hand.
«Tilín» hoarse voice was barely louder than a whisper. «I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I wasn't around. I'm a terrible father! I'm a terrible person! Tilín! I killed her! Killed!»
Quackity clutched the red blanket and sobbed into his baby's chest. Part of him demanded to leave, shouted that he was not worthy to even touch Tilín. But his little body is all he has left. And he continued to sob until he finally noticed the stains. The red spots that he left on his child.
Quackity looked at his hands in horror. Sticky and red. Dirty scarlet. He tainted his child. The brightest thing that was in his life. He no longer understood whose blood it was. Tallulahh’s or Tilín’s, who was lying next to him covered in marks, keeping serenity on his face. But Quackity saw contempt on it. It's like Tilín hates him now. Hates him for what he did.
A disgusting lump crawled inside Quackity, forcing him to run out.
«Wash it off! I have to wash it off!»
He rushed to the river flowing nearby. Her cold waters turned a devilish color when he dipped his hands into her and began to rub. And even when there was no blood left on them, Quackity did not stop. He didn't even stop when he felt pain, as if trying to wash away his crime. And that's when he noticed that there was nothing on his wrist.
Wilbur approached the house clutching a bouquet of gorgeous poppies. «Amapola» as Tallulah called them.
He reflexively squeezed it tighter when he noticed that the door was open.
«Tallulah?» - that was all Wilbur managed to say before he lost his breath and the flowers fell to the ground.
There was a red ribbon lying in a pool of blood near her bed.