Page 152 of Architecti
Blood rushes to my ears.My eyes bulge.I wave my hands at her, encouraging her to come back, but she ignores me and keeps stepping out, out, out, onto the ledge.
It dangles perilously over an infinite drop.
I can’t control my tone anymore, I’m shrieking, desperate.“You speak of the gods with such malice, and yet, you are no god either.Now come back from there before you slip.”
“A wise word from my sister at last.But… I think not.Why don’tyoujoin me?”
She intentionally jerks this way and that.
Dancing her feet up and down.
My heart is in my mouth, beating a million thuds a second.If she falls, there’s no way home.
But then I remember the Mirror.Dying by jumping off the bridge is not her fate.Neither of our fates.If nothing else, this should provide a comfort.But I can’t seem to swallow down the bitter panic.
I tell myself over and over that if I step onto the ledge, I’ll be able to pull her back to safety.I will do it successfully because other fates await us.
One foot onto the ledge, my chest tingling and heavy.My breath short.
Angels are meant to fly, and this place clips our wings.It’s wrong.Unnatural.I throw my arms and wings out for balance.They might not work if I fall, but while I’m on the ledge, they work perfectly to keep me balanced.
“What makes you think you’re strong enough to decide your fate?”I ask.
Interitus rounds on me, all teeth and growl, one long finger pointed at me.“What makes you think you’re weak enough you can’t?”
I stall.Thrown by the question.
That was my mistake.
My arms lower for a split second as I consider whether I’m weak.I have never seen myself as so.
Is she right?
Am I weak by choosing to believe in our system?Our culture is thousands, tens of thousands, millions of years old, it has run smoothly for all of time.Who are we to determine whether it is right or just?Was it weak to say yes to the elder?Should I have stood my ground?
Interitus slides right to the lip of the ledge and stands on tippy toes.“You think too small, sister.Your dreams are too tiny.What do you even do?”
“I create.”
She nods, slow, steady.“From what do you create?”
“The mess of humanity.”
“Yessss,” she hisses.“Now you see.Without chaos you cannot create such beauty.But where does chaos come from?”
My lips part, one last breath drawn, my eyes wide with horror.
“From destruction,” I whisper, my words barely audible as the gravity of realisation dawns on me.
She led me here.
This was never a walk for me to calm her down and bring her back to the elders.
She was leading me here to an inevitable conclusion.I laugh, the last of my naivety abandoning me with my final realisation.She really did choose her own fate.
I close my eyes knowing what’s coming.
The Crowned Moth curls inside my shirt collar, trembling against my skin.
