It’s waiting on me.
The wind shifts, and I pause, listening. I can’t grow comfortable—not now. Comfort ends games. Comfort ruins purpose.
Rain slips through gaps in the hangar roof, striking puddles in delicate notes like a piano being played by ghosts. Raw music. A counterpoint to her last song. Together they shimmer.
I’ve come back because I can’t leave her in the silence. She deserves to be displayed. Lightning flickers in the distance, painting the world in brief, holy flashes. Rain pours from my hair, from my clothes, sliding off me to be forgotten.
My hands are steady this time.
Unlike the first time I killed.
Back then, I shook.
Back when I still believed in guilt.
Storms are good teachers, though. They show that destruction is beautiful—that it brings balance, correction. That it takes away the old so the new can be born.
I work carefully, silently. I’ve watched her enough to know how she moves. How her jealousy breathes. How her footsteps sound on gravel.
The rain softens everything—the sound, the ground, the shape of time itself.
When lightning flashes again, the hill glows. For one breath, she looks perfect—washed clean, serene.
Finally able to rest.
She no longer runs.
She no longer hides.
She no longer needs to drown her demons numb one sip at a time.
The island finally has her still.
The storm frames her like the incredible masterpiece she is.
I step back, letting the wind finish what I began. It lifts her hair, tugs at her dress, shifts her as though the island itself wants to claim her.
She belongs here now.
She’s part of the story in a way a different ending never could have given her. She won’t be forgotten. Not in a world that forgets so easily.
“Beautiful.” The word falls from my lips and settles into the wet earth.
This is completion, not cruelty.
It’s about reminding them how little power they have over their lives.
If they ever understand that, they’ll make better decisions.
Lightning flashes once more—and for an instant, the broken sign reads whole again, light bridging what the storm tore apart. The heavens approve. The stillness speaks.
I turn and walk away.
Behind me, the rain falls gently, a lullaby rocking the world back to sleep.
My art will be discovered soon.
The story must go on.
