Do it, Witch.
It’s easy, isn’t it? Just pull the trigger. How many muscles have to move to do that? Less than it takes to smile, you think.
You can’t do it.
You put the gun down, and wrap your hands around your knees. Why is it so hard? It’s easier than smiling. It should be simple.
It’ll be anytime, now, and then you’re going to die. And you can’t pull the damn trigger.
You are of Doom, and that means you know things. Important things. Frightening things.
You’ve always known things. Always. That was your gift. You’d call it a curse, too, if that wasn’t so much of a cliché. And it helped, in its own way. It helped as much as it hurt.
And it did hurt. So very much.
You were blessed with the ability to know Death. You were cursed to see its shadow hang over the dying. You were gifted with the ability to see Fate’s final judgment.
You were made to see the Time of their End.
You pick up the gun. Anytime, now. Anytime.
Ends are a strange thing. You’ve told people before about their Times, and the few who listened did everything to avoid it. It always came to them in the End, though.
That didn’t stop you from trying to tell people, though. They had to know. They had to try.
Why else would you know the Times, if not to try and avoid them?
That all changed with Father. You told him it was coming. You couldn’t know how, but you could know when, and that was all that mattered, right? Even if no one else could ever fix their fates, if everyone else who had tried had failed, your Father could do it. He could do anything.
In the end, he faced his death head-on. He didn’t even flinch.
It was then that you realized the truth; that there was no avoiding your Fate.
You could only choose it.
So, when your Time was close, you decided to choose your own fate.
And now you can’t pull the trigger.
You pick up the gun again. You put to it to your temple. Pull the trigger, Witch. Pull it.
Anytime now, and something will kill you. Better your bullet than His blade.
You feel the stone below you, smooth and comforting. You breathe in the air, scented by the jasmine flowers that fill the plateau around you. You see the stars, dancing like living things above you.
You have a destiny. And that destiny is to choose your End.
You may not be able to choose your Time, but your Death is yours to control.
Your Father would be proud.
It’s fast. And it’s easier than smiling.
You smile anyway.
And in the explosion of light and sound that follows, in the tumult of rainbow force and rising music, in your Rising, you hear soft words, spoken by a familiar voice.
Come, hear my song, the Singer says. It is a sad song, I will admit, but I do so love to sing it.