Numb, she returned to the office that looked out on the lot. Dragon’s face displayed on a computer screen to the left of the door. The computer chair was unoccupied.
“That’s it?” Carol asked.
For now, anyway. Maybe at some point we’ll find out how the meeting between Amy and Marquis went – she must’ve known that would happen when she volunteered – and, if we’re lucky, the Birdcage may be compromised at some point.
(Yeah, I may not be theorizing on that as actively as I once did, but it’s still very much a possibility. Especially considering that the Birdcage is an attractive target to Endbringers, and that the apocalyptic threat is likely to cause a lot of destruction worldwide.)
“She’ll be transported there and confined for the remainder of her life, barring exceptional circumstance.”
Exceptional circumstance! You know, like the apocalypse.
Carol nodded. “Two daughters gone in the blink of an eye.”
Oh yeah, now she’s your daughter again. Now that you recognize her as another victim.
“Your husband decided not to come?”
“He exchanged words with her in her cell this morning. He decided it was more important to accompany Victoria to Pennsylvania.”
She couldn’t forgive Amy, not ever, not in the slightest. But she was sorry.
Amy swallowed hard and stepped back, then stepped up into the truck.
😦
Carol watched in silence as the doors automatically shut and locked, and remained rooted in place as the truck pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared down the road.
Or is it just that it’s coming from a phone or video or something?
Carol watched Amy through the window.
Amy seemed to have changed, transformed. Could Carol interpret that as a burden being lifted? Relief? Even if it was only because the very worst had come to pass, and there was nothing left for Amy to agonize over?
Wait, fuck, is it Dragon, talking to Carol because they’ve arrested Amy for what she did to Victoria?
Don’t you fucking dare send her to the Birdcage.
There was shame, of course, horrific guilt. That much was obvious. The girl couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze.
“Everyone’s sorry,” Carol spoke, her voice hollow.
Or maybe it’s Amy talking, digitized to prevent powers like Paige’s from affecting the visitors.
“You were saying something about that before,” Dragon said. “Are you-?”
The big difference between Amy and Bonesaw is that Amy didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. Bonesaw would do this on purpose.
It’s still massively wrong, and Amy’s not blameless here – she seems to have gotten carried away with unethical changes for her own benefit, turning Victoria into a thing that reflects Amy’s appreciation for Victoria’s bodily features while not considering what she as an individual would want. Bonesaw has no sense of bodily integrity, and she set Amy on a downward spiral that compromised hers.
Betrayal. Brandish had known this would happen the moment Sarah had talked about her taking the girl. Not this, but something like it. Brandish felt a weapon form in her hand.
“Please tell me what to do,” Amy pleaded.
Please do. This doesn’t need to get even worse.
It can stop here, without any auto-cauterized wounds.
Brandish turned, arm drawn back to strike, to retaliate. She stopped.
The girl was so weak, so powerless, a victim. A victim of herself, her own nature, but a victim nonetheless. A person sundered.
YES, THANK YOU
For noticing, I mean.
And with everything laid bare, there was not a single resemblance to Marquis. There was no faint reminder of Brandish’s time in the dark cell, nor of her captor. If anything, Amy looked how Sarah had, as they’d stumbled from the house where they’d been kept, lost, helpless and scared.
This is beautiful.
She looked like Carol had, all those years ago.
Yes. Do see yourself in her. Thank you.
The weapon dissipated, and Brandish’s arms dropped limp to her sides.
■
That was a scene, alright.
I’m not entirely sure if it was because of what I was reading or just from eye strain, but I even teared up a bit there towards the end. That was so good.
A caricature. A twisted reflection of how Amy saw Victoria, the swan curve of the nape of the neck, the delicate hands, and countless other features, repeated over and over again throughout. It might even have been something objectively beautiful, had it not been warped by desperation and loneliness and panic. As overwhelming as the image and the situation had been in Amy’s mind, Victoria was now equally imposing, in a sense. No longer able to move under her own power, her flesh spilled over from the edge of the mattress and onto the floor.
Art.
She’s a coddamn sculpture of the beauty Amy saw in her.
Bonesaw would approve. This, this right here, is why she could relate to Amy.
And you know what? I’m sure Victoria is happy like this. Because Amy wanted her to be, and made it so.
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