Humanity

Part 1
How come that what you ought to do and what you want to do almost always are each other’s exact opposites? You know that you will have to stop searching, because there won’t be anything to find. You know that you will have to give up all hope, because hope is futile. You know that you will have to let go, or the uncertainty will drive you mad. But how can you do that, when the option is hopelessness? A dark, suffocating burden, which will wrap itself tight around your chest, leaving you gasping for breath - a broken mind in a broken body. That’s why Rebekka Citreola kept resisting for so long. Just one last time. I can’t give up. Just one last time.
Little had she known, that this time, the “last” time, would actually be just that. The last.
Hopelessness had come... suddenly. She hadn’t foreseen it. Never had she guessed it would strike with such vigour. But it had. Falling down on her knees, her fingers curled up into fists, nails piercing palms. By the Light, how could I be so naïve? As she exhaled, a silver cloud lingered around her mouth in the chilly morning air. No matter how long I keep on looking. No matter how far I travel, no matter how relentlessly I search. I will never find him. I know it. He is... The breath caught in her throat. He is... gone.
In that moment, the very world seemed to change. Before, during those few moments she had contemplated the possibility that Zanthier Beldane might be lost to her forever, she had expected dullness. But instead, for some godforsaken reason, everything seemed so real. It was as if someone had removed a muddied lens from her mind. As she finally was able to draw a deep, desperate breath, the cold air actually stung her throat. She could feel it. And the twilight, reaching through the still lingering wisps of the night’s fog... How it illuminated the rolling, green hills of Hillsbrad! So crisp, so beautiful, so genuine, so... so... pure.
Is this sorrow? she asked herself, the blistering, breathtaking pain mingled with awe. Is this how it feels, to bet everything on one card, and loose? To trust, only to find yourself... alone. Her eyes wide open, she let her gaze sweep over the scene. This is being human.
And in that very moment, she knew what she had to do. Pain stroke again, like the swift cut of a dagger, and she could not help but to let out a howl. It trailed off into a low wail, as she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth with tearless sobs.
Part 3
"...And so, the magic comb was finally returned to the kind weaver girl. Yet again, she combed her hair, and the loose hairs would get stuck in it's teeth, and with them she weaved the most wondrous things..."
Rebekka's voice trailed off into silence as she carefully closed the book. She held the leather-bound fairytale in stiff, slightly shaking hands. She had to be strong. This was the right thing to do. But the soft weight of the girl's body against her own, as she slumbered peacefully in her lap... she was so, so close to giving up. To let her selfishness and love take over, ignoring what ought to be done. Yes, finally, love! How come she would only realize how much she cared about the child until it was too late? Or maybe, that was what love was. To do the right thing for your loved ones, no matter how much it hurt. She braced herself. There was no turning back now.
Carefully, she coaxed one of her frail arms underneath Amandah's back, the other under the bend of her knees. She lifted the sleeping figure from her lap and slowly, slowly, laid her upon the mess of moth-eaten blankets. The girl barely stirred.
Working quickly, as if racing against the emotions within that tried to hold her back, Rebekka removed one of her steam-driven syringes which was strapped to her satchel. Then she opened the latter, digging through a disorder of books, notes, engineering parts and the odd pouch with dried bruiseweed for tea. Finally, she found what she was looking for; a moderate sized bottle, sealed carefully with wax and a cork, which Rebekka removed. The fluid within was a dark midnight blue. Guttersnipe's Sleep. It was thus named because it was one of the cheapest soporific drugs on the market - even the lowliest wretch could save up for a bottle. A mixture of common herbs, and a small, but effective amount of dried nyctinasarin, Guttersnipe's Sleep was a harmless evoker of sleep when drunk in small doses. But a whole bottle, injected into a sleeping child... The lump grew in Rebekka's throat. She would never wake up again.
Despite her shaking hands, Rebekka managed to turn the small cogs and switches on the syringe - in truth, she could almost have done it asleep, it was her own design after all. When the syringe was set on the right speed, volume and pressure, she pressed the fill button, and dipped the needle deep in the bottle. Carefully, to make sure there would be no pockets of air, she released the button, and the whole content of the bottle was sucked up through the needle.
As she turned around, her pace turned sluggish, as realization dawned upon her. She had lost her best - her only - friend. She was just about to kill the only other person she cared about. Was she driving herself insane on purpose?
Rebekka swallowed.
Her knees buckled underneath her as she sat down by the sleeping girl, and she thumped down harder on the wooden boards than she had wished. She held her breath, but Amandah did not react. She was still deep in the realm of dreams. Rebekka hoped they were good ones.
Although she knew she'd better hurry up and get it done, Rebekka could not help but to wait. She hovered above the girl, brushing her fingertips softly against the girl's skin. Surely, she was entitled to a... good bye.
Finally, she bent down, placing a feather-light kiss on Amandah's brow. To her great surprise, she felt... calm. As if she had been granted peace of mind to perform the task at hand. Keeping the girl alive for so long had been cruel, she could see it now. This was not a faith she wished upon anyone. Especially not a poor, defenceless child. How could she allow her to live like this?
Rebekka picked up the syringe from the floor, where she placed it minutes earlier. Her hands were now steady. Good. She'd need it.
She felt no need to hurry now. With great deliberation, she placed the needle against the girl's arm, and pressed the release trigger. The syringe worked perfectly, as always; the needle sunk into the skin, and within seconds, the barrel's content was emptied into the child. Rebekka remained motionless, simply watching, as the girl's breath slowed down... and came to a halt.
And then, reality hit her like a bullet. It was as if she had been dropped into icy, stabbing water.
Humanity.
In the nightly stillness of Tirisfal Glades, a lone crow slept on a pine branch. A shrill, pained outcry cut the silence like a knife, and with its tiny bird-heart beating quickly with fear, the bird launched itself into the venomously green sky in a flurry of black feathers.