You sling me into the bag along with all your other weapons, and I’m actually kinda flattered at being remembered. No demons expected on the other side of this fight, and anyway, you’ve moved on to bigger things. Than me, I mean. Though, than demons—well, maybe. Still, a blade is a blade.
You’ve been telling yourself that for months. I know; I hear you. We all hear you. It’s just that you didn’t understand the truth of it before now.
That’s right. Zip up the bag; lock me in the trunk. Stop your ears. Only one song playing for you right now.
I can feel intent, you know. I can’t fight it, but I can feel it. Those years I spent in a demon’s hands, I felt it all. The deceit. How the end of days shone like Heaven for her. The bright point of satisfaction when she put me to her wrist and opened a vein.
I was made to kill demons, but when she held me, I served Hell. That changes things, even things like me, and maybe I’ll never fight a righteous war again.
Then, you picked me up. It wasn’t a relief. Your anger was sour with jealousy; not clean. You felt the poetry of her death, though. I know that much. If you fight long enough, it doesn’t matter how righteous you think you are. You’ll end up falling on your sword, hoist on your own petard, whatever other vaguely-phallic metaphor you care to use. You know that much.
(Maybe you’ll never fight a righteous war again. But you won’t stop fighting.)
Sometimes, I wonder how long you’d been eyeing me. Death’s a shiny thing in your eyes, always has been. I just make it visible. A momentary flash before oblivion, and you fly to it like a moth to a flame.
(We both know what kind, don’t we? I don’t have to say it, do I?)
You spent a long time pretending that wasn’t the part you were looking at. That you were all about the saving, and the hunting was just a necessity. This past year’s been a hell of a learning curve, I’d say.
Today, you set out alone, and you’ve swallowed so much anger you wouldn’t know what clean tastes like anymore. You just know what’s up ahead. A dozen more little flashes, life flaring up in their eyes before the curtain comes down. Maybe more. Maybe you’ll set your whole world on fire.
Well, I say fly, magpie. Fly toward the light.