This chapter was written in collaboration with Scylla.
“Wrong, is it?” Scylla gave a cry. “Which part was wrong?”
“Was it the part where you held it in your mind that I was guilty without being brought before even your corrupted court?”
“How about the part where you lured me into your laboratory under false pretenses only to mutilate me, and declare me dead to my loved ones?”
“Or maybe when you left me to madness, barely clinging to sanity, tortured as your personal hell-hounded monstrosity for eternity?”
“None of that matters to you, even now.” Scylla shook her head. “The only thing that matters is the one little error of judgement you made.”
“A mistake, a wrong… you call it.” The white mage sat up straight. “The fairytales of Amon of Allag speak of it more accurately. They call it evil.”
Scylla looked aside.
“Clio really was a fool, all the way until the end.” The white mage curled her lips in, grasping her shirt corner. “How much she tried to convince everyone that despite everything, that the same little innocent hound-eared Elezen was still in there. I wonder if in the termination facility that she finally realized what you really were.”
Amon didn’t expect Scylla to accept anything he said. He already knew there were no words that could encompass the enormity of the guilt, hate and pain that lingered in that room.
For all of his time spent on the stage, acting out parts, manipulating the scene, and carelessly putting his pawns in the right places… None of it did him any good now. When what he needed more than anything was a way to express sincerity.
Years and years of lies revoked his right to be believed. That was his own fault.
At a complete loss, Amon just sat down at the head of the bed, putting space between him and the fuming archmage. His hands hung between his lanky knees, head down as he stared at his feet… as if something magical would appear to give him any clue of how to handle the mess he’d made of her life… and his own.