End

Michael.
Rose Marie.
Mattie.

Michael, her husband.
Rose Marie, her daughter.
Mattie, her baby son.

Hannah - Hammer, Hannah from Oakfield, the Temple of Light.
Theresa, the blind seer.
Garth, the Will user.

Blade let her head flip over images, memories, names, voices, scrambling around her bed. Her escape was gone. He had taken it. He had taken her safety net, her book, the only thing she had left. Now she would have to improvise. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. She upturned the bedroll, scattering her few belongings, searching frantically through them.

Come on come on come on... her mind ran, her hands hurling things aside, barely registering what she was doing. She could feel her memories fading. She could feel the way the Commandant leeched at her mind, dragging away everything she knew, everything she cared about.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

She turned to the table, sweeping one thin arm across it, scattering everything aside.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

Then she saw it. A glint on the floor, a slight shimmer, a sparkle of reflection from the candle on the wall. She knelt down, seizing the small kitchen knife, bringing it up to her. It was forbidden for her to hold a blade. The collar immediately recognised it, and started its squeeze.

Blade ground her teeth, forcing her grip around the knife to stay firm, sitting down, bracing her left arm against the table.

Obey! You were told not to touch weapons!

She didn't have long, soon the collar would conquer her completely. She didn't have time to prepare herself. She raised the knife and then forced it down into her flesh, ignoring the sharp, solid pain, ignoring the shouts in her head, ignoring the blood gushing down her arm. She bit down on her lip so hard she could taste blood, and yanked the knife towards her, cutting a long line in her flesh.

Obey! You must not carry a blade! You mustobey!

Without a second's pause she moved the knife up again, pushing it in deep again, another stream of pain moving over her, her head feeling like it was going to break, Lucien's voice echoing through her senses. The hand holding the kitchen knife was beginning to shake, sliding on the blood. She ignored it, slicing another line into her arm, curving it round, one small, jagged circle, and another, like a squiggle, and another.

Her head was bursting now, screaming in protest, her collar mercilessly tight, pain burning across her skin, the table below her covered in blood. She looked at the cuts, the wounds, the pattern they made, the one bloodied word hacked into her flesh, and then collapsed.