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“Do you remember when you told me you loved me?”
Black Sapphire stopped where he stood, eyes glued to the door of the office. And though there’d be no indulgent silence for them to share between words, he still felt as though he were choking on the space that had been left between them. Partially, it was his fault, and he almost felt sorry for himself.
Of course Black Sapphire loved him. Though, he found he could not place why. Perhaps there was no reason, only the raw truth in the wretched swirl of unnamed emotions he felt. Regardless, it wasn’t that out of the ordinary for him to say. They were friends—he’d employed him, given him newfound purpose, or something like that—what reason did Black Sapphire have to be ashamed of for the show of affection, of undying loyalty, and nothing more? The both of them knew, of course, that that was not what Black Sapphire had meant, but if he knew it were not to be reciprocated in any meaningful ways, why not lie to him, to himself? Isn’t that what he was supposed to do? To lie?
Were they even friends to begin with?
There’d always been a line the two of them danced on, like a silver tightrope, between lovers and friends. Or, between friends and strangers, maybe. He would be vulnerable with Black Sapphire, as vulnerable as someone like him could get, angry and ugly, and then the curtain would rise and it would be as though nothing ever happened. Countless times, Black Sapphire had thought to ask what it was that they were, and countless times, he had decided already what the answer would be; “What does it matter?” Maybe not with that phrasing; maybe more theatrical, more conniving, and, if the mood was right, belittling, but it’d boil down to that, he was sure. He was predictable like that; of course, not on the surface, but he was. Black Sapphire knew.
“Yes.” It was all Black Sapphire could think to say. He did not turn around, already halfway across the room, stopped in the midst of leaving, though he considered it just to see his reaction, perhaps a furrow of his eyebrows or the ghost of a smile on his lips. But Black Sapphire knew there’d be nothing, and he didn’t want to disappoint himself. Like there was anything else he could’ve said that would’ve surprised him, anyways.
He was odd like that. So full of emotion, except when it came time to be compassionate. When Black Sapphire would grovel at his feet for a shred of sympathy, for a kind smile, for a hand running through his hair, anything, of course, he was not given the privilege. He would look over and see a glassy-eyed stare, lips pressed thin. At first, Black Sapphire thought it was out of offense; then, he thought it was a lack of understanding. Now, he simply didn’t know.
“Then,” Slowly, Black Sapphire turned around. Shadow Milk’s voice was sharp, and there they were, those unreadable eyes. “Would you kill for me?”
--
If Shadow Milk hadn’t been the one asking, it would’ve been laughable. Not even half a question—of course Black Sapphire had said yes. Obviously, he knew when he’d agreed to this arrangement that he would not be doing anything particularly ethical, but there was nothing about cheap gossip and petty tricks he couldn’t handle, and he’d, perhaps naively, thought that that would be the end of it. An easy enough task for somebody like him, who could lie like it was breathing.
“That one, right there. You see her?”
It wasn’t the sort of thing he thought he’d ever have to do. Staying on the sidelines, handling the behind-the-scenes, that was what he was good at. Not this. Not murder. A horrific reality, a slap to the face of righteousness, to cause someone’s death and to have no one to blame but yourself. Perhaps, if it had been a few years earlier, he would’ve been disgusted at the idea. Though, thankfully for him, he did not remember any version of himself that was like that.
“Come on,” Shadow Milk scoffed, and Black Sapphire suddenly realized he hadn’t been responding. “You can’t miss her. The short one, in that stupid tulip dress, dancing like an idiot. Look alive!”
“The child?”
Shadow Milk cocked his head from where he hovered just a few inches above Black Sapphire’s head. “Do you see any other faeries dancing out there? Be glad I got you a small one to start!”
“Of course.” For how much it felt like his stomach was dancing circles inside him, Black Sapphire’s voice was remarkably still. A sort of calmness he’d settled into, or something like that. An awkward reprieve. “When should I strike her?”
Shadow Milk snickered, and Black Sapphire felt him rest his hands on his shoulders. “Geez, you’re raring to go, aren’t’cha? She’ll come over here soon. She does every day, I’ve been keeping track.”
Black Sapphire nodded wearily, idly placing a hand in his pocket. The hilt of the knife he’d so graciously been lent was cool against his burning palms. Perhaps an inconvenient hiding place for a weapon, considering it obviously stuck out, but Shadow Milk had promised he shouldn’t need to face anybody today. How considerate.
“When she comes over here,” Shadow Milk continued, obnoxious despite his whispering. “You’ll wait until everyone else over there is gone. And then—”
Black Sapphire winced as Shadow Milk mimicked the sound of somebody getting stabbed, an egregious ktch through gritted teeth. He laughed afterwards, though Black Sapphire couldn’t tell whether it was at his discomfort or the sound itself.
“Now,” Shadow Milk patted Black Sapphire’s shoulders. “Make yourself useful and hide. Can’t have you ruining my plans before they even start!”
“Of course.”
Shadow Milk was gone when Black Sapphire turned back, so perhaps those words hadn’t had any audience at all. Black Sapphire felt as though a lot of the things he said had no audience. And that was ironic, wasn’t it, because he of all people always had an audience, didn’t he? Because that was what Shadow Milk had asked of him. Though now he found he didn’t particularly want one, because Shadow Milk had asked that of him too. So he pressed himself against a tree and tried to become invisible. The knife in his pocket felt as though it could be made of ice, and yet still it seemed to burn his skin by sheer proximity. He held onto the handle tight, like it was the only thing keeping him from flying away.
How thought out was this plan supposed to be? Was that even a question Black Sapphire had the right to ask? But he couldn’t help it—he’d had his hand practically held all day, and he began to doubt the moment he was alone, and he’d expected this and his lack of faith sickened him anyways. This girl needed to die for reasons Black Sapphire knew he wasn’t capable of comprehending just yet. She was the first domino that had to fall, for a lasting plan that, once set into motion proper, wouldn’t need Shadow Milk’s or Black Sapphire’s or any external influence. Shadow Milk had talked it up a great deal earlier, and Black Sapphire had paid attention, though not to what he said—he tried to recall, and all that came to mind was the way Shadow Milk’s eyes crinkled when he smiled too wide.
Gentle footsteps approached the clearing.
Black Sapphire suddenly realized he had no idea what was supposed to come after this. All the times he’d imagined this scenario, over and over, like a make-believe rehearsal, it always faded to black after the victim died. Would that happen in real life, too? Would it be revealed that this was all just a sick joke, the ultimate test of loyalty? Well, that was the case whether this girl was real or not. Though Black Sapphire figured it’d be easier if she wasn’t.
“Excuse me, mister? Are you alright?”
“Of course.” Black Sapphire stumbled over his words. Wasn’t this the one thing he was supposed to be good at?
“Oh. Okay. Well, please don’t mind me. I’ve come to collect the mushrooms here for dinner. My mom says the wild ones taste best.”
She was on her way to dinner. She was collecting mushrooms for dinner. Black Sapphire imagined her weaving through the trees, plucking mushroom after mushroom from the ground, leaving the clearing though coming back eventually to say goodbye to him before she left. He imagined her rushing home, bells on her skirt jingling, with her arms full of wild mushrooms, to give to her mother to cook. He imagined her pulling her chair up to the dining table, and tucking a cloth into her collar to protect her shirt from spillage, and he imagined her thanking her mother for the food and taking a bite of the mushrooms she’d taken the time to gather with care. He imagined her washing her plate after, scrubbing residue off dutifully with a sponge, little sleeves rolled up to her shoulders.
She was on her way to dinner.
And then someone had suddenly pulled her back, their hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming too loud. They’d reached into their pocket and taken out a knife they’d been gifted, and plunged it into the stomach of the girl whose back was now to their chest. They had kicked her down with their heel, and planted the knife down one or two more times just to be safe. Black Sapphire had a faint idea that it had been him, but he didn’t know any version of himself that was like that.
He imagined her parents waiting at the dinner table for the front door to open, twiddling their thumbs and comforting each other, saying their little girl could never be in danger. He imagined silver knights appearing at their door with the bad news. He imagined her funeral, with her parents and the knights who’d found her and all her friends she’d been playing with just a few moments ago, taking their turns saying their goodbyes, planting a little white flower in her name. He imagined himself there, too, for some odd reason, sitting in the back, so hidden he would almost be incorporeal. He imagined that no one would speak to him, but he would go up to the memorial and say that he was sorry for killing her, and she would forgive him, somehow, from beyond the grave.
He was placing a flower on her headstone when he blinked and saw nothing but bright crimson on the hands that trembled before him. Something about that wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. And then there were more colors that blurred before him, as though he were looking into a kaleidoscope, until all he saw was blue. Blue, waving its hand in his face. Blue, flicking his forehead. Blue, carefully removing the knife from his hands, uncaring if it was tainted with red too.
“Black Sapphire, can you hear me? Hellooo?”
Black Sapphire’s throat was so dry he couldn’t form any words. And the blue in front of him still blurred and moved, but not in any natural sort of way. It looked like a phantom, like the memory of something that had never really been there. It wrapped its arms around Black Sapphire’s shoulders, and he realized instantly what was going on. Immediately he felt embarrassed at how long it’d taken him to notice.
“You did good. Real good, okay? I mean, wow, I didn’t teach you any of that stuff. You’re a natural, huh?” The way Shadow Milk rubbed his back made Black Sapphire want to throw up. “And she had it coming, anyways. I mean, stranger danger? Did nobody ever teach her that? This’ll be a good lesson to all of them.”
“She’s dead?” It was a stupid question.
“Yup. Dead and gone. I checked, she’s not coming back from that one. Hah!” Everything was too loud. “I’m proud of you. I don’t say that enough. I’m proud of you, so let’s just get out of here, huh? Let’s go home and toast to our little victory. No need for you to keep moping around. Come on.”
Black Sapphire hated the relief that flooded him. He felt it pool in his hands, dangling limply at his sides, like old blood, and he instinctually lolled his head forward and closed his eyes. He wanted everything to end then. It would be fitting, wouldn’t it, for their play to conclude at that moment? He thought that Shadow Milk ought to wrap this up soon, because it was getting old. Tragedies usually end with someone dying, don’t they? Well, it’d happened. He waited for the girl to get up and congratulate him on being a good actor.
When he blinked again, he was back in the spire.
“Master Shadow Milk?” He didn’t expect an answer. One came anyway.
“Oh, good, are you coherent again? Geez. I’ve been trying to talk to you for hours.”
“Has everything been done to your liking?”
Black Sapphire had been sat in a chair in Shadow Milk’s office (he realized this because it was the one he usually sat in when he was in here), though nothing else had been done for him. He was still wearing his bloodstained clothes, and he suddenly had the urge to tear all of his skin off and scrub his bones clean.
He stared at the blank wall ahead of him, and he saw the girl’s funeral, the one he’d imagined earlier, come back to him like the last ember in a fire, and for a moment he thought he’d actually gone, before he remembered that he had not, and would not go to her funeral, because he had been the one to take her life. Because he had done the irredeemable, and because now her parents were waiting for her to bring mushrooms home, something so trivial and inane you wouldn’t give it a second thought on any other day. He’d taken her life. She had done nothing to him and he’d taken her life.
“Oh, you killed her, alright. Congrats.” Shadow Milk sounded bored. Black Sapphire couldn’t see whatever it was he was doing, because he thought if he moved his head it’d come off. “Though I wish you wouldn’t have short circuited the second you saw a drop of blood. Couldn’t even handle a little gore?”
Black Sapphire would kill for Shadow Milk. Not even half a question—of course he had said yes.
“Gave me a real workout! I had to practically carry you back here. Tell me next time you plan to reboot, okay? How inconsiderate!”
Black Sapphire remembered that there had been arms wrapped around his shoulders. Recalling it made him feel as though he were choking, as though the blue had wrapped tight around him and squeezed him until he popped, and still he reached up to feel at his neck and wished it’d come back. Shadow Milk had been proud of him. Black Sapphire didn’t even care that he hadn’t meant it—he was almost certain he hadn’t meant it, because Shadow Milk never spoke to him that way. Not when he spent nights in his office doubled over, sobbing over nothing. Not when he held Shadow Milk’s wrist and begged him not to leave him. Not ever. So he couldn’t have meant it, because Black Sapphire would know, but that didn’t matter, because Shadow Milk had been proud of him.
“I’m going to wash up. I assume you expect me to discard these garments?”
“Oh, sure, do what you want with them. They’re not mine, are they?” Shadow Milk didn’t look at Black Sapphire, but Black Sapphire imagined him grinning at his own wittiness, and it made him smile.
“Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m honored,” Black Sapphire said, and he meant it. He was honored to be given purpose. He was honored to be needed.
“I think you should leave.”
“Of course.”