The Monster's Confession

"You read it," Alistair said. His voice was dead.

Silas backed away until he hit the window. "You're going to kill me."

"No," Alistair stepped forward. "Never."

"It says it in the book!" Silas shouted, tears stinging his eyes. "To ascend, you have to sacrifice the Tether! That’s why you’ve been so... so obsessed! That’s why you keep me here! I’m just a pig for the slaughter!"

Alistair moved faster than humanly possible. In a blink, he was in front of Silas, pinning him against the cold glass. But he didn't strike. He slammed his hands against the window on either side of Silas’s head, boxing him in.

"You think I kept you here to die?" Alistair roared. His eyes turned black again. "You think I watch you sleep, I breathe your air, I break the fingers of men who look at you wrong, because I want to *kill* you?"

"Then why?" Silas sobbed. "Why am I the Tether?"

Alistair’s expression crumbled. He leaned his forehead against Silas’s, his body shaking.

"Because you are the only thing that makes me want to be a man," Alistair whispered. "Because I love you, Silas. I love you with a violence that scares me."

Silas froze. "You... love me?"

"I am obsessed with you," Alistair corrected. "I have been since the day you walked into the library. You were so quiet. So small. And yet you took up every corner of my mind."

He pulled back to look at Silas. "Yes, the Ritual demands your death. That is why the Cult is here. They expect me to drag you to the cave and cut your throat."

"And will you?" Silas asked, his voice trembling.

"I would rather burn this world to ash," Alistair swore. "I would rather tear out my own heart."

"Then what will you do?"

"I will go to the cave," Alistair said. "I will descend. And I will let the Void consume *me*. If I become a mindless beast, so be it. But I will not pay the price of your life for my sanity."

"Alistair, no," Silas reached out, touching Alistair’s chest. "If you do that... you'll be gone."

"Better gone than without you," Alistair said.

He kissed Silas’s forehead. It was a kiss of goodbye.

"Stay here," Alistair commanded. "I will lock the door. Do not open it for anyone."

He turned and strode out of the room. The lock clicked.

Silas slid down the wall, clutching his chest. He believed him. The monster loved him. The monster was going to die for him.

And Silas, the invisible, insignificant archivist, was alone again.

* Click.*

The lock turned from the outside.

Silas looked up, hope flaring. "Alistair?"

The door opened. It wasn't Alistair.

It was the cultist with the broken fingers, his hand bandaged, his eyes full of hate. Behind him was the Cult Leader, a tall woman with a staff made of driftwood.

"The Heir is soft," the woman said. "He refuses to do what must be done."

She pointed her staff at Silas.

"Grab the Tether. We will perform the ritual for him."