the-modern-typewriter
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🕑 Added 2022-06-19 22:48:30 +0000 UTC“You know,” the hero said, hands buried in their pockets. “I never thought – I don’t think – I’m one of them.”
The villain froze next to them.
“I know I’m more like you.” Something like a smile played across the hero’s lips, and something like tragedy flickered in their eyes as they glanced over. “I’ve always known that.”
“That’s why you pretend at normal so hard.”
The hero inclined their head. They looked away when the villain glanced back.
“If I surround myself with them,” the hero said, “with what is ordinary and moral and simple, I can copy them. I can be like them.”
“You shouldn’t have to be. You’re so much more – we’re so much more –“
“I want to be like them.”
More, after all, didn’t mean better.
The villain’s mouth snapped shut at that. They dropped their stare, attention roaming down over all the better people drifting down below them with their hurts and their everyday kindnesses. “If I killed them all,” the villain said, softly, “you’d be me.”
“You really want to be left with just me and you on the board?”
“It would be more honest.”
“More painful.”
“You don’t want to be like me. Does pretending you’re not feel any less lonely?”
The hero winced, like the villain had punched them, and the villain grinned back. Still. It was a fair question, if a cruel one, and the hero had started it. They’d said the things aloud.
It would be easy to reach out, to take the villain’s hand. They weren’t sure if that was what a normal person would do or not. There was no one else’s expression to take a cue from, only the villain, as their eyes finally met.
“No,” the villain said, studying their face. “I thought not.”
“Are you-“
“Don’t worry.” The villain turned to go. “I won’t leave you alone with just me - I know what that’s like.” They paused, a breath away, head canted towards the hero’s ear. “Your friends are safe. You can tell them you fought me and won.”
“A mortal wound?”
“Now, now,” the villain whispered. “A normal person doesn’t check on the heart health of a monster.”
The hero caught their wrist before they could stop themselves; a fierce, biting grip.
The villain paused, and something like a smile played across their lips and something like tragedy flickered in their eyes. “Not a mortal wound, darling,” they said. “Please. You think something so ordinary could defeat me?”
The hero uncurled their fingers, releasing a breath, more relieved than was proper. Their heart thumped a symphony of betrayal. They could feel the villain’s eyes on them again.
“You’re not alone,” the hero said.
It didn’t stop it being lonely, but…
“Enjoy the party,” the villain replied.
And then, with a swish of material and click of shoes, they were gone.
