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It was all her fault. The damage to the Honmoon, the pain and suffering her daughter Rumi had endured, everything that went wrong. It was her, she was the mistake.
Celine dragged herself through her house. It was so empty without the girls.
How many nights had she dreamed of them returning once the Honmoon turned gold? Of getting to hold Rumi not as her ward but as her child. What a foolish greedy thing she was.
Pathetic
Mi-yeong had begged Celine, pleaded with her, even with Celine's sickle embedded in her chest; Mi-yeong had clung to life just long enough to beg for Rumi's. And Celine had tried. She tried to do right by her lover, to honor the oath, to protect Rumi. And in the end all she had done was hurt again.
That's all I've ever been good for. Hurting, killing.
Maybe it was time for her to turn that talent somewhere else.
The Honmoon was better now, stronger than it ever had been. And it wasn't the gold she had worked towards. No this was something new, something only Rumi could have made. The iridescent Honmoon, a shield of love wrapped around the world like a hug. Something a failure like Celine never could have made, she couldn't even have imagined it.
Celine made her way through the dining room. Bottles toppled and rolled across the floor. Her liquor cabinet was empty again. But this was the modern age. Celine ordered more for delivery, bottles of soju and whiskey and vodka.
In the two decades that had dragged by since the love of her life died by her own hand Celine had kept her drinking sparse. She always knew that if she started she would never stop. And there had been duty to fill her time, a world to protect a daughter girl to raise. But now... now she wasn't needed. This world was safe and Rumi...
Rumi would be better off never seeing her again.
The girls loved her; Celine could see, it she always had. There was jealousy surrounding that fact but there was also comfort. Rumi would have what Celine had always dreamed of. And it eased Celine's heart. When she left this world it wouldn't hurt Rumi.
While she waited for the delivery Celine walked down to the grave yard. She said her goodbyes, to her mentors, her friends, and finally to the woman she had loved.
This really would have been the best spot to kill herself. But what would that do to Rumi? She could not corrupt this space. No Celine would end her life in her bedroom, a place Rumi had never had any interest in going.
Celine walked back to the house. More bottles clattered over as she swung the door open, glass shattered. What did it matter?
She left the broken glass, walked over it and marveled at the fact she could still feel pain.
Blood trailed behind Celine as she made her way through the dark house by memory. There were so many documents to gather. She laid everything out on the dining room table. Everything Rumi would need to inherit the estate and fortune properly. Celine's will didn't need any updating, everything had been left to Rumi long ago, long before she spoke or walked for the first time.
Celine found a picture book and sat, hardly noticing the warmth of the blood which pooled around her feet.
There was little Rumi, her life captured in a hundred little rectangles. Celine paged through, letting herself indulge one last time in the idea that this could ever have been her daughter. Rumi had been such a good child. Obedient, hard working, perfect really. If only it had been Celine who passed and not Mi-yeong. Maybe then Rumi would have smiled more, maybe she would never have come to kneel beneath the old tree and beg for death.
That moment played out in Celine's head over and over and over. That was the culmination of her failure. It was the reason she could never be a parent.
The door bell rang.
By the time Celine made her way through the maze of bottles and trash the delivery driver had long since left. She pulled the boxes and bags in, cracked open a bottle and drank before looking at what it was.
Soju, and not even that strong. Celine killed it in one long pull then tossed the bottle behind her. Searching hands found another bottle, something bigger. She drank. The familiar burn of whiskey lit her throat. It was such a good pain. Warmth bloomed in her chest and slowly snaked its way through every corner of her body. For a moment it made her feel something similar to wholeness. This was probably as close to happiness as she could get.
She did not deserve it.
Celine walked as she drank. Steps became slurred sloppy things. She found her way to the stairs. They were to steep, she had to crawl up them. Crawl past rows of pictures. Rumi looked down on her, and Mira and Zoey too.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry."
There was no answer. Not that she deserved one. The last thing Celine deserved was forgiveness. She would fix this. She would make this right.
Celine drank as she crawled down the long hallway. Her room. Her grave.
Would they bury her with the rest. Greedily she hoped so.
Celine found the gun without looking. It was a practiced thing. She could find it in her sleep now.
How many times had she held the cold metal? How many times had she pressed it into the roof of her mouth and pondered release?
And now it was time.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Taking a deep breath in Celine bit down on the metal.
Why couldn't she do it? Why was she so scared?
This was the right thing to do. She knew it was. So why was she hesitating?
Celine took the gun out of her mouth and took another long pull of whiskey. Liquid courage. The burn ran through her chest, everything was so fuzzy now. She felt like she was floating up.
Celine picked up the gun again. Her hands were shaking, it was hard to aim strait. The metal barrel found its way into her mouth, Celine bit down to hold it there.
Rumi. I failed you, I'm sorry, goodbye.