To the Skies

Len let his head rest on the guillotine, letting the calls of the crowd roll off of him like water. The heat of the blazing sun hitting his back created a burn that he steadily ignored. He closed his eyes to the noise as he drowned in his own mind, the seas of regret and waves of determination lapping at his heart.

There was nothing left for him to see, anyway.

He would be lying if he said that he had nothing left to live for, but the things wanted were largely impossible. His sister was safe. He had finished his work.

Perhaps his greatest regret was letting the queen fall to the path of thorns, the lovely petals once shining with the morning dew now stained with metallic red. Len had noticed too late that the path they were bound to was one of no return.

He let his eyes open, blue ripping across the crowd. The icy nature behind the glare was not lost to the people, whose shouts only grew louder.

It was almost too late when he saw blonde hair in the crowd.

His throat dried, becoming scratchy and aching for words that would never arrive. He choked down the cries that threatened to erupt.

It was only when the feeling got too strong to ignore that he finally spoke. The bells rang as if on cue, and the memories that it brought forced a pressuring sting into his eyes.

"It's teatime." Len forced out, tearing his gaze away to face the empty sky.

The metal of the blade sang as it came down, and Len ignored the fear that spiked in his chest as the impact hit him too late.

Blood decorated the twins' final stage.