That's a dangerous question, if you know the answer. Kind of a Pandora's Box for the mind.
Or soul, if you believe in such things.
My name's Belle, and I'm a toy created by a child who wanted to play at being a god. (Yeah, nice to meet you too.)
Fuck, trying to decipher all the reasons for anything they do would only drive you crazy. Angels manufactured to serve mankind and Arks built to survive the "end of days". Cos what a god creates a god must destroy and the sins of the father are such an easy gift for a child to take.
I read all that in the secret files me and Jez took too many risks and too many lives in obtaining. My name and yours on almost every page, darling. Not what I'd call a bedtime story, but what do I know anyway? I went to too many lengths to grasp what little knowledge I have, and knowledge is power and power is madness. Tearing myself out of the foggy dream, trying to wake up, always trying to wake up, and left here naked and bleeding.
And to think that Jez was actually jealous. He always wanted to be "more than human", be the one who was "special". Jealousy courts deceit and hatred, and then I had to kill him. I even tried to enjoy it, for his sake at least.
I know this won't make sense. Not to anyone but you. You didn't believe me then, but only cos you didn't understand that you and I were the same.
Maybe you didn't want to. I wouldn't want to either if I were you, and how I wish I were you.
Do you understand now, at last--all alone, and against your will?
Where are you? I should be able to feel you.
Perhaps the embers of Gehenna burnt away all those feelings.
No. I don't want to talk about that, not yet.
Funny how I still say "you" as though it was still yesterday, and you'd never left.
Funny how I say "you" even though I was the one who left.
I think I wanted to die, that day I jumped over the side of the Ark's middle layer, free-falling hundreds of feet to the wretched earth, the unfinished rubble of its ground floor.
I've been trying to die for a very long time, but if there's a way for this body to do it, I don't think I'm capable of figuring it out.
I've tried fire and ice and
razor-blades and viruses and
broken glass and broken bones and broken hearts and
silver bullets and little pills.
Everything dissolves and then everything heals.
Okay then, I'm here, and I remember too much, and I want to tear my eyes from my sockets but like flower buds in spring they'd probably only grow back again.
Really, it's kind of funny. There's blood on my hands, but it's not mine. So much blood it oozes and sparkles like iridescent globs of satin.
But anyway, I'm waiting.
Morgan, where are you? I know you followed me after the fall; I felt our shadows like leaves entangling all the long way down.
So why don't you come and find me? Why doesn't one of us come to our rescue?
Just like in their fairytales...
I don't want to go to sleep tonight.
Oh, and did you know we're not alone?