A/N: Wow. Over three years down the line and here we are. I just wanted to thank everyone who has stuck with this story for so long and dealt with my ridiculously long times between updates. I know that this story has gone in a million different directions and certainly didn't end like many of you wanted it to, but I just wanted to thank you for reading this, for reviewing this, and for following this completely insane work that probably came from the darkest levels of my soul. To those of you who are upset with the last few chapters and the overall ending, I really don't know what to say other than, what did you expect to come from a story based on incest? I myself am not entirely satisfied with the story, but at some point, enough had to be enough and I had to pull the plug. I'm probably going to hell for writing this, but at least you all enjoyed yourselves in the process :) There won't be a sequel to this story, sorry, but I feel like this little epilogue wraps everything up in a neat little bow. Please, enjoy the last ever installment of Darkest Desires. And, just because I'm curious, I'd like you guys to drop a review listing your favorite and least favorite part of the story, as well as something that you would've liked to have seen happen instead. You don't have to, but it's always nice to reminisce when something comes to its end.

Chapter 18 – Epilogue

6 months later

BPOV

All the walls here were the same. It would make it easy for me to get lost, if the security here would let me wander on my own. But that isn't allowed, so I am restricted to pacing around my room most of the time where the walls are just as dingy grey as they are in these labyrinthine halls. They used to make me sad, but I've learned to see the beauty in them, the way the grey chips away to reveal flecks of previous colors: green, yellow, blue, all pastels meant to calm and soothe. Now the walls are grey. I suppose that's to make people think that there isn't any hope left, but I am like the wall. Underneath all the bad shit, there would always be that glimmer of hope peeking through.

If I had to pick a place to spend the rest of my life, I suppose that prison wouldn't be too bad. It wasn't on my top ten; I would've rather gone to Tahiti or someplace tropical. But I get fed three times a day, can go outside so long as there was an officer around, and have plenty of free time, so I guess prison could've been worse.

That being said, I didn't plan on spending the rest of my life in prison. I counted down the days of my sentence until I was out. They would see soon enough, see that I was only doing what I had to in order to protect myself. The world was better off without Charlie Swan in it, and one day people would thank me for getting rid of his cheating, drinking, worthless ass. But until then, I needed to bide my time and twiddle my thumbs in my cinderblock cell. I could wait. I was patient. I had waited since I was a child to rid myself of my father; I could wait a few more years for the system to clear my name.

The guards I had been walking with dump me off not so gently into the large containment area. There are tables set up, the kind that look like picnic tables with the benches attached, but instead of splintery wood they were made of shiny metal. There were a few people already in here, entertaining mothers, sons, uncles, all sorts of family. A few were teary-eyed, some were scornful, but there was no one for me.

The bench was cold as I sat down, waiting patiently on the mysterious visitor I had coming today. I had never had a visitor before, and I honestly had no idea who would want to visit me in the first place. I had alienated all of my friends the moment my face was plastered all over the news with the word "murder" attached to it. Even Jake couldn't bear to look at me after I lost the court case, his head tipped down in mourning, like I was already dead. Not like he expected me to win in the first place.

I heard the doors opposite me swing open, the metal grating on the concrete floor. A pair of heels clicked on the hard surface, echoing through the space until they were close to me. I followed the black polished shoes up to an austere skirt suit of jet black until I got to a face, sharp planes, beaked nose, and spectacles staring at me, a slight hint of a smile on razor-thin lips.

"Miss Elliot, this is a surprise," I stated, shocked that she of all people would be here.

She smiled more fully, her lips nearly disappearing and it made me slightly uncomfortable. She pulled some things out of the tote on her arm and placed them down near the edge of the table.

"I brought you a care package, just a few magazines and knick knacks. I didn't know how they were treating you in here," she explained, pushing the small stack slightly towards me.

"I didn't think you cared," I said, now completely confused at my old English teacher's kindness. She never once showed signs of liking me, but now she was the only person making an effort to see me. It made no sense.

"On the contrary Miss Swan, I care about all my students. Dearly."

There was something in the intensity of the words that made me stop questioning her motive for being here. She looked so focused, as if I were the most important and fascinating thing to her. She leaned back on the bench, crossing one hosed leg over the other before she began speaking in her typical eloquent tone.

"Jacob Black released a statement a week ago confirming your alleged relations with your father. The whole world now knows about the two of you, but more importantly what kind of man Charlie Swan was. He probably would've lost his job had he not lost his life beforehand."

"Is that so?" I asked, not daring to believe that my asshole of a father go what was coming to him after the media had practically martyred him. I had heard that Jake had released his statement when the lawyer came and spoke to me last, but I had heard nothing of the public reaction. If the people were really disgusted at what he had done, then perhaps this was the start of my revival.

"Quite," Miss Elliot replied in all sincerity, a smile forming at her lips again.

I let myself revel in a bit of satisfaction at that. Charlie's name smeared through the mud was one of the things that I wanted more than anything. He had made my mother's name go down in infamy as the drunken, irresponsible mother who ran her car off the road. Now it was his turn to have him time slandered.

"Did they say anything about Evie?" I ventured to ask.

"She'll recover, given time. Her injuries were many, and she's only just woken from her coma. I'd assume she has no idea who did this to her, but she will soon enough."

"Hmm…" that was all I could say, as I could not bring myself to muster any true sympathy for the woman who nearly ruined everything. The stupid bitch got what was coming to her.

"I spoke to your lawyer," Miss Elliot continued, changing the subject. "He said that the judges are considering letting you out as early as next year due to you fragile mental state. Of course, your release would be on the stipulation that you immediately take up residence in Western State Hospital where you can continue on your road to recovery."

"Ah, so they want to throw me in the loony bin?" I replied, cynical about the truth they would not tell me upfront. Of course they wouldn't want me to go back into the public directly; I was "crazy" after all.

"If you want to call it that," Miss Elliot confirmed, her voice annoyingly calm and rational.

"And how much time would I spend there?"

"That remains to be determined, but I am sure points are awarded for good behavior, just so long as you show remorse…"

"But I don't regret it," I cut her off, making myself deathly clear. "If I had the choice to do it all over again, I would."

And I meant that. I meant every word.

Clearly Miss Elliot knew that, because she smiled gently at me and folded her hands in front of her on the table, as if proposing something to me.

"You don't have to mean it Miss Swan, you just have to say it, play the part."

I laughed at that. Wasn't that the story of my life? Playing the part, acting like anything but myself? I had waited so long being the perfect daughter and lover that I lost myself along the way. It took me so long to return to myself, and now I was going to have to hide that again? The thought was exhausting.

"Is it really so insane to love Ms. Elliot? Are they really the same thing?" I asked her, exasperated with everything.

"Practically synonymous," she replied.

I sighed, scrubbing my face and resigning myself to another number of years spent playing the part of a good girl. Would this masquerade ever truly be over? I refused to let myself think about it any longer lest I end up throttling Miss Elliot in my frustration.

"How is Jake?" I asked instead, the topic of my only remaining friend usually a successful distraction.

"I pass him in the halls at school, see him mope around, but the staff says his grades are no worse than usual," Miss Elliot told me. "He's heartbroken, but he will move on. Time heals all wounds."

"He's with Edward I'm assuming."

"Yes."

"Well, at least someone has happiness," I sniffed, just a tad bitter that I couldn't have any of the happiness that he had found. At this point, my chances seemed to be dwindling by the day.

"Do you think that I can have happiness Ms. Elliot?" I asked her, a tad desperate but more overwhelmed by all the questions that I kept bottled up and never asked anyone. I never had anyone to confide in, anyone to understand, but I figured that Miss Elliot would be the last chance I got at human interaction for a while. I wasn't going to waste any opportunity.

"I believe you can make your own, yes," she told me, and I could tell by the strength and steel in her eyes that she meant it. She rarely ever said anything she didn't mean. Usually I hated that because she would use that ability to insult me in class, but right now I appreciated the honesty.

"Would I be able to make my own from a padded cell, or wherever else they want to throw me now?"

That seemed to be a challenging one. She leaned back a bit, resting her hands in her lap instead of the table. Her expression was tight and controlled, but her voice was strong and full of subdued passion.

"If anyone has the capability, it's you," she told me, and for the first time, the hope that I had lurking deep within me jumped further to the surface.

"And how would you know that, Ms. Elliot?" I asked her cautiously, not wanting to get my hopes too far up just yet.

"I'm going to tell you a story Bella," she told me, not like I had much choice once she straightened up and cleared her throat. "Once upon a time there was a young girl who lived in a home not unlike yours. Her mother had died, her siblings weren't the best role models, and her father…oh he was a bad man. He was cruel and full of vengeance; he would starve his children for days and beat them if they complained. They lived for years like that. But when the girl was old enough, he started to become cruel in a different way. He would talk to her so in a voice so sickly sweet and touch in her places a father shouldn't. And she didn't like that. His cruelty made her cold.

"One day, when he was in a particularly nasty way, back on the bottle and venomous as a viper, he pinned her brother to the ground. He was choking the boy, and she watched her brother's face turn blue, watched him give up his struggling. She didn't regret what she did next, didn't regret taking the poker from the fireplace and pushing it through her father's chest. She had saved her brother. When the police came, they didn't blame her either, and neither did the neighbors, at least not after a while. It was self defense, after all."

She paused and looked at me, and I knew that she knew that I had picked up on all the unspoken words in that story. For the first time, I was learning to read between the lines, and I wasn't even in class. I guess she had taught me something after all.

She smiled widely and leaned in, saying, "You see, that's why the Orestia is my favorite. Elektra was strong enough to fight for what she wanted, and I see Elektra in you. You don't have any regrets. You avenged your mother, as Elektra avenged her father, and thus the cycle continues…"

We fell into a comfortable silence, me chewing on Miss Elliot's words while she sat and watched me, a pleased expression on her face. If I hadn't known any better, I would think that she was proud of me. I wasn't necessarily proud of my actions, but I knew that they had to be done. Charlie had to die; he had to pay for what he made me become. But that didn't change the fact that I was stuck in a cell for making the world right again.

"Do you have any advice for me to pass the time?" I asked her, hoping she had more wisdom or helpful tips to share.

Instead, she reached over and patted the stack of magazines she had brought me with one bony hand, looking me straight in the eyes.

"Start writing your memoirs Miss Swan. I have a feeling that your story is going to be one of the greats."

With that, she uncrossed her legs and stood, smoothing down her skirt as she rose. She shouldered her tote and signaled the guard over.

"I look forward to seeing you again Miss Elliot."

She looked down at me with the most mischievous of smiles, the kind of smile exchanged between two people who shared a common secret, and said, "As do I."

She shuffled out of the visitor's room without another word, and I turned my attention to the small pile of neatly stacked things that security had deemed appropriate for me to keep. There were the magazines of all sorts, but hiding under all the glossy covers was one small leather-bound journal, a pen tucked neatly inside the spine. Something to write my memoirs in. I smiled at the empty glass, putting the papers down and picking up the pile up to go back to my cell.

The walk back was shorter somehow. I didn't even notice the catcalls and hisses that came from the wild inmates lodged behind the bars around me. I was too focused on the gift in my hands, and for the first time I was impatient to be locked up.

The moment I was alone, I pulled out the journal and picked up the pen. It had been so long since I had the chance to write. Writing was never my favorite task in school – I always dreaded essays and papers – but it was one of those things where I never knew what I had until it was taken from me. Now, the words seemed to pour from my mind, and I knew exactly what I would write. I would write the truth, what really happened, starting from the very beginning. With that in mind, I took the pen and started my work.

Snip. Snip. The pieces of the photograph fell to my feet in a scattered, messy pile on the carpet along with all the others…