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Mi Amor Facit Eam Difficilis Occidere Te

(My Love Makes It Difficult To Kill You)

by Incendiarist


If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country. ~ E.M. Forster


Lies filled his head; something, anything that might account for it, he hoped, would come to him so he wouldn't have to lose her to them. He loves her, but he knows that if she found out, she'd leave him in a instant, because she would never be willing to go against everything she had ever been brought up as, and that was where they were different. He would easily, and gladly, betray his so-called 'family'; indeed, he scoffed at the idea that he would remain loyal to them, 'bugger the lot', he'd say to her, if she wasn't so starkly opposed to his ideals.

But as it was, he was split between her and his beliefs, and there was nothing he could do about it: nothing would, or indeed, could, change her ideas regarding the matter, and he was just as unwilling.

And now she had him caught red-handed, as it were; his proverbial paws in the proverbial cookie jar, and he had no idea what could convince her that he was still supportive of the abominations she served so whole-heartedly, so naïvely.

He stuttered a counter to her biting accusations, and she laughed mirthlessly in response, saying, "You always were a terrible liar," and despite her façade of indifference and apathy, he saw sadness ever-so-subtly laced with the anger in her eyes, the terrible feeling of having been betrayed by the most important person in her life, the feeling of hopelessness because that person was a lost cause.

"I have to kill you now, you know," she whispered, and he nodded, understanding that she couldn't let him live whether she loved him or not, because this was war, and damn it all to Tartarus if people were unwilling to kill those people they loved, the ones who had turned against them.

As she held the dagger to his neck, he could feel her shaking, her body fighting against her mind; logic saying that he had to die, but the senses, the ones overloaded every time they touched, be it innocently or not, weren't willing to let it happen, he knew, silently accepting his fate as logic won out, as it so often did for the daughter of Minerva.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed as the blood pooled on the ground where she had lowered him, much more softly than he had deserved, all things considering, and he saw the almost imperceptible nod she had given, her back turned so she wouldn't have to look at him, before everything went black as his spirit left his lifeless body, and he missed the whispered words of the girl who he had so casually betrayed.

"Amavi te, scitis."