The Silver Swan (New)
The Silver Swan
Although it was still late summer, and fall had not yet crept upon the world, nevertheless, the air was chill and crisp as everyone waited outside the funeral parlour.
It was probably appropriate.
Everyone – everyone bar the Atlas Academy students, Sunset should say; they wore their uniforms – wore black, or something close to it, although it had clearly been a bit of a scramble for some to find something black – or dark grey – that they could wear.
Pyrrha, as it turned out, had a mourning dress, with a high collar that concealed her entire neck, little lace cuffs at the ends of her long sleeves, and an A-line skirt that went down to her ankles, revealing only the black, high-heeled shoes upon her feet. Her face was covered by a black veil, thin enough that it didn’t hide her face completely but thick enough that it did distort the sight of it. She had foregone her usual striking wings of eyeshadow, as well as any other makeup or lipstick that she was sometimes wont to use to enhance her beauty. Only the smell of her hair remained, from the expensive shampoo that she had not replaced just for this one day.
Sunset was, she confessed, a little disconcerted by the fact that Pyrrha had a mourning dress… but at the same time, in light of the present circumstances, it now seemed a very prudent thing to have in her possession. Sunset wished that she had one.
As it stood, she was wearing a plain black top beneath her leather jacket and a pair of dark-coloured jeans upon her legs; she looked, she admitted, less like someone going to a funeral and more like someone who couldn’t decide which subculture they wanted to belong to.
Jaune was wearing his armour, which conveniently covered up the bunny rabbit on his otherwise black hoodie, and had exchanged his blue jeans for black ones that were actually in a much better state of repair than the pants he normally wore; he should wear them more often.
But then, if he’d done that, it might have looked disrespectful to have not changed at all for the funeral.
And as for Ruby… well, Ruby wasn’t able to be here right now.
Sunset shivered in the cool air, and as she shivered, she felt a desire to leave this place.
Everyone was standing in front of the funeral parlour; or at least, everyone who was physically able: Sunset, Jaune, and Pyrrha of Team SAPR; Weiss, Cardin, Flash, and Russel of Team WWSR; Yang, Ren, Blake, and Nora of Team YRBN – even if it didn’t always seem as though that was the team to which Blake belonged; Rainbow Dash, Ciel, and Twilight of Team RSPT; Trixie, Tempest, Starlight, and Sunburst of Team TTSS; Arslan Altan of Team ARBN; Applejack. Everyone who had fought at what the news was starting to call The Breach was here. Everyone who could be here.
Ruby was lying in a hospital bed, comatose, unmoving and unspeaking; Penny was lying in a room aboard the Atlesian flagship, badly damaged and in need of repair. Neither of them could be here today, but everyone else who had been there, everyone else who had fought together to protect Vale from the grimm that had burst out into the centre of the city, they were all there.
They were just waiting upon Team BLBL… what was left of Team BLBL.
I shouldn’t be here, Sunset thought. She felt like a murderer returning to the scene of her crime. Or worse, like the murderer who insinuates themselves into the victim’s family, becoming a friend and a confidante, a tower of strength in their time of grief… a time that they, the killer, have created.
Sunset shuddered. She wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t planning to get any closer to the remainder of Team BLBL than she had ever been.
But all the same, she felt as though she ought not to be here.
But it wasn’t as if she could stay away. She could – and would – stay well clear of all the other funerals, for the five other people who had died as a result of Sunset’s decision to blow open The Breach and save the lives of her friends; she wasn’t some voyeur, to turn up to strangers’ funerals, especially when the strangers were dead in consequence of her decision, but this… this was different. This was Sky Lark’s funeral, a Beacon first-year just like her, someone who had died fighting at the Breach alongside her and everyone else here.
Someone who had died fighting to correct the consequence of Sunset’s decision.
She couldn’t stay away. Not when everyone else was going to his funeral.
It wasn’t as if they could ever know that Sunset was the reason why he had died.
She didn’t… she wished that things hadn’t turned out this way, but at the same time… Sunset glanced at Pyrrha, her face concealed beneath her veil. If she hadn’t done what she had done, if she hadn’t pressed the trigger and set off the mine, then they would be having six different funerals in Vale.
Seven. I make seven. She didn’t count herself as one of the people for whom she had set off the mine, one of the six whom she had saved in exchange for the six who had died, but at the same time, she did count: there would be seven funerals instead of six.
She wished that things hadn’t played out the way they had, she wished that Sky and the others had not died, she wished that nobody had been harmed in The Breach, but she could not take that next step, as logical as it might seem a step to take, and say that she regretted causing The Breach.
Because to do that would be to regret the lives of her friends, to wish them dead, and she… she could not do that. Not for Sky, not for six lives, not for Vale… not even for the world.
Sunset shivered once again. It was ironic, after a certain fashion: her semblance was a sort of empathy, and yet… and yet, she did not care.
No, no, that wasn’t true; she did care… or, well, she was sorry about their deaths, she knew that she had done the wrong thing in causing those deaths, it was just that…
She couldn’t really say what it was. It was all a tangle in her mind. She regretted, and she did not regret. She knew that she had done wrong, and yet, she would not do right if given the chance.
Six people had died. Six lives lost by her action. And yes, Rainbow said that it was likely that Cinder would have carried out her plans with or without Sunset’s cooperation, and she was probably right, but all the same… Sunset had pulled the trigger.
And yet, when she considered the alternative: Pyrrha dead, Jaune dead, Blake dead, Ruby dead, Rainbow dead… it was too terrible to contemplate. It was impossible that she could have made any other choice, impossible that she would now make any other choice.
She had made that choice, she would make that choice, because she loved her friends more than she loved those whom she was sworn to protect.
In Mountain Glenn, on the night before the battle, Sunset had been alone on watch and had found herself admitting – to herself, if no other – that she resented the possibility that her friends might have to die for the sake… for the sake of ordinary people. Of people whom she did not know, of whom she knew little or nothing.
She had wondered then if that was such a terrible thing? If it even rose to the level of injustice? If she was really required to care for those whom she fought to defend?
The Breach, and her choice that had led to The Breach, provided at least some answer: if you didn’t care, then you did not defend.
Except I did. I fought as hard as anyone.
I fought to clean up the mess that I had made.
She had resented the fact that her friends might have to die for Vale, and in consequence, people in Vale had died for her friends.
“I was a carpenter.”
“I was a housewife.”
“I was a butcher.”
“I was a waitress.”
“I was a clown.”
“We were those who trusted huntsmen to keep their vows.”
It was… it was an eerie thing, but in Mountain Glenn, in the midst of that grim necropolis, she had imagined the voices of the dead crying out to her, their tongueless mouths given voice once more, and they had proclaimed to her their occupations. The same occupations as those who had perished as a result of her act. And Sky, of course, made six.
Sunset had not sought to visit death or destruction upon Vale, but she had done so in a small degree, because she was not willing to sacrifice for it.
Because she did not hold that Vale was worth the sacrifice, at least not the sacrifice of Ruby or Pyrrha or the rest.
Ruby or Pyrrha or the rest, of course, would not agree with her. Well, Ruby, Pyrrha, Jaune, and Blake would not agree with her, and in all likelihood, Applejack would not agree either, although Sunset didn’t know her well enough to put the words into her mouth.
Rainbow Dash agreed with her; in fact, Rainbow seemed less troubled by her conscience in this business than Sunset was. Sunset suspected that she had lost someone, although she wouldn’t say who, and it had soured her on the idea of dying for a noble cause. The only valid reason to cast aside your life, according to Rainbow Dash, was to save a life… and while it might seem that they would have been doing just that, saving Sky and the five others who had perished, that was where Rainbow’s insistence that Cinder would have carried her plans forward regardless came in. Per Rainbow, their deaths would have accomplished nothing; therefore, saving their lives had been the right call, for all that those whom Sunset had saved would not agree.
It was a comforting thought. Sunset wished she could have embraced it wholeheartedly. Sadly, she was clever enough to understand what ‘rationalisation’ meant.
She had not made this choice after considering the balance of probabilities; she had not come to a conclusion after rational analysis. She had… she had acted on impulse, because she loved her friends and would not see them die, certainly not die in the dark with no chance of escape.
It had been a question of us or them, and for Sunset… there had been no choice at all.
That… might or might not make her a bad person; she had acted in her own self-interest – people did that all the time and were not called monsters for it; albeit, their self-interest took less… deadly forms for those around them. Nevertheless, what Sunset had done might not make her a monster… or it might.
Though Sunset would not do right, nevertheless, she could not convince herself that she had not done wrong.
It might or might not make her monstrous. It might or might not make her a wicked person. But it certainly did not make her a huntress. A huntress, a true huntress like Ruby, would have felt – as Ruby would certainly – that there was no choice at all.
A true huntress would have scorned Cinder’s choice and faced their end with courage down in that tunnel.
A true huntress would have gone down swinging… but they would have gone down nonetheless.
The thought revolted her. At first, Sunset had told herself that her impulse had been – at least in part – driven by the effects of their confrontation with Salem, when the dark mistress of the grimm and their ultimate adversary had put into her mind visions of the deaths of all her friends. Perhaps that had had something to do with it, but at the same time, even now at a remove from that experience and from the malign influence of Mountain Glenn… Sunset felt nauseous just contemplating it. To throw away your life, to break the hearts of those who loved you, to leave your parents bereft, the promise of your life unfulfilled, your line ended, and all for what? For the old school spirit? Because it was expected of you, of your position, your line, your chosen occupation? Because it was what you signed up for? Because you should never back down from a fight?
If that was what it meant to be a huntress, then what it meant to be a huntress was… in Equestria, from whence she came, it was understood that everypony possessed a gift to the world, symbolised and represented by their cutie mark. It was not, as it was often simplistically taught to young fillies and colts, simply a matter of what you were good at – after all, a pony could have many talents; Princess Celestia, for example, was a good and wise ruler, a patient and understanding teacher, a scholar, an archmage, and the ruler of the sun, only the last of which was represented in her cutie mark – or even of what you enjoyed doing. It was more than that, deeper than that; your cutie mark represented what you had to give that none other had: no other pony could bring light to the world like Princess Celestia could. Everypony had such a gift, something to offer, something that only they could give, and although the people of Remnant did not have cutie marks – although they were very attached to their personal symbols – Sunset believed that the same principle applied here. If Ruby died, if Pyrrha died, then their gifts would be lost, that which they had to offer the world would be lost, and it would be bereft of all that they might have given had they lived. Sunset didn’t want Blake to go to Atlas, but with her head, she could admit that Blake would probably do very well in the north kingdom, might even rise to high rank and great power. But not if she died, if she perished in a futile gesture, like Olivia refusing to summon aid in Ruby’s book, then all of that promise and potential would be gone.
Which was why in Equestria, they did not consider death something to seek or welcome.
But what about Sky’s promise and potential? What about the gifts to the world of the waitress, or the butcher, or the housewife or the clown or the carpenter?
Well… yes. Quite. That… that was the flipside, wasn’t it?
Sunset was quite aware that if she were on the other side of this equation – if she were Bon Bon, and one of her team had died because of Sunset’s choice – then she would hate Sunset for what she had done; she was aware that her decision was not defensible on a strictly objective set of moral standards. She was aware that, if she were on the other side, she would stop at nothing to make Sunset pay for her actions.
But she wasn’t on the other side, was she? She hadn’t been in Vale when someone else blew open The Breach; she had been down in the tunnel… blowing open The Breach.
Saving her friends.
Condemning Sky.
Proving that whatever else she might be, she was not a huntress.
Then what was she? If she was not a huntress, then… what?
Someone who doesn’t deserve to lead Team SAPR.
That was an uncomfortable thought, to be sure. But one that was hard to deny. Team SAPR was a team of huntresses; if she was not a huntress, then how could she call herself their leader? How could she call herself one of them?
Rainbow said that they needed her, but Sunset wasn’t sure she quite possessed the vanity any longer to insist that was true. If she had ever thought that it was true. She had, after all, taken account of the possibility of her own death and given her voice to Pyrrha in the succession in a letter which, somewhat embarrassingly, Pyrrha had found while Sunset was still alive to have to talk about it. That letter had contained some instructions that were… well, Sunset had planned to be dead before Pyrrha had to duel Yang over possession of Blake like two knights of old fighting for the person they both wanted to marry.
Sunset glanced again at Pyrrha, her face half-hidden behind her mourning veil. Pyrrha was brave, Pyrrha was noble, Pyrrha was kind, Pyrrha was intelligent, Pyrrha came from an ancient line of heroes and of princes; leadership was in her blood. Pyrrha was not a novice to battle, as Jaune was; Pyrrha did not court death as Ruby did. And yet, she did not shrink from it, as Sunset had in the final analysis. Pyrrha would not have pulled the trigger. She would have cast it aside. She would have done so with a heavy heart and mourned the loss of the time that she and Jaune might have spent together, as well as…
Sunset’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt, much like the train where her thoughts dwelt so often and so long. Pyrrha… would Pyrrha have done so? Would Pyrrha have done other than as Sunset had? Ruby would have, for a certainty; if Sunset had waited until Ruby reached the front of the train, then she would have condemned them all to die, and done so with a light heart besides, certain that they were doing the right thing, the huntress thing. But Pyrrha? Pyrrha would give her life for a cause, without a doubt; Sunset did not want to say that Pyrrha would die for no purpose, like Ruby would, nor did Sunset think that she, like Blake, would throw away her life simply to prove to herself that she had the guts to do so, to prove to herself that she was a good person. She would die to protect the world, if she came to believe that it was her destiny to do so, or perhaps she should say that Pyrrha would die to protect the world if that was how she could best fulfil the destiny that was in her choosing. If it had been only her life in balance on the train, then Pyrrha would have given up her life, without a doubt.
But then, if it had been only Sunset on the train, then she might… she hoped that she would have made a different choice. A choice made to save one’s dear friends might not be moral, right, or honourable, but it lacked the edge of craven cowardice that making such a choice to save oneself was immutably imbued with.
But it had not only been Sunset on the train, and it would not – would never – have been only Pyrrha on the train. Jaune had been on the train too, Jaune would have been on the train in any hypothetical where anyone but Sunset faced Cinder’s challenge. Would Pyrrha have had the steel to sacrifice Jaune?
And if she did, was she someone that Sunset could trust to take over the team in Sunset’s absence, if Sunset… if Sunset decided that they were better off without her?
Sunset, to put it mildly, had doubts. Pyrrha was noble and brave and willing to sacrifice herself but did not have Ruby’s… Sunset liked Ruby – Ruby was sweet and kind on a personal level; Sunset loved her like the sister that she never had – but she wasn’t blind to the fact that Ruby’s heart was… it was as though by some magic, she had purged it of all weaknesses. She could love, she could laugh, she could smile, she could form friendships, but none of that mattered in battle, none of that mattered when it came to achieving victory, none of that mattered when it came to the duty of a huntress.
Ruby would have weighed the needs of the many against the needs of the few and judged that the former far outweighed the latter.
And that for a huntress, the choice that Cinder offered was no choice at all.
Pyrrha, Sunset deemed, was not made of such stern stuff. Pyrrha was in love with Jaune, and that love… Sunset might say she loved not wisely but too well, but let’s face it, if you were going to fall head over heels for someone, you could do a lot worse than to fall in love without someone who didn’t have a malicious bone in his body and who treated you like a princess.
Did Pyrrha have it in her to condemn Jaune alongside herself? Sunset didn’t know the answer to that – she would have had to use her semblance in order to confirm it one way or the other – but she suspected that the answer was no. It did not follow logically from that that Pyrrha would have done as Sunset had – she did not have Sunset’s rashness, nor the impulsive single-mindedness that sometimes drove her to take foolish actions that more considered reason might have counselled her against – but Sunset was quietly confident that she would not have blithely condemned them all to death within the darkness of the tunnel.
Perhaps she would have found a better way, a way that saved the team and protected Vale at the same time.
No, Pyrrha was someone in whom Sunset could place her trust, someone whose conduct might benefit from love but who would not be undone by it. Pyrrha was… Pyrrha was the leader they needed, perhaps. The leader they deserved.
Perhaps Sunset ought to go, leave them to it. Perhaps she ought to go right now, leave without goodbyes that would only invite questions, leave before Ruby woke up, as Ruby would wake up, without a doubt.
Except that Sunset didn’t want to leave before she woke up; she wanted to know that Ruby was okay.
But then that would make leaving, if she left, that much harder.
But then… she didn’t know what to do. Or rather, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She knew what she wanted to do: she wanted to stay here at Beacon, with her friends; she wanted to stay at the place that had become home for her. She wanted to stay with those who were most precious to her in all the world.
She wanted to stay here; she just didn’t know if that was… right and proper for her to do so.
Since she didn’t deserve to be a huntress.
Sunset felt a hand upon her shoulder; she started and was even more surprised when the hand turned out to belong to Rainbow Dash.
Perhaps she ought not to have been surprised. Rainbow, after all, knew what she had done, and although she herself seemed to be taking it all in much better stride than Sunset, nevertheless, she understood what was in Sunset’s mind. She was the only one who did.
She was the only one who got it. The only one who could ever get it, because if the others found out what she had done… the fact that Pyrrha might not have been willing to condemn Jaune would not stop her condemning Sunset.
But Pyrrha didn’t know. Only Rainbow knew, and Rainbow… Rainbow was giving her an easy ride. The self-righteous stuffing had come out of Rainbow Dash in Mountain Glenn, but Sunset was not altogether sure that she preferred this new Dash. Yes, she was easier to get along with, but at the same time… it was just weird, having her be this nice, especially in the face of the arguably worst thing that Sunset had done.
Nevertheless, Rainbow was being nice about it; her magenta eyes were considerate as she asked, softly, “Are you okay?”
Sunset looked past Rainbow Dash; the funeral parlour was surrounded by a graveyard, or at least by markers for the dead – Sunset wasn’t sure that there were bodies buried beneath every one; a lot of people got cremated these days. Nevertheless, she was surrounded by the reminders of death: stones with names and dates and pieces of melancholy poetry engraved upon them, little statuettes of angels or phoenixes.
“I was a carpenter.”
“I was a housewife.”
“I was a butcher.”
“I was a waitress.”
“I was a clown.”
“We were those who trusted huntsmen to keep their vows.”
“Not really,” Sunset muttered. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Rainbow’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, I can get that,” she murmured. “It… it’s gonna be okay.”
Sunset looked into Rainbow’s eyes. “You think so?” she asked. Because I’m not so certain.
Rainbow might have meant to reply, but anything that she had intended to say – if she had intended to say anything – was lost as the funeral car arrived. It was not a hearse, there was… there was nothing of Sky Lark to be borne in a hearse, nothing found to prove that he was dead except for the fact that he had not shown up alive, and… and after the fire that the Atlesians had rained down upon the plaza, there was little chance that he would.
Nobody believed that he was not dead. That, after all, was why they were here.
But there was not a hearse. What there was, however, was a black car, the official car, the car for family, carrying within it the members of Team BLBL.
Sunset hadn’t known Sky Lark… at all. She hadn’t known him, she hadn’t cared to know him, she hadn’t known anything about him, but now that he was dead, she had found out that both his parents had predeceased him. Poor guy didn’t have any family other than this team.
They got out of the car. Professor Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch were with them, both having exchanged their usual attire for solemn black. Professor Goodwitch’s green eyes were filled with sympathy as they watched Team BLBL, what remained of it, exit the car.
Professor Ozpin’s expression was inscrutable.
Bon Bon’s face was so pale that she looked almost like a corpse herself; she stared in front of her, scarcely seeming to see anything. Lyra was in tears; they streamed down her face as fast as she could wipe them away with a handkerchief. She and Dove were arm in arm, and Lyra seemed to be leaning on him for support. Dove himself looked… stoic, as if he felt the need to be strong for his teammates.
Or perhaps he just didn’t care as much as they did.
Also emerging from the car was the funeral… director, or officiator, or whatever her official title was, a blonde woman in a top hat and tailcoat for whom they all made way, shuffling aside as she walked to the doors of the red-brick funeral parlour, unlocked the iron-bound wooden door, and opened it up.
The others waited for Team BLBL to lead the way, shuffling inside with slow, unsteady tread, Dove supporting Lyra and Bon Bon looking as though she was scarcely paying attention to where she was going. Nevertheless, they made their way in, and the rest of the students, the rest of those who had fought beside them at the Breach, followed after.
Inside the funeral parlour was not as quiet as Sunset had expected; as they walked in, a wordless guitar song began to play, and Sunset had to assume that it was one of Sky’s favourites. The walls of the funeral parlour were bare and unadorned; wooden pews were lined up row upon row, and teams occupied the pews in their fours or their threes. Team BLBL, of course, sat at the front, with Professor Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch sitting across the aisle from them. Then came Team WWSR, and Team YRBN across from them, and then Team TTSS. Team SAPR sat to the rear, joined by Arslan Altan, who otherwise would have sat by herself; Arlsan sat at the end of the pew, nearest the wall, with Pyrrha beside her and Jaune next to her, the two of them holding hands; Sunset sat upon the aisle, while the three present members of Team RSPT sat across said aisle from her; like Sunset, Rainbow Dash took the aisle seat. Ciel bowed her head, and her lips moved silently; Sunset guessed that she was praying.
She would have to pray by herself, because Sunset doubted that prayers would form part of the service.
She wasn’t sure what the service was going to consist of. Had Sky been at all religious? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about him. She didn’t know how he would wish his passing to be honoured.
Probably, he’d prefer to not be dead, but I screwed that up for him, didn’t I? Sunset thought bitterly.
The woman in the top hat and tails had vanished. There was no one Sunset could see to perform the ceremony. If there was going to be a ceremony. But then, they were here for some reason, weren’t they?
Professor Ozpin got to his feet. He was without his cane on this occasion; as a result, he moved more quietly than usual as he rose, walked forward a few steps, and turned to face the assembled students.
“We are here today to honour Sky Lark,” he reminded them, his voice betraying little grief; Sunset found herself wondering how many such services like this he had attended over the years. Did he remember how many? “Mister Lark gave his life defending Vale from the creatures of grimm and, in so doing, upheld the finest traditions not only of Beacon Academy, but also of huntsmen as a profession, an institution, and a calling.
“Perhaps this ought to be my cue to tell you not to grieve this loss. Perhaps I ought to tell you that we must keep moving forward and not allow ourselves to be slowed down by sadness or the pain of loss. Perhaps… perhaps that would be easier for all concerned, but those of you who knew Mister Lark well would scarcely be human if you could so easily shrug aside your feelings. The fact that we grieve, the fact that we care for one another, the fact that we are driven by emotions rather than the mere biological imperatives, these are the things that set us apart from the creatures of grimm against which we fight, and if we are to prevail against such monsters, it will be because of those same feelings, not in spite of them. So grieve, by all means; it is painful now, I don’t deny it, but that pain… that pain is the sign you have a soul.” He fell silent for a moment. “I… I did not know Mister Lark as well as I should have liked. Certainly, I didn’t know him as well as he deserved, and I have no intention of standing here and pretending to a closeness with him that I did not possess. Therefore, Mister Lark’s team leader, Miss Bonaventure, will say a few words concerning his character. Miss Bonaventure, if you would?”
Professor Ozpin stepped away, a grave look upon his face, leaving an empty space at the front of the hall.
Bon Bon took a moment before she even tried to get up. Once she did get up, she moved with that same shuffling, shambling gait until she stood where Professor Ozpin had stood just a moment ago. She looked down at the floor. Then briefly, she looked up to cast her eyes across the assembled group, then she looked down again as, with trembling hands, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced a set of flash cards.
They shook in her hands as she looked down on them.
“‘How… how lucky I am to have… how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard’,” Bon Bon said, her voice trembling like her hands. “That’s, um, that’s Sanders the Bear. Sky loved that. He loved Sanders the Bear, and Countess Coloratura, and dim sum, and he loved to draw.” She smiled. “Or maybe he just liked to draw pictures of me and Lyra, I don’t know.” The smile died, replaced by a choked half-sob as though she had tried to cut it off halfway. “I… I know the things he loved because he was my friend. He was my friend. He was my friend, and now, he’s gone, and it’s all my fault-” The flash cards fell from her limp fingers as she clutched at her face, tears streaming down it.
Dove was on his feet in an instant, crossing the little distance that lay between them, putting his arms around her and pressing Bon Bon’s face against his shoulder. Her body was wracked with sobbing.
“He was my friend,” she sobbed. “And it’s all my fault.”
Sunset closed her eyes and bowed her head. No. No, Bon Bon, it isn’t your fault at all. It's mine.
She felt sick to her stomach. She felt indecent just being here. She should never have come here; it was wrong of her, it was immoral. Yes, it would have been hard to explain her absence, but it would have been better than this. What right did she have to come to Sky’s memorial when she was the reason there was a memorial?
She kept her eyes closed, and her head bowed, and her eyes were still closed when she heard Lyra’s voice, raised in song, eclipse Bon Bon’s sobbing.
“The silver swan, that living had no note,” she sang.
Sunset opened her eyes and looked up. Lyra, too, was on her feet. One hand rested lightly upon Bon Bon’s shoulder. She was half-turned to face the others, half looking away from them, and yet, her voice carried to them all nevertheless.
“When death approached, unlocked her silent throat,
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, and sang no more.
‘Farewell, all joys,” Lyra paused, her voice shaking.
“’Farewell, all joys,’” she repeated, before wiping at her eyes with one hand. She closed her eyes, screwing them tight shut, and her hand fell away from Bon Bon’s shoulder.
“’Farewell all joys,’” Weiss sang, her voice as clear as a bell, “‘Oh death, come close my eyes.
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.’”
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise, Sunset thought. Sounds about right.
And the goose that thought she was a swan doesn’t deserve to be here anymore.
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There is one thing that Sunset needs to do before she can rightfully lead her team in this shadow war against Salem and Cinder. She has to tell her team the truth of what she did.
I'm not saying this because 'Honesty' is a tenant of friendship and a lie like this would rot them from the inside out... even if that is true to a degree. No, the reason Sunset needs to come forth with this information is because she's wrong: Three people know what happened on that train, not two. Cinder knows what happened... and she will not hesitate to use that information in a heartbeat if it meant getting what she wants. When someone has a hook like this dug deeply inside of you, there are only two possible ways to deal with it... and Sunset clearly isn't going to kill Cinder, so that only leaves ripping it out herself for those who care to see.
Well, this is a bit of an emotional gut punch... oof. That hit hard.
“Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends and comrades to die are worse than scum.”
— Kakashi Hatake
And so the journey of self-hatred, misery, depression and sunset torture porn begins
Oh boy...
11079662
God i hope it's not what will happens in the rewrite.
I hate how Sunset stopped to express wrath alongside pride for herself, and it's even worse in the original mainly because of her guilt.
So i hope here she will not.
I find it hilarious that Bon Bon does precisely what Sunset said about serial killers. She is working with the people that killed Sky. She is hanging around the victims and trying to connect with them. I cannot wait for her exposure.
This death was infinitely more impactful and developed then the previous version, and I feel disappointed that I don’t have much more to say. Here i am still holding back tears, with so little to say. Once more I guess, good job. It hit.