Regret. I’ve felt so much of it in my life, but never more than when I let you talk me into opening those doors.

We slipped back into the castle under the dead of night, making extensive use of my magic to shroud us from watchful guards. Our mission was known, so there would have been too many questions and delays if we stopped to explain things. That could come later, you convinced me.

The dread built in my heart as we approached those terrible black doors, and your hand in mine could do nothing to abate it. It was the moment that had haunted my dreams for years, and it was finally happening.

Part of me had hoped that they would be locked, or barred, or anything to keep me out. Instead, they glided open easily at my touch, and at last I saw what was on the other side: stairs, leading down into darkness.

The stone walls of the castle quickly give way to a void without light, and the stone steps before us floated out of the dark to meet us as we descended. There was a growing warmth, like we were descending deep into the bowels of the earth, and it made me nervous.

“I’m scared,” I told you, and you squeezed my hand again.

“Whatever’s down there,” you promised, “I’ll protect you.”

There was a jarring shift in perspective as we took another step and found ourselves in another place entirely: elsewhere in the castle, a reading room tucked away. The edges of it were blurry, indistinct, like we weren’t really there, but my attention was on the two figures in the center: my father and the duchess.

The king had his hands on the back of a chair and seemed frustrated as he demanded, “Why did you help them? You knew that I was waiting for Luka’s return.”

Duchess Bladesinger had her arms crossed. “Why were you waiting when you could have done it yourself? Why did you write that letter, tell me it was important, and then table it only a day later? You’ve been off your game, Kresimir, and I don’t like it. We’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other, but you’ve been acting irrational lately and I haven’t heard an explanation.”

My father’s expression darkened, and then he let out a world-weary sigh. “I had hoped it would come to nothing… but I see now that I’ve been transparent. You’re right, and I apologize. It was wrong of me to keep this from you. I dreamt a new prophecy, and when I woke from the dream I wrote that letter in a fit of panic. But fighting against these things so brazenly can only make them worse, and when I collected my senses I tore it up.”

Ruzica’s eyes narrowed. “What new prophecy?”

“My daughter will be queen, and then our kingdom shall fall to ruin.”

I let out a cry and took a step forward, but the vision scattered like swirling mist and I was left in the dark once more. My heart was keening. You were there at my side, a hand on my shoulder, sympathy on your face.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.

Our descent continued, the air getting hotter and the space around us getting darker, until we stepped into another illusory scene. I saw the hallway, and the black doors at their end, and then my brother came tumbling out of them.

Luka was younger, and he looked disheveled. I recognized with a pang the night that we stopped being siblings. Luka ran, and the scene shifted to my father’s office, where Luka burst in without announcing himself. My father was annoyed, but that shifted to concern when he saw the state that Luka was in.

My brother said, “I opened the black doors,” and concern became alarm.

“Luka!” The king rose from his chair and grabbed his son, dousing him with light to heal any injuries that might be there. “Are you alright? You shouldn’t have done that, it could have been dangerous. Tell me you didn’t go inside.”

Luka’s expression is downcast. “I saw what was at the bottom. I know.”

The king’s face falls. “I had hoped to shelter you from that.”

“Please, father, I need to know… is my sister really a demon?”

The vision faded and my terror rose. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”

Again you were at my side. “Reska, don’t worry. It’ll be okay. Whatever’s showing you these scenes, it’s cutting them off too early. It wants you disoriented, vulnerable. For all we know, your father’s next words were denial, and the same with the last vision. Something is trying to make you think this is worse than it is.”

I wanted to believe you, but it was so hard. “You’re right,” I said to convince myself more than you. “It might not even be real.”

The last vision was the hardest. We stepped into my father’s bedroom, and on his bed lay the dying form of my mother.

Her pale blonde hair had blackened at the tips, and her shining eyes had grown cloudy. Purple veins spiderwebbed across her skin. She looked nine months pregnant, and she was dying.

Men and women in healer’s robes swarmed the place, bringing in rags and hot water and all manner of medicinals, but there was an air of hopelessness to it all. My father sat by the bedside, holding my mother’s hand, distraught. His eyes were puffy, his cheeks tearstained.

“Please,” he begged. “I can’t lose you, Irma. We were going to be a family.”

Zdenka, withered and ancient even two decades prior, placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, my king, but we cannot save her. We have tried every obscure remedy, every ounce of healing magic we possess, and nothing changes. No power in mortal hands can stave the blight of the Abyss.”

“How long does she have?” he asked, voice broken.

“A few hours now.”

“And the child?”

For a moment, Zdenka’s face showed pity. “I am sorry, my king, but we cannot save her.”

More tears stained his face, and he let out the most heartbroken noise I’d ever heard him make. His head dropped to his hands, and in a defeated tone he commanded, “Leave us. All of you, leave us. I would grieve alone.”

When they were gone, and my father cried by his dying wife’s side, a bluejay flew in through the window and came to rest on my mother’s shoulder. My father looked at it, perplexed, and then confusion turned to guarded suspicion as it spoke.

“What would you give to save her life?” the bluejay asked with a songbird voice.

For a moment, I thought the king might strike the bird with banishing light, power gathering in his hands, but then he slumped. Desperately, he answered, “Anything.”

The bird pecked the cheek of my mother, who stirred from her fevered haze, blinking away some of the clouds from her eyes. She turned her head, just a little, just enough to look at the bluejay as it asked her, “What would you give to save your child?”

“Anything,” my mother croaked.

The bird chuckled, its laugh like clanging crystal. “Then we may negotiate.”

My father looked from my mother to the bird with fearful hope. “Who are you, demon? What do you ask of us?”

The bluejay swept a wing in a mock bow. “I am but an Emissary for higher powers. You may call me… Prevara.”

The scene changed, but when the stairs in the dark returned I found that we had reached their end, and in front of us was a stone platform surrounded by more of that feverish shadow. You moved to comfort me again, but I was already striding forward, too upset to crave comfort. I needed answers.

As I stepped onto the platform, the darkness pulled away, writhing at the edges, and as the space cleared I beheld again the form of my mother.

Her hair was shimmering, her skin was clear, and she wore a gorgeous gown in our family colors. She was smiling. She looked alive. She looked well. All except for those eyes: her golden eyes had been marred, altered, into concentric rings of black and gold.

In the labyrinth, with the shapechanger, I knew it wasn’t really my mother. For a moment I hoped this might be the same, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t. I could feel our connection. This was my mother… and yet, at the same time, I knew it very much wasn’t.

“Hello, Reska,” she spoke. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this meeting.”

My mouth felt dry. “What have you done to my mother? Are you… Prevara?”

“I am the Emissary. I am your mother’s savior, and in exchange for salvation she became my host. I have watched you since you were born. I have watched you grow. I hold the answers to every question that’s been burning inside you.”

I knew the questions I had to ask. The questions that had haunted me since birth. “What am I? Why do I have these powers? And… was it my fault?”

The thing in my mother tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The word ‘fault’ is a tricky one. It was your presence that poisoned your mother, yes, but only because an outside power changed you in the womb. You were not conceived a child of the Abyss… but by the hand of another, you became one before your birth.”

My heart bled and broke, but that answer demanded another question. “Who? Who did this to me?”

Prevara smiled. “It was Katoptris, of course.”

You pushed past me, Vorpal in hand, and snarled, “Don’t fucking lie. It was your fault, wasn’t it? You’re the one who betrayed her.”

Prevara looked to you and bowed. “Intercessor, how kind of you to visit. I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds like quite the fanciful tale.”

I looked between you and Prevara, confused. What was an Intercessor? What betrayal? I wouldn’t learn those answers until far too late.

“In any event, please, this is Reska’s moment, not yours. Do you intend to stand in the way of her absolution?”

You were about to snarl again, so I grabbed your hand and pulled you back toward me. “Homura,” I said, “please. I… I need answers. Isn’t that why we came here?”

You glanced at me, then looked away. “Yeah,” you lied. “Answers. Fine.”

The Emissary sighed. “I understand this is difficult for you, so allow me to get straight to the point: Reska, I can give you what you’ve always wanted. I can return your mother to your father, and then he will finally be able to look at you without thinking of her and what was lost to save you. All I ask in return is that you lend me your power.”

A dream. A fantasy. An impossibility. But there it was, right in front of me. I hesitated, disbelieving. “What… what do you want from me? What would you use that power for?”

“To right an ancient wrong. I would release this vessel and you would house my spirit for a single day, and then both you and your mother would be free to spend the rest of your long lives together.”

You scoffed. “Don’t listen to a word this bastard says.”

But it was my mother. And it was all I’d ever wanted. “But, what if she’s not lying? My father would finally love me. I’d finally be his daughter.”

“You don’t need that. You don’t need him. Do you really think he’ll ever love you? It’ll always be hollow.” I stared at you in shock and you swept forward, grabbing my shoulders and meeting my gaze. “Reska, you have me. You don’t need anyone else.”

“I…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to believe. I wanted to be with you, but I wanted my family to love me. Why should I have to choose?

You glanced back at the Emissary with an ugly expression. “What we should do,” you said dangerously, “is put ghosts to rest.”

My eyes widened and I took a step back. “Homura, that’s my mother!”

You shook your head. “Not anymore. Not for twenty years. And you can’t let the thing squatting in her corpse trick you like this.”

“I can’t accept that. Homura,” I pleaded, “I’ve agonized about this all my life. I’ve had to spend every day knowing that everyone blames me for my mother’s death, and now I find out that she’s still alive, and I can save her. I have to. I have to, Homura. Please understand this.”

You wavered. “Reska—”

“Please. You said you would be there for me, no matter what, so trust me. Help me. We’ll get my mother back, and I’ll only be gone for a day. Whatever happens, whatever the Emissary does in that time, if it’s something bad… we can stop it. Together. Okay?”

For a moment, you seemed caught between two worlds, the conflict playing out on your face. But then your expression softened, and you said, “Okay. I love you.”

You kissed me, and I kissed you back, and then you ran me through the heart with the sword I helped you make.

I didn’t understand what was happening. I was in shock. You pulled away from our kiss and you yanked the blade from my chest, Vorpal slick with blood. The breath left my lungs and I clutched at the wound, hands shaking, uncomprehending.

You struck again, the blade piercing my throat, and you flicked it out to leave a bloody gash. My vital fluids spilled across my dress. I stared at you, lost, disbelieving.

“Power Word: Exsanguinate.”

You ripped the blood from my body in streams and spurts, and I collapsed to the warm stone floor as every ounce of it was taken from me. I twitched and shuddered, and then I stilled. I stopped breathing.

Yet, somehow, I could still watch as you turned from my body to point your blade at the thing in my mother.

The Emissary chuckled. “That was cold, Intercessor, even for you.”

“Shut up,” you snapped. “You think I enjoyed that? You’ll pay for forcing my hand, Emissary. I’ll make it slow and painful.”

“Forced? I haven’t forced anything.”

You bared your teeth in a vicious glare. “Of course you did. If I let her make the deal, you get what you want and I fail my mission. If I kill you while you’re hiding in her mother, she hates me forever. If I kill you while you’re hiding in her, she’s dead anyway. I did the math, you piece of shit.”

My mother’s face twisted into a smirk. “Your greatest loyalty will always be to power over those you love.”

You started unloading marbles from the hilt of your rapier, gathering power while you talked. “Say whatever you like. I’m going to kill you, rescue Katoptris from that tower, and stop the Resurrection, and then I’m going to plunge a knife into Nyara’s back and wrest the Demiurge from the Throne of Creation. I’ll do what you couldn’t, you and all those wretched worms.”

Prevara tilted her head. “You are her priestess. Her soldier. Her slave. You would turn on the hand that holds your leash and keeps you fed?”

You snarled, rage in your eyes, and energy crackled around your blade. “I’ll become the Devil herself if I have to, if that’s what it takes to claim vengeance for all the fragments that came before me. I’ll avenge the girls she’s tortured and broken for her own sick catharsis, and I’ll make a new universe where none of this has to happen again. I’m ending the cycle, Prevara, and you’re in my way.”

The Emissary frowned. “What cycle? What other girls?”

You smirked. “ Out of the loop? Ask Nyara when I send you to her.”

And then you lunged, your blade aimed for my mother’s heart, and when it pierced her chest with annihilating force I screamed.

I wasn’t breathing, my heart wasn’t beating, but what is breath or blood to a living shadow? I rose like a phantom, the dark swirling around me, flowing into me and out of me, the centerpiece of a growing storm. Memories flashed like lightning over dark clouds, emotions externalized as chaos and violence.

You turned to me in surprise and horror as you withdrew Vorpal from the awful wound it had made, and you opened your mouth to speak, but I wouldn’t hear your lies any longer. I thought you had loved me. I thought you had trusted me. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.

I screamed again, and a wave of darkness crashed against you and pushed you back, pushed you to the edge, pushed you off. My heart stopped for a second time, sudden clarity seeping in as I realized what I’d just done. I was furious with you, I felt betrayed, but I didn’t want to kill you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

I rushed to the platform’s edge, storm still raging around me, and found you clinging to the side by the tips of your fingers, your sword tumbling past you down into the dark. You looked up at me, so many emotions passing across your face, and I held out a hand as tears fell down mine.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

You let go, and I watched you fall.

The darkness took you, and you fell out of sight. I didn’t hear any impact, but who knew how deep the Abyss really was? You could have fallen forever. You could have died in seconds. Either way, you were gone.

The last piece of me shattered, and my anguish became a hurricane. It exploded out of me in waves of despair, in lashes and lightning and crackling thunder, and in the far distance I heard screams. I didn’t care anymore.

My darkness swallowed the castle, just like in my dreams.

I sank to my knees and cried, and the dark cried with me. Whatever barrier had existed between me and my magic was shattered, and any semblance of control over my shadows was gone. They were me, and I was them.

When I stopped crying and the castle had gone still, my mother sat beside me. There was a hole in her chest where you had stabbed her, and it was still Prevara’s eyes that looked back at me.

The Emissary laid a hand on my shoulder. “Reska. Do you still want to save your mother? You can.”

Lifeless, broken, I whispered, “I do. I have to. I have nothing left. I accept.”

Prevara smiled. “Wonderful. The time is not yet right to fulfill our pact, as you possess only half of what I require… but together we’ll find that other half, and when we do… I’ll have my Resurrection.”

And so I went with her, and did as she said, and pushed my world toward its end.

And then you stopped me. You took everything from me. I remember the last thing you said to me, there at the base of that tower,before you consigned me to this endless living hell.

You asked me, “Do you know regret?”

I do. I regret so much. I know regret more intimately than any soul on any world. I mire in it. I drown in it. It pounds in my ears and sings in my blood. I relive these memories over and over, lost in them, and these regrets are all that I truly know. Regret has swallowed me whole.

You called it the core of me, in our last battle. You called it the great truth of my existence. Strip away the face and the facade and all the mortal titles and all that’s left is the truest, rawest essence of my being: I sin, I regret, and I seek penance. I am the ruin, the horror, and the loathing. I am not Reska, because Reska is no one.

My only name is Contrition.