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Oh, inside you, there's a guiltless child who never saw his mother smile
A boy who had no sense of home, believes he's better off alone
Who coils up in jealousy to mask his insecurities
And I can't fix you, God, I tried, the hourglass I shattered just in time.
— Song A Cautionary Tale by Laufey
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Montresor was not a good man.
Actually, he had never been a good man. He knew that too damn well.
His earliest memory as a child was the first time he’d stopped and opened his eyes in church in the middle of prayer. He hadn’t meant to intentionally spite God (not yet, at least). It was a result of boyish curiosity that had seized him at that moment— the same curiosity that, unbeknownst to him, would lead to his downfall.
It seemed ridiculous to him, how everyone was trying to speak to something that never spoke back to him. If everyone else could hear God’s voice, why couldn’t he? The only feasible answer was that God simply had never wanted him to begin with. Nobody wanted him.
He’d always worn that proudly. It was a fucked-up badge-of-honor he’d sewn directly onto his wounds and carried with him in both life and in the academy. The pain had eventually subsided at some point, until Will’s “death” (and all the other various atrocities that followed) yanked at the delicate threads and pried open deep gashes that Montresor had tried so desperately to conceal— In other words, the stitches on his leg were not the only ones that had been undone.
His stomach did a flip as he looked down slowly. He was holding hands with a dead man. He was walking with a dead man.
Shit. Suddenly, rage-baiting Prospero into kicking him out of their shared dorm wasn’t so funny.
“I am finished with you. I simply cannot take this anymore. Perhaps you are used to others who tolerate your disgustingly brazen displays of disrespect. Do not consider me one of them. Ugh, I don’t know how William deals with you. A pity, truly; I am sure that poor man will be delighted to share a room with you, even after that’s happened. You’ve done more than enough damage now that Ada’s gone. Such a shame that she passed knowing not even her lover cared for her.”
Montresor’s face paled as Prospero’s words echoed in his ears. Now that they were back, and the academy was under strict surveillance after all the havoc wrecked loose by the hounds and Stag. Ada wasn’t technically dead dead, but whatever Nurse Dolly gave her had knocked her out for good, like a coma. There was no guarantee that she would ever wake up, that she wasn’t completely braindead, nor was there any guarantee that her mind would ever be the same again if she did wake up.
“We’re here,” Will announced, his jangling keys snapping Montresor out of his thoughts.
Montresor did not bother thanking him, and instead stepped inside without a word, trying to forget about the images in his mind. The yellow-ish lighting of the room and smell of paper felt very…very Will. It felt oddly comforting.
He’d seen Will’s room before, just outside the entrance, but never up close like this. On one side of the room was a neatly made bed, with his uniform folded atop the sheets. Not far off, a large table held potted plants, journals, a sewing needle, a glass jug of water, and two glasses. On the other side, there was an empty bed.
His fingers drifted across the edges of one of the journals. Montresor would bet his gold tooth that at least one of them was a diary, because that just seemed like such a dorky Will thing to do.
One journal that specifically caught his eye was opened, with notes scribbled onto it and stuff circled in red ink. He couldn’t read it from afar, but it seemed like a plan or some sort of schedule. Someone as much of a klutz as Will having plans for the future was laughable, but it shouldn’t have surprised him— after all, everyone was devising a plan somewhere on how to be the sole survivor of the academy; even those in groups were aware they could not keep their friendships long-term.
“Wow. Yer…uh…organized.” Montresor observed. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.”
“Er, sometimes. Heh.”
"Planning stuff?" he prodded, tapping a finger on the journal.
“Mhm, yeah, I guess you could call it that. I just…like to write about whatever, really. My plans, my thoughts, feelings, anything really…” his eyes trailed down to the floor, where a smaller journal lay. He kicked it completely under his bed.
“Relax. I ain’t interested in reading your shit.”
“Heh. Right. Would be surprised if anyone was….”
This was actually a complete and total lie. Every inch of Montresor itched to learn more about him, anything, that could point to why he was the way he was. In a world full of people far more deserving of his affection, Will chose Montresor. Montresor didn’t know whether he should be flattered or disturbed. Maybe both.
He leaned on one of his crutches, swallowing back his terror, “So, this is where I’m staying from now on? Least the room’s a lot bigger.”
Montresor’s own boldness surprised himself. What was he doing?! He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He shouldn’t trust the clone. He should’ve argued with Prospero more and insisted on staying with him.
But in the end, he’d caved. The new Will was terrifying, yes, but right now, it was the closest Will-like thing he had left.
Will’s eyes widened, looking far too stupidly excited and alert for someone awake at this hour. "You— you’re going to sleep… with me?"
He panicked almost instantly after hearing himself.
“Oh— er, no! What I meant was… you want to sleep in my room. Separately. On the other bed. I don’t have a roommate, already— obviously, you already know that— it uh, it gets pretty lonely in here. You can stay. Is...that alright?"
“’S what I came here for, ain’t it?” Montresor flopped down on the empty bed on the other side of the room. Will turned off the lights, then climbed into his own bed, covers rustling as he pulled them over himself.
“‘Night, Monty.”
Will didn’t say anything else after that, though Montresor secretly wished he would. He stared at the ceiling vacantly for what seemed like hours, then turned over onto his side and shifted beneath the covers, trying to find a comfortable position. He turned over on his stomach and squeezed the covers as he grumbled and pulled them closer, as if they would somehow make him feel warmer.
Montresor didn’t know why this was such a big deal for him. He wasn’t unfamiliar with Death. Far from it, actually.
She was everywhere. Sometimes she manifested through his mom, or as a member of the church; sometimes, Montresor just knew she was there, even if he was alone, specifically if he was alone. She’d chosen him when he was just a child— he was handpicked, just by her. He was…special, almost. She had found him young and vulnerable, wrapped her fingers around his throat when he was still just a boy, and taught him things no small child should be aware of. She stripped him bare of all innocence, seducing him by whispering crude things in the dark until he learned to crave her touch, no matter how much it hurt. Resistance was futile, as she would always have her way with him in the end; it was only a matter of when.
Sometimes though, Death pitied Montresor enough to take out obstacles in his way, like the time he killed a man. He shot him, right in the gut— except he barely knew the guy, and didn’t stay long enough to see him drop dead. He never knew death could be so...graphic, so raw, so real. He’d laughed at the idea of trapping Duke behind a wall and the idea of killing Lenore. Why was this any different?
Montresor dug his nails into the palm of his hand.
He remembered a time when he was young, when he still had his faith. At least, he thought he had faith. It…it must’ve counted as faith, right? After all, did anyone actually believe in God, or were they just scared of the consequences if they didn’t?
No. He had fear. He had a fear of God.
Not much had changed, actually. Now he had a fear of God, fear of himself, and a fear of wax. Great.
He finally got up and hobbled over to Will’s bed. The other man snored faintly. Unlike Montresor (who would usually rotate positions several times in bed before comfortable), Will slept like a baby. He looked peaceful and still, sleeping on his side with his left arm and leg wrapped around an extra pillow, as if he were hugging it. His ashy-brown hair stuck up awkwardly like soft fluff on a duckling.
Montresor grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him.
“Ngfh— gah—!” Will jolted awake and jumped back in fear before realizing it was just his new roommate. “Monty! You scared me.” He rubbed sleep out of his eyes, trying to adjust as Monty lit the room again, “What’s wrong?”
“Get up. That’s enough sleep for you.”
Will didn’t question him, hauling himself up into a sitting position on his bed.
Montresor sat down beside him. “The hell’s this, sleepin’ all nice and cozy? Must be nice for you, not havin’ to deal with any of this shit.” He snapped. This Will would never remember what happened to the first Will. It would never haunt him like it did Montresor.
Will looked confused, “Is…is this about Ada?”
Montresor looked away. That wasn’t the way he intended the statement, but it still applied. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed her warmth at night preventing him from tossing and turning. He missed the sound of her voice. He missed the sex. Turning the question around, he inquired, “Why? D’ya miss her?” He expected some babbling from Will about how she was a good friend to him despite their differences.
Instead, Will hesitated, “I…er…do you miss her?” He stared imploringly into Montresor’s eyes for what to say.
The was when Montresor realized that Will did, in fact, not care.
Although Montresor knew Ada was shallow and did not forgive her for allowing Duke to use his spectre abilities on him, her death was still enough to make him feel something. But Will? When Ada was slipping out of consciousness, Will’s only focus had been on Monty. He had shown zero pity towards her. He was completely apathetic to her death, and was solely interested in parroting whatever Montresor was about to say right now.
“That’s not what I asked you, Will. Answer my question.”
“I-I mean…” Will rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t think she deserved to die, but...maybe she’s happier now.”
“Mhm.” The lump in Montresor’s throat did not go away.
Silence.
He played with his toothpick for some time before finally speaking again, “Ada ain’t comin’ back. Don’t hold yer breath.” Montresor couldn’t tell if he was speaking to Will or himself.
Will tugged at his collar, “I’m not...I don’t really know if I feel all that sad about what happened to her. Is…is that bad? After all, she mostly talked with you…do you miss her?” He asked again.
“Dunno. Maybe. Maybe not.” Montresor sighed and sat straighter, “That’s dumb to think ‘bout now.” He turned to Will, “Enough about Ada. Tell me more ‘bout yourself. Your family. What you did before all this… If ya don’t mind, that is. Don’t s’pose I’ve got anyone better to talk to anyways.”
“You…want to know more about me? Is…is that why you woke me up?” Will was flustered now, brushing a bony hand through his hair before continuing, “Oh, well, gee, Monty, I’m nothin’ special, really. Ran the family store for a couple years. Grew up in a sorta big family. Fourteen siblings, including me…”
“Fourteen?!” Montresor sputtered. “From the same woman? What the hell were your parents doing?”
“I know, it’s embarrassing,” Will looked at him awkwardly, “It’s not like we could afford it either. I was the middle child. I had to take care of my younger siblings— all girls. Some of my older siblings were guys, but they married and moved out. My parents figured I’d do the same, but I didn’t want to.”
Montresor tilted his head, now intrigued.
“And why not?”
Will’s shoulders dropped slightly, his voice quiet. “Never really worked out for me. I… just never got along with women. My dad used to complain about it, but my mom always said I could get married later. Wish I could’ve. Maybe, if things were different. But… I guess it’s just not for me. I’m meant to be alone, I think. Heh.”
Montresor paused and stared at the wooden floor.
“Will…do you believe in God?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.
Will was caught off guard by the question. “What?”
“You heard me. Just a question.”
“Oh… I… uh…” Will grimaced, “Kind of. Yeah. I mean, I’d like to believe it’s real. It’d be nice, believing that Ada’s mind is at peace right now.”
“Well? Do you believe that?”
Will fidgeted uncomfortably with the buttons on his pajamas, “Kind of. But, if it’s real…I don’t think I’m going there.”
Montresor’s brow furrowed. “What? Why? The hell did you do? ‘Side from the stuff at the academy, that is?”
Will’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he shifted uncomfortably. “I…I don’t want to say.”
“C’mon, Will. We’re pals, ain’t we?”
Montresor leaned in far too close for comfort. Will could smell his breath as he spoke: “You don’t trust me? After all I’ve done for you. ‘M a little hurt, not gonna lie to you.”
“What? N-no! I swear that’s not why, I just…it’s…really bad.” Will looked away, “I don’t think you’d want to be my friend anymore if I told you, Monty.”
“Tch, bullshit. Don’t be a sissy, Will.”
“I’m not! I…I..I just…just…” Will swallowed, “Fine. But promise. Promise you won’t tell anyone. Promise you’ll act the same after. Promise we’ll still be pals after I tell you. Please.” He stared at Montresor with his pleading, big grey-blue puppy eyes.
“I give you my word.” Montresor flashed a grin at him, and how could Will ever say no to that? He could see beads of sweat forming on Will’s forehead. The other man avoided eye-contact with him at all costs, his voice barely audible.
“I have…thoughts. Urges. Urges other men don’t have.”
Montresor tone was dismissive. “That’s all? Nah. That don’t matter. ’S just a thought. Thinking ‘bout killin’ someone don’t mean you’re gonna do it. As long as you don’t act on it.”
Will’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no words came out. He finally managed to stammer, face turning redder by the second, “Oh-oh… uh… I don’t mean that. Not exactly. I’ve never thought about killing anyone.” He laughed nervously, “It’s… other stuff.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly specific.
“What kind of other stuff then, Will?”
A beat.
“I’ve never told anyone this before, but…I’ve always wanted things I wasn’t supposed to. Felt things I wasn’t supposed to. For people I shouldn’t have. Even now, I look at people and I think about things. Things I don’t want to think about. I just…I want someone to want me back as much as I like them. But not like— not in a normal way. I want to give myself away. I think I’m sick. Maybe that’s why God doesn’t want me. Because I feel things for…” Will’s voice cracked with the weight of shame “…for other men.”
Montresor’s expression was unreadable. “Like who?”
Will refused to look up. “Like…” He looked up slowly. “Can…can I say?” His grey-blue eyes gazed up sadly, half-lidded and tired. It made him look strangely at peace, strangely hopeful, almost.
Montresor didn’t speak. He knew how Will felt already— the clone’s dying kiss had made that very apparent. But it was different now, coming from a Will who wouldn’t melt into goop before his sorry eyes.
He felt nauseous.
“Wha-why?” Montresor asked hoarsely, “Why me?”
“You knew?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He huffed, “Dunno why you’d subject yourself to such a thing. Can’t see what you’d possibly gain from it, ’specially since we’re both…” he hesitated.
“You don’t understand. You always get attention, whether it’s good or bad, but for me…everyone always forgets about me. You’re the first person who’s ever even noticed me, Monty. Saw somethin’ in me worth saving, back there in the maze.” He looked up briefly and gave a small smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, “You’re stronger than I could ever be. Whatever Duke showed you, it must have been really awful, but…you fought back. You don’t let anyone step over you, and you always tell other people what you think. I think that’s admirable.”
“You’re dead wrong,” Montresor muttered. Admirable. Pfft. Will was an idiot.
Their legs brushed up against each other. Montresor bent his good leg’s knee and pulled it up to his chest in response, wrapping his arms tightly around it and squeezing his eyes shut.
He didn’t open them. He didn’t want to see Will again.
Except, he did see Will.
Just….not this Will.
The other one.
The real one.
“Will…”
He remembered Will’s body, down to every last detail. Of course he did. He couldn’t forget if he wanted to. He couldn’t forget the way its eyes were glazed over and staring directly at him, head lolled, mouth slightly parted, as if it were trying to speak, as if it had so much more to say that Will never got to tell.
He hadn’t checked up on the corpse before the other Will appeared, and by the time Montresor had noticed, it had fully melted— only a puddle and a portion of Will’s foot remained. Unfortunately for him, just his imagination alone was enough to fill in the gaps of his memory.
He could picture it now: Will’s green robe and white pajamas that he wore dripping, creating a green, white, dark red, and flesh-colored wax. The skin and clothes on his chest would later be completely melted off, revealing broken ribs and other bones that jut out from the mess. He’d imagine something would slosh and squelch faintly inside him, still warm, still wet, before that and his ribs melted into the same goop, before blood and wax soaked the floor in thick, dark pools, congealing, seeping into the cracks.
Perhaps the most infuriating part was how after all this, the idiot clone was blissfully unaware, his back turned against the sight. He had the nerve to fetch his slipper without even questioning the blood-splattered wall in front of him.
The worst punishment God could give wasn’t hell; it was mercy.
Fucking mercy.
Fucking Will.
He never cried. He hadn’t cried since he was a little boy. But somehow, tears were streaming down his face, hot, stinging like acid. He had curled in on himself like an armadillo, knees pulled up to his chest, his face hidden behind a curtain of hair.
“You’re crying,” Will whispered.
“No, I’m not.” A stupid and pointless reply, but Montresor could not think of anything else.
“You are.”
“Shut up. God, Will, just shut up.”
He expected Will to keep going, to say something cliché like “it’s okay” or “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to”. But no, he did shut up. Maybe he really had successfully managed to piss off the last person who dared help.
Montresor lifted his head slowly, eyes bloodshot.
“You’re William fuckin’ Wilson. ‘Course you think I’m admirable or whatever. Yer…different. Not like the other students, not like anyone I met. Don’t react the same way. Don’t get pissed off, even when I insult you, or when I choked you.”
“Oh, that wasn’t too bad.” Will chirped,” My throat hurt for a while after and made me sound quiet and squeaky for a couple days and I did cry once buuut other than that—“
Montresor rubbed his forehead in a circular motion with the palm of his hand as if it would do anything to his splitting headache, “Just proved my point, Will.”
A beat.
“…Montresor?”
The name barely registered. After all, he was so used to the nickname Will used for him.
Will reached out again. He didn’t touch him yet. Just placed his hand down beside Montresor’s.
“…Did it…hurt when you died?” Will asked softly.
“I didn’t think it would,” he rasped.
Will waited.
“Got tied me to the tracks. Train tracks.” His voice was slightly slurred from exhaustion. “I screamed a lot. Dunno why, ‘cause I knew nobody would hear me.”
“That sounds awful, Monty. I’m sorry.”
“Tch.” Monty rolled his eyes skywards, “Don’t be. There’s worse ways to die.”
Will’s throat bobbed, “Like Ada.”
If anyone’s death was glaringly obvious as murder, it was Ada’s, with her rotting, spectre form sewn together haphazardly together, hands detached completely like they’d been hatefully hacked off by an unknown perpetrator. She’d died unloved and scared— twice.
“Yeah. Like Ada or somethin’. Save it for someone else; I don’t need yer pity.”
“I’m not pitying you.”
“Lyin’ right to my face, William.”
“But I’m not lying.”
“Bullshit. Yer still feeling bad for me and you don’t know half the shit I’ve done.”
“Then…tell me so I do know.”
Montresor glanced at him, “And why the hell would you want to know? So you can judge me? Go snitch on me? I ain’t doin’ that again. If Annabel Lee spills what I told her, nobody would respect me. Not even you.”
“You know I’d never use something like that against you, Monty.” He added softly, placing a hand on Montresor’s shoulder, “right?”
“I don’t care if you don’t tell. You ain’t a priest. Talkin’ ‘bout it won’t make me a good person.” The dog that weeps after it kills is not any different than the dog that doesn’t, and Montresor had stopped weeping a long time ago. He swatted at Will’s hand, “And don’t touch me.”
“Sorry…” Will rubbed his hand. He parted his lips to say something, then grimaced. Trying to choose his words carefully, he whispered, “Is….there a reason you don’t like being touched by other people?”
Montresor’s heart dropped, though he tried to play it cool. “Tch. Dunno what yer talkin’ about. Lack of sleep must be catchin’ up to you.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
You should be.
Montresor pushed a stray hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear.
“I…I like your hair,” This was Will’s pathetic attempt to try and defuse the situation. “Blond. Shiny. Looks kinda like gold.”
Montresor scowled. “Gold? Naw. Gold’s heavy. Valuable. Strong. Smooth. Like Annabel Lee’s hair. Mine’s rough. Breaks easily. More like Fool’s Gold— Pyrite. A cheap, good-fer-nothin’ version.”
“No. Real gold. Like…treasure.”
Treasure. He could still feel his mother’s hands cupped around his chin and the stinging, hand-shaped burn marks left all over his body.
“Don’t call me that word ever again. Treasure.” Montresor spat the word through gritted teeth, like it was poison.
“Pssh. Treasure. I ain’t no treasure.”
It was more than poison. It made him want to peel off all the ungodly filth that was his body, to skin his impure satyr self alive until it was all gone.
“Well, you are to me. Honest to God, Monty.”
“Tch. God. That don’t mean anything to me. I don’t care about what God thinks.” He noticed Will’s gaze drop to the cross around his neck, though the man didn’t say anything.
“I’ve been meanin’ to cut this shit off,” He tugged at the string of the necklace, “I’ll do it later, when I get my hands on somethin’ sharp.” Yet he’d been telling himself that for a while now, and both himself and Will knew damn well that he could just rip it off with enough brute force if he really tried.
“Ugh, yer getting on my nerves, Will. I shouldn’t even be listenin’ to a word you say. You’re not even really…” Montresor’s voice trailed off.
“Hm?”
“Nuthin’. Forget it.” Montresor knew nothing could ever bring him back. It was pointless to tell Will— this was his own cross to bear. “Whatever. Quit yer boot lickin’. No need to flatter me anymore. I’m not like you. I’m not…”
“Not what?”
“You know what. That.”
Will stared blankly.
Montresor glared at him. “Don’t make me say it, Will.”
“Am I... that now? Is that all you’ll think of me as? The thing you don’t say?” Will’s bottom lip quivered. “I…I thought you said we’d still be friends if I told you. I thought you said you’d treat me the same.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly think you’d tell me this.” His noise crinkled slightly. “I didn’t grow up with people like you.”
“I didn’t grow up with people like me either.”
Montresor snorted, “No wonder. That’s not normal. What you feel isn’t supposed to exist. You’re sick in the head, Will. You should be grateful I’m also sick enough to still be talkin’ to you in the first place. Grateful that I’m not tellin’ this to anyone.”
“I knew there was something wrong with me since I was a kid. I just didn’t know what it was. I thought I’d grow out of it.” He’d never seen Will look so truly ashamed and disgusted in himself.
Montresor had a knack for ruining people— finding the light in them and snuffing it out, a morbid curiosity. Something possessed him to add salt to Will’s wounds.
“Imagine if the other students found out. Don’t think any of the other men would want to come near you after that. How can you even call yourself a man when you act like a girl?”
Something inside Will completely shattered.
“No, no, no, no, no, please, no,” Will latched tightly onto Montresor’s sleeves, his nails digging in so deeply that Montresor could feel pain in his wrists through the fabric.
“Hey, what the—?!”
“Please, I’m not a girl. Please, I don’t act like them at all! I’m strong, I— I try to be strong. I try so hard. Please, Monty, I swear on my life.” Montresor finally managed to pull away from his grasp.“You won’t tell anyone, right? You promised you wouldn’t, right?”
Montresor sneered, “D’aww. And you believed me.”
To say Will looked mortified would be an understatement. “You’re…actually going to tell?”
Silence.
Montresor yanked Will by the collar, “Cut it out. Don’t look at me like that. Like yer scared. Said I wouldn’t, and I won’t, that simple. I ain’t that cruel. Take a joke, for once in your life.” He let go roughly.
“I...I can’t.”
Was this Will disagreeing with him? He talked back now?! Was Montresor hearing this right?!
Montresor stiffened, “Excuse me?”
“Not like this. I don’t get it. All I’ve done tonight is try to help you, and all you do is…try to ruin me. Why? Why don’t you take me seriously, Monty? Am I…a joke to you? Is that how little I mean to you now? ‘Cause of something I can’t control?”
“You can’t control anything, can you?! Every time I think I’ve escaped your sorry-ass pleas, every time I think you’re getting better, every time I start trusting you again, somehow I’m always dragged into your messes again in one way or another. Do you seriously like humiliating yourself like this?” he asked coldly. “Is that what you get off on? What you jerk off to when yer locking the door to your room? ME?! Is this what your 'urges' look like?”
Montresor was already used to this. When women touched him, it was because they wanted something. If they said they loved him, it was because they hadn’t yet discovered how nasty he really was. And, if they stayed despite it all, they were pathetic and dependent enough for Montresor to use, eventually get bored of, and discard, like Ada. He pledged loyalty to no one.
“I don’t think of you like that. I don’t think of you like how you think of Ada. You mean so much more to me. Far more than myself. I know you don’t believe me, but I’d die for you. That’s…what I had planned out, actually. I don’t want the second life. I don’t deserve it, but you…I wanted it for you.”
“Whatever the hell makes you think I deserve it, then? ‘Cause you think I look good?!”
“Because I hope you find peace there— peace you never found in this life. I’m sorry for what everyone did to you. I hope the world treats you better in your next life. And if…if you meet someone…if you meet a girl like me in your next life, I hope you marry her. I hope you treat her better.”
“Tch.”
“Would…would you think I’m gross if I was a girl? Do you wish I was a girl? Like Ada?”
Montresor didn’t respond for a while.
“If you were a girl?” He spoke finally “That’d be different. You know that.”
“Would you have chosen me instead of Ada, then?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Will.”
He morphed into Ada. It was scary, how he’d managed to master her so well. Out of all of Will’s imitations, this one was the only one that was exactly identical. If he didn’t know any better, judging from the amount of details, he’d think Will liked Ada instead of him. He’d even remembered the small details, like how she smelled faintly of vanilla, how her ribbon had a small crease in it that made it flop sideways, how her fingernails had grime underneath them with that cheap, light pink nail polish that was always flaking off. Even her mannerisms were the same, the way she brushed her hair to the side, the way she pouted her naturally reddish lips, the way her short dress exposed too much of her thighs when she sat sideways on the bed with her legs crossed…
Ada’s finger— Will’s finger— started at Montresor’s chin and trailed downwards, stopping accusingly at his chest. “What would you do right now, if I was a girl?” Will’s half-lidded, pathetic puppy-dog gaze with Ada’s face and body were a combination that certainly did not spark very appropriate images in Montresor’s mind.
“I’d sin.” He made direct eye-contact with the Ada morph, who’s face flushed slightly. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t know what I wanted to hear.” She— he, mumbled, morphing back into Will. “Monty, I…I don’t think we can stay together anymore. I think I’ll just change rooms. Stay with Prospero for a while. I’ll pack my stuff in the morning. Like you said, this room’s bigger, anyways. I don’t want to make you more upset. Plus, I think you’ll like it more.”
Will did not speak to him again after that, Not for the rest of the night, not at breakfast, not for the several days that followed. Montresor didn’t bother apologizing. Some things never changed, and whatever mangled sense of stubborn, destructive, devilish pride he still had left, was one of them.
It was better like this.