Threshold

Threshold

It's stupid that we head to the entrance hall at the same time.

It's stupid that we both stop short of the door and stare at one another.

On the other side they're waiting for him and they're waiting for me. With different intent, of course. He's being welcomed. He's already wearing their costume. I'm being hunted. Kill me before I kill their god. I have no costume. No hiding my identity behind a mask. No joining a faceless mass that siphons power from a darkness dying.

We circle each other once. Neither getting any closer to the outside.

It's stupid that I think I should stop him from leaving. After all, he made that choice a long time ago. But me with my need to save the world, needs to save him as well.

The mask is in his hand, slender long fingers covered in black gloves. There is a sliver of white skin that the robes don't cover just below the hem of the sleeve. Almost as white as the mask.

It's stupid that I think he should have gotten more sun in his life.

He's staring at me with a steel glare. Grey like the stones. Grey like the sky. Grey because he just doesn't have it in him to be more than shades of one color. I'm staring back, my jaw set in a matching scowl I can't make go away.

It's stupid that I can't even smile at him.

It's stupid that, in a few moments we'll both probably be dead and we never spoke more than a few civil words to one another.

I open my mouth to say something. To point out that when we walk out that door there's no coming back. I'm telling him that outside the castle walls, we don't have any second chances. In here was stupid childish rivalry. Out there is real. Out there is death for both of us.

And if I could just reach out and lay one finger on him. Touch skin to skin. Then we wouldn't have to be this. We wouldn't have to be what we were yesterday. We wouldn't have to be what we've been for years. In this moment, at this doorway we could redo the past and redo our future. He's talking but I'm not listening. I'm just staring at the patch of exposed skin between his gloves and his sleeve. And not reaching.

He's telling me that that's the difference between the light and the dark. I'll always regret. I'll always look back and wonder what could have been different. I'll question every choice because I'm not willing to sacrifice others in my place. That's the difference between us. He regrets nothing. And he'll not regret walking through those doors wearing the face and life of a deatheater. He says it's destiny. He says there isn't free will, not when the paths are laid at our feet. He says that's something I should understand. And he walks out into the night.

It's stupid that I follow.