NO. NO. NO.

WHAT AM I DOING.

I AM MURDERING FEELS.

I AM SO SORRY.

I JUST LOVE THIS SONG, AND IT MADE ME THINK OF THEM.

I'M SORRY.

I'M SORRY.

I don't know Pewdie and Stephano belongs to Pewdie. The song Hallelujah belongs to Rufus Wainwright, and I own nothing.


"And every breath we drew was hallelujah."

I could feel the warm blood seeping out of the fatal wounds covering his body. He moaned, his body plastered to the floor, paralyzed with pain.

"Just a few more steps." I coaxed, taking his pale hand in mine.

"No… I can't…. It hurts."

"You can, Pewdie. You can. For me." I let the tears come down in torrents.

He lifted his hand to wipe them away. "Be happy, I'm better off there than I am here."

"No, Pewdie… Please, don't go."

His hand fell weak in my grasp, his breathing became unsteady.

"It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

I pulled myself away from his dying body, reaching for the long-searched for laudanum, taking the bottle into my hands. If I could get this down into him in time…

Softly uncorking the bottle, I tipped the liquid to his lips. It almost went down.

Before it overflowed from his dead, icy lips.

"No.. No…" I stammered, dropping the bottle, watching it shatter in slow-motion.

I slumped to the floor, my clothes now covered in his blood. His eyes, still open, were cold and lifeless. Taking two careful fingers, I closed them. He had to rest in peace. For me.

The man who named me, who gave me life. Gone.

He, whether I knew why or not, had broken my throne. I had admired myself so highly. So highly.

He brought me down to earth, making sure I didn't go off and get myself killed. And I was supposed to protect him.

I had failed.

He'd tied me to the damn kitchen chair to keep me from going after that thing. That gatherer, the one who constantly caused him pain.

"Love is not a victory march."

My victory in destroying the gatherer was short-lived. He was dying, slowly, true, but surely.

And now he was dead. My victory march hadn't been for love.

Love was not a victory march.

It never would be.

For someone who had been brought into the world through the kindness and love of another man, who would have known he would be taken out by the death of that same man.

"Hallelujah, he has been set free." I sob, drawing my blood-covered sword and resting it in his arms.

"Hallelujah, you've been set free."


I'M SORRY ;_;

*is shot by thousands of creying fangirls*