Nora had felt death in the marrow of her bones. She felt herself split into letters, watched the horror of her body coming undone in chunks of words that she couldn't decipher.
She'd been a little sad, of course, being a person who desperately wanted to live.
But another part of her had been relieved, satisfied with seeing Lucas' safe return moments before death.
No more struggling, no more crying over the ghost of her little brother. No more lamenting her weakness, the utter lack of strength in her arms and legs that made her a burden.
Then she saw the darkness spilling into Lucas' gaze, a dull, faded sheen that had already been witness to too much death.
Nora thought she would persist longer, to save that man who'd been her companion since the beginning of the End's Delusion.
The man who lost his older sibling, while she lost her younger.
She remembered that then, having forgotten somewhere in between for reasons she didn't understand. That Lucas Silvius was a little brother. And even while he displayed a mature facade, violence beneath his calm, there were times he was immature.
When he cursed out Elias, with petty tricks or words that only made the other's tongue sharper.
When he acted worn out with the children who loved his attention, and couldn't help but indulge in their desires. It was funny, sometimes, how he fit in perfectly among the hospital kids.
It had been a genuine tragedy, the Sleeping Beauty Story.
Lucas had changed; hope was chipping away piece by piece, at that time.
But whatever Nora thought didn't matter. After all, she had lost due to her own inability, her Title sacrificed, and her existence nothing but black letters on the ground.
She was dying. Dead. Regrets would fade along with the memory of her.
She felt in the pocket of her jacket moments before disappearing, a slip of paper brushing her fingers. She had paused, numbly confused.
Her pockets should've been empty.
Then she remembered—a ticket. She'd given it to Lucas, but she was the rightful owner to it. A ticket... for what? To what?
Her mind spun, but it couldn't outrun the darkness that chased after.
Nora Nilsen died.
And she opened her eyes again.
Perched over her body with inquisitive eyes was a young, tired-looking boy. A silver necklace with a delicate apple pendant gleamed around his neck.
"A companion of his," muttered the child, a tone unsuited to his youth.
She blinked, wide-eyed at the blinding space around her, a canvas of white that flickered with a translucent sheen of rainbow shades. She realized that a young girl lay over the boy's back, her arms loosely looped over his neck.
However, he showed no signs of tiring or letting go. It seemed more of an exhaustion to the world.
"How lucky you are. Although luck is also a talent." The boy stood, gently shuffling the girl on his back into a more comfortable position. Her eyes were open, glazed and unseeing.
Beautiful black curls framed her face, dressed in a light dress. Her feet were bare, and skin paler than snow.
When Nora's vision refocused, she noticed that the boy bore a striking resemblance to the girl on his back.
"Come on, now. The clock is ticking." Despite his warning, his words remained patient. Nora felt a sense of comfort around the child of mysterious origins.
He turned and started on the endless path. Nora blinked and hurriedly stood, following after. Was this another game after death, a heaven or hell? Regardless, she was alive as she ever could be.
The boy paused, turning his solemn face sideways.
"I forgot." He lifted his hand, fingers spread, palm waiting. "Your ticket?"
Nora glanced around, confused. "To where?"
"It doesn't really matter where if you have no ticket. If you have it, please give it to me, and if you don't, it seems there's been a mistake. I'll return you to death immediately."
"And if I don't want to die?"
He blinked slowly, and shook his head. "That's beyond my control."
Nora took a gamble on the idea in her mind. "You're a Teller, aren't you?"
"If I am, that doesn't change my answer. Tellers may be your harbingers of doom, but we're just fools trapped in the same Delusion as you." He tilted his head. "All fools. Some have become drunk on the false premise of power."
Seeing as Nora didn't speak or move, he squatted down, evidently bored. He grumbled a little. "I thought I should've disappeared—it's likely because I wanted to fade that I wasn't allowed to. How annoying."
Nora couldn't help but relax her shoulders in front of the complaining child. She crouched with him and smiled. "You were supposed to disappear?"
"A violent delinquent stormed through my Story and found the True Ending." The boy pouted, immaturity seeping into his gaunt face. "I hold no grudge, don't be mistaken. I'm quite thankful to him."
"Who?"
The boy looked up quietly. "A friend of yours. I suspect he's doing fairly poorly now. Endless death does that to people, you see."
Nora had been smiling, amused by the child's formal speech, but the smile soon faded. She knew in a moment who could leave such an impression on a Teller, who had been witness to an endless cycle of death.
"Lucas," she breathed, and the boy nodded. She stood quickly, spinning her head left and right. "Let's go. This is an opportunity, right? I'll do it. I'll do whatever it takes."
"So much determination for a stranger you've known less than a year?"
"...It's not only him I'd like to return to. I find that dying would be a salvation to me. An easy escape. But I'm tired of being a burden, of holding people back even in my death. I want to help them, just once."
The boy observed her in silence, shuffling the dazed girl on his back. She hung limply, like a shell of what she once was.
He raised his hand out again, palm open.
"Your ticket, Nora Nilsen."
She frowned to say that she didn't have one, before recalling the dry paper against her fingers before death. Hurriedly, she rummaged in the pockets of her light jacket, grasping onto a thin slip.
She pulled it out with surprise. The ticket, the one she won at the very beginning, the one that was linked to Elias.
Elias.
For her sake, he wouldn't reply or aid her at all. She was already dead, a distant memory he didn't need to worry about.
But if what the boy spoke about Lucas was true, then she would definitely get a response. She gambled on the depth of that man's affections. For Lucas.
"Do you have a pen?"
The boy snapped his fingers and handed her a black pen. He said nothing more, waiting for her next move.
Nora's hand flew across the paper, ink printing elegant swoops of handwriting.
'Elias.' She wrote. 'Can you read this?'
She waited, and when no response came, she sat down directly. "There's no time limit to give you my ticket, right?"
The boy regarded her before calmly sitting beside, cross-legged. "If you have a ticket, then I can't send you back. That's the rule."
In other words, he was indirectly saying he would wait, however long it took. Because really, for a child that had expected death and the freedom that came along with it, he had no interest in continuing the End's Delusions' sick games.
He arranged the little girl beside him, though her back slumped and her head lolled to the side like a broken doll.
Nora stared at the paper and then over at the boy. "I'm sorry if it's personal, but might I ask who she is?"
The boy lifted his head, thick raven curls brushing his somber gaze. Suddenly, he smiled, a soft smile reserved for those who asked about his most precious family.
"She's my sister. My only sister."
"And her name?"
His smile drooped, turning bitter. "I can't remember anymore. Here, she was named Snow White. Here, she suffered all over again because of my selfish wish to bring her back. I'm not stupid—I know the body I'm holding is hardly alive. But this is all that's left."
His eyes, round and youthful, pierced through Nora. "Do not wish for the dead to come back to life. Do not make a selfish wish. The End's Delusion will grant it, but it will not be the way you desire."
"The Forsaken Throne can grant any wish of your making. But be warned. It sounds idealistic, because it is. What I'm living in is a dream I can't wake from. My sister is alive in the only way she could be, but it cannot be called living. I can't be called living."
"...Can you tell me anything else?"
The white space around them suddenly seemed surreal, spanning over time and space. The boy who sat beside his sister's shell seemed to fade slightly, a ghost sitting next to her.
"I can," he said, finally, in a quiet voice. "Nothing is holding me back anymore. We have a long ride ahead when we embark."
"Embark on what?"
"It's whatever you imagine it to be. A train, an airplane, a bus. More importantly, Nora Nilsen, I believe you've received a response."
The woman spun her head to the paper, grasped tightly within fingers.
'Considering that stubborn sponge won't speak to me nowadays, there's only one person this can be. Now, how did you survive death, Nora?'
She could sense the irritation through the bold strokes of pen, leaving indents of anger in the paper. Elias' mood was a reflection of Lucas' state—it couldn't be anything good. To that man, kind in ways most didn't realize, suffer due to her death?
Lucas. A stranger, to a saviour, a person to rely on during the madness and violence of recent times. She was beyond grateful.
Her fingers curled around the paper more tightly.
'I'm not sure myself,' she replied honestly. 'Can you tell Lucas that I'm alive?'
A pause, and then a response came languidly. 'I won't.'
She felt a slip of anxiety—worry that she'd continue being a burden. If news of her life could relieve Lucas' pain even slightly...
'Why? Wouldn't my living bring comfort to him? Isn't that what you desire? Or did you want the pieces left of him when he falls into depravity, did you want to win and feel success in seeing him lose all hope?'
'Hitting where it hurts, hm? Don't be mistaken, Nora. I stopped wanting to witness his failure long ago. But where are you? Can you guarantee your return? Tell me, what can you do with your barely passing proficiency with guns, and fear of the apocalypse?'
The words faded as soon as Nora read them, continuing.
'Do you want me to tell him you're alive, and have you die twice in his mind when you don't return?'
Nora's shoulders slumped, breathing unevenly. She had been too hasty and selfish, too. She hadn't considered anything thoroughly, desperate not to become a burden even after death.
Her fingers curled, and she closed her eyes, taking another deep breath. This was her weakness, scared of being a burden.
She wasn't as empathetic as Lucas, nor as tenacious as Elias. She wasn't as strong as Elliot, or even as determined as Rome, who devoted himself entirely to the man who saved him. She wasn't as loyal as Sylvia or as powerful as Wren.
She was Nora Nilsen, a university student with years to graduate, and marksmanship that could aim, certainly, but do nothing else.
She was Nora Nilsen, whom a stranger met during the End's Delusion, deeply mourned.
And,
'I will return alive.'
She would not falter anymore.
'Please wait for me, Elias. Thank you.'
The words printed on the paper didn't disappear this time, and she received no response. But it didn't matter; she knew the man had read it, and that was all that mattered.
The boy stared, and she smiled. He opened his palms again, and this time, she placed the ticket into the soft, skinny flesh of the child's.
Slowly, he warned, "I can't promise you'll be able to come back. Death may be the simpler option, free of struggling. You have the blessing of dying a normal death, should you choose."
Nora laughed. A blessing of death. To think she felt a little tempted, tired of fighting and loathing herself all this time.
"Do you have a name?" she asked instead of replying.
"Hunter," the boy said. "I don't like it."
"Then what name would you choose if you could be anybody?"
The boy considered the question solemnly. He didn't favour the name given by his mother, doting as she was towards him when her mood suited. The question shuffled, rearranging.
What name would he choose if he could be anybody? Or, who would he be if he could become anybody?
The boy, Hunter, decided he rather admired the adult who patted his head.
"Lucas."
Nora widened her eyes in slight surprise, before smiling gently. "Well then, Lucas. I'm actually terrified. It would be easier to run away, but I can't, not anymore. This is something I can do, so I'll do it."
The boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. Helping his sister onto his back again, he looped the limp arms around his neck securely and started walking.
Nora followed closely behind as they passed, floating sentences, wavering lines of black text that slowly became clearer. Before she realized it, she entered a subway line, one that she often used to commute. She recognized the ads on the interior.
"This is..."
"Keep walking. This isn't our cart."
She glanced around at the words curiously. Squinting, she tried to make out the blurry letters that were slowly forming.
[For the end of this tale, no happy ending existed.]
To her right, another sentence formed. And another, and another.
[Darling Aurora, who fell into an eternal slumber by the spindle's curse.]
[Cinderella, in her rags and beauty, longs for the deceased.]
[Oh, tragic Snow White, and the hunter who wanted to save, not reap.]
"This is...?" said Nora again, feeling like a broken record, but she was filled with confusion. The boy glanced over, frowning at one of the lines.
"The End Delusion has bad taste. Ignore it. It's all useless. They're stories that'll never be read, the secrets written between lines. Even if you read those lines, you'll hardly know half of the story. Barely graze the surface of the characters."
The more Nora attempted to read the words, the more everything became startlingly clear. More than just black lines floating in the air, she saw images through the train windows.
A man kneeling, blood dripping down his forehead and onto the ground, at the foot of an ominous black throne. His sorrow was so deep and penetrating that Nora sucked in a breath, her heart constricting.
Then, a beautiful princess in a deep coma, surrounded by people who loved her. Oppositely, a wretched and bony woman hunched nearby, her bulging eyes bloodshot and somber. Blood cut her bare feet.
Nora wondered about the story between the two, how they could appear in such different states?
The scenes outside the train changed again, as if taking one step outside would lead to the image.
There was a young girl dressed in rags, with cinder coating her nose, as she clutched a rotting corpse in her arms, laughing and crying.
And then, there was another girl, carved from the purest jade, with snow white skin and hair like ebony...
"Look away!" snapped the boy as Nora watched in horror, the vivid sight of violation and abuse that suddenly twisted through.
She raised a shuddering hand to her mouth, and the boy hugged his sister more tightly. "Keep walking." It was less of a suggestion. "The scene you need to witness is not this. The enemy you will face is not them."
He stopped at the last cart, cold eyes glancing back.
"Nora Nilsen. You have been provided the Ticket of Redemption. To what extent do you wish to live? Should you succeed, you will not only be granted knowledge but a second chance at life. Whether that is a blessing or a curse."
Nora felt dread like heavy weights in her heels, pressing her firmly to the ground. However, she forced herself to drag her body to the clear window that separated her and whatever was behind.
The boy, Hunter—or Lucas as he wished to be—stepped aside.
Sitting patiently on the other side, hands folded into his lap as he dressed in a polite school uniform, was a young boy.
Nora's pupils shook. A familiar face to hers, only softer, younger, and eyes a touch more downturned and gentle. A patient air surrounded him as he slowly turned his head.
Hunter calmly stated,
"What you see is the enemy you need to kill."