Participants:
| Scene Title | It Is Done |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Zelda experiences another vision of a different path she could have taken. (Trigger Warning: Self-Harm) |
| Date | December 25, 2018 |
Cresting Wave Apartments - Zelda's Apartment
Christmas never really held much meaning for Wilhelmina. Her family was rich, certainly and the holidays always meant plenty of presents and new toys and things to play with. However, her parent’s frequent absences, combined with her older brother’s terroristic reign over her and her sister, and the holiday never really meant the same as it did to others.
Mostly, it was an excuse to stay the hell away from her brother, to hide in her room and lock the door so she could enjoy her gifts in privacy.
As she grew, the holiday lost even more of its meaning; the gifts became less personal, and school and her parent’s eye to the future made it into even more of a casual holiday. Her brother still tormented her and her sister, but it happened less after she started punching back as hard as she could.
During law school, she was so preoccupied with her studies that she distanced herself even further, and when she finally became a barrister…well. She would phone it in for a brief dinner with her family, gifts would be exchanged, and she would be on her way, rather blissfully free from familial obligations.
Which is why this year was so important. A new year in a new life, with a new job and a new ability — so Zelda tried to make this one a bit more special than Christmases past. She did a video call with her parents, who were hosting her brother and sister and seemed just as stressed as they always did. She was able to call Cassandra, and made plans to spend New Years together (and exchange gifts, as well).
Now, though, Zelda is standing out on her balcony, looking out over Yamagato park, and the city beyond, a glass of wine in her hand as she leans lightly against the railing. It’s cold out, but her pajamas and slippers and fuzzy robe are super warm, and the wine is doing a particularly good job at bracing her against the cold.
It’s kind of difficult to not feel like life is go—
It is done.
The waters have come, and it is finally over.
Their goal is complete, and now it is time. Zelda watched today as a pair of her kind were dragged, kicking and screaming, in front of the firing squad. She smiled as they begged for their lives — smiled as they were silenced.
She knows the truth, and she is free. Now is her time.
She sits in her bathtub, filled with warm water scented like lavender, turning the knife over in her hands, finger gently pressed against the sharp tip. She has made her peace with this world — they have done what needed to be done, and now she is ready.
It’s a little scary to think about what will come next, but she reassures herself that it is for the best. For the greater good. With a breath, she presses the tip of the blade against her wrist — then, with an exhale, she presses down, slicing the blade up her arm. It hurts, and the pain only worsens.The bloodflow is almost immediate, warmth flowing out of her and into the water below. Quickly, she repeats the action for her other arm, before she settles back into the tub, her dark brown gaze turned up toward the ceiling.
It’s fascinating, feeling the life draining from your arms. Despite the warm water, it feels cold, but not in an unpleasant way. Sure, the wounds throb with searing pain, but that just means that it’s working. She can feel her strength flowing into the water, and everything begins to get a bit hazy.
She did good, and now it is time to rest.
With a gasp, Zelda sits up, terrified all of a sudden by the searing pain in her left hand. Briefly, she recoils in horror as she raises her hand to find blood flowing freely — oh god, did she cut herself in real life too?! But upon further examination, it is simply a rather long cut over her palm from a shard of her broken wine glass.
Shaken, the woman lifts to her feet, hurriedly making her way into the bathroom to clean and dress the wound. It felt so real — like she was there, dying in the bathtub; through the mirror, Zelda stares at her own bathtub with horror.
After washing her wound, she quickly assesses, and determines that it’s not serious enough to need more than a bandage and some antibiotic ointment, which she sets about applying to the wound, wrapping it tight to prevent further bleeding.
That felt so real, and it was horrifying.
Once her hand is bandaged, the living lie detector makes her way into the kitchen. The wine is forgotten; no, she’s going for the bottle of scotch she has tucked away for these occasions. With her hands shaking, Zelda pours herself a glass and throws it back, before pouring herself another.
And then, she finds herself dialing her mother. “Mom? Sorry to call so early, I know you don’t like waking up before 9 on holidays, but I just…needed to hear your voice.” The voice on the other end of the line is comforting — and exactly what she needs right now.