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I stumble, throwing out my hand to steady myself, looking for purchase against the cold brick wall; desperately trying to keep myself upright.
I need to make it back.
And I’ve almost made it. I have…
But I’m exhausted - shivering, sweating, shaking.
My legs are weak and little black spots encroach on my vision.
I silently wretch again.
Am I nearing the end? I didn’t think I feared death, ‘til now.
All I want is for Benoit to pull me into his arms and tell me that it’ll be ok.
As I rest against the wall my thoughts start to spiral.
It’s not death I fear. It’s never seeing him again. Never having the chance to tell him I love him and I was wrong. Why couldn’t I have let it go when Benoit pleaded with me to? But he didn’t understand! I was so fixated, so shocked and incensed when I realised Konstantin was still alive, living so decadently in Paris… A coward with a false name…. How could he do that? How could he so blatantly dishonour and disrespect our family name, our honour and heritage in that way? Why hadn’t he tried to avenge us, avenge me? He’d clearly turned his back on all of us, as though we meant nothing.
But then, when I finally held him in the palm of my hand, I lost my appetite for retribution and capital punishment. When we came face to face suddenly I was no longer looking at ‘Nikolai Stirling’, the thief, the traitor; I was looking at Kostya. I was looking at my cousin… My own blood. The only other surviving member of my family… How could I end his life?
But! He deserved to die! Anger raged inside of me when I thought of his burning betrayal: He had to pay - I wouldn’t acquit him; it certainly wasn’t my place to grant him clemency when his carefree and profligate life was an abhorrent desecration of the memory of our murdered parents! Of the once great and noble name ‘Verderevsky’, of our ancestors long since dead and gone! But still, a troublesome sense of sentimentality caused my resolve and fortitude to waver dangerously, and I knew deep inside that I couldn’t bring myself to snuff out his flame by my own hand. But I could certainly let the fast-rising rainwaters of Venice extinguish it for me…
I left him delirious and shackled as I turned on my heel and left Perun to mete out justice as he saw fit. Abandon him to the flood, the way he left the fire to consume me all those years ago.
What I didn’t count on was the American girl. I watched from the shadows of my warm, dry hotel room across the piazza as barefoot and sodden, she struggled with his near unconscious body, dragged from the dungeons… Furious, I swiped the lamp from the bedside table and cursed: I’d have to regroup, and try again.
And I did, with a new plan to use her as collateral. I never knew someone like Kostya - so lacking in moral fibre - could care so much about another. The way he jumped in front of her on the balcony, so gallant in his swordplay as he tried to protect her? It was almost admirable!
I found myself strangely nostalgic as I watched him try to calculate all the ways our battle could play out, the same determined, concentrated look he wore when I’d best him in a fencing bout or a game of chess as children…
But the thing I remember most from that fateful night was the expression on his face when I finally unmasked myself and he came face to face with a ghost. The disbelief, the anguish and fear. Then everything that quickly unfolded: the canal, the chloroform, the wine cellar…
I was unable to kill him, unable to coerce him to work with me - and I lost the man I love in the process. Even with his moniker, I never imagined one who lived so carelessly as Konstantin would be capable of outwitting me. And I didn’t expect poison. What a miserable failure my plot became.
I straighten up and suck in a lungful of fresh air. I have no idea how I’ve managed to make my way back here in this condition, it must have been instinctual. Like a homing beacon was calling out to me. I mop my brow as my trembling legs lead me to the door of Benoit’s building. I remember the arguments before I left him and my heart sinks - I don’t think I could bear it if he turns me away. But why wouldn't he? Maybe there’s still a chance that he’ll reconsider, once I tell him what happpened? Once I promise to get help like he wanted? Once I beg of him to please forgive me.
My heart pounds as I press Benoit’s apartment number on the intercom.
And then I wait.