Chapter 32: Chapter 33: The heroine’s end

"A croissant with ham and cheese?!" I clench my fingers. My finger-pads creak on the eggshell-pattern porcelain plate under its own miniature tent. "What does it MEAN?" I growl, scribbling in the ash and dust.

"It means I thought it would make a nice breakfast."

I spin at that voice, howling in rage as I seize the shotgun and pull the trigger the instant I line up its barrels on my target. It blasts a basketball-sized void in the blue-veiled demon standing over me.

"Ouch," she observes, her form stitching inward. Spectral sinews burn into being and cool into flesh. "Pardon me for lacking the Lady's gift with words.” She takes a step forward. I lift the barrel towards her face. "Firstly. I feel 5 rounds left in there--" I pump it. "--counting the one you just chambered. Not gonna be enough."

"I have more!" My voice catches.

"You're really going to try and lie about that?" She folds her arms. "Enough. Look, I get that you're upset, but you can't just go around shooting random people because your whole family's dead. Tragedy's no excuse to make more tragedies."

Her tail swishes. "Kinda intuitive."

I stand slowly. Back up. Raise the gun. "You're a demon. Who cares if I kill you?"

She claps her hands together and draws a chilling breath--far, far too long for mortal lungs--through her nose. "Okay. I see you're still too angry for this to work. I'll just go."

And she does. A brisk turn. A blue-robed figure on drifting steps through the wastes.

Getting smaller.

Yeah? What do I need her for, anyway?

And smaller.

I'll get by on my own.

And smaller.

I like it. The moaning wind, the dying trees, the ash flakes.

Tiny now.

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I belong here.

The smoke-haze washes away her silhouette.

I didn't need judgment. I just wanted help–

--at gunpoint–

--so what? They have all that power! Power imbalances change the rules!

--so if I have the power of a gun and someone else doesn't, do I have to let them beat me to death?

Another gust. Now it's quiet. At times like this, Papa would make a joke. Mama would tell him there's nothing wrong with a companionable silence, but she'd be smiling. One of my idiot brothers would poke my shoulder and ask what I'm trying to prove by frowning, and... and...

And I'm sprinting. Ash-flakes stab my lungs.

Fallen homes leer with dark, empty windows.

Then, a blue figure.

She speaks without turning as I catch up. "You're real lucky that, as a demon after the Lady's own heart, I have an instinctive love for fire, brimstone and the yield of the Earth's molten womb. So, I'm walking home. Enjoying the scenery. Having second thoughts?"

"Sorry," I murmur. "For... for trying to kill you."

"We can forgive pain," she says. "But do you want to heal it, or wallow in it?""

I tremble. "I want to heal."

She glances over her shoulder, and smiles. "Come on, then."

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