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Clancy had put off thinking about it for far too long.
It was almost instinctual—like his mind was protecting him from the grief, the disappointment, the anger.
So, when the time came and he couldn’t put off thinking about it any longer, the sucker punch of feelings straight to his gut was, in a way, relieving. Like a punishment for what he had done, and what he was going to do.
Part of him believes there is no punishment that will suffice; no mortal plane where justice could be served for everyone he will hurt.
The night before the battle, Clancy couldn’t bring himself to leave his tent. The very thought of looking all of the people in the eyes who had given their lives to this cause, to this rebellion, sent painful shivers down his spine. They trust him, as much as they trust the Torchbearer, who had been their leader and protector for so many years. He wants to blame them, wants to justify their feelings of betrayal and pin them on something that wasn’t him. But that would be a lie. It was his fault and his fault alone.
Then, there’s the matter of Torch.
It was Clancy’s selfishness once again that convinced himself he could have it all—carry out the inevitability of what he was made to do, and keep a love that he was undeserving of. It was his selfishness that told him he could let Torch grow closer, let the flames of the terrifying truth lick at Torch’s feet before they consume him, and prop up Torch for the worst betrayal of them all.
Clancy was so naive, thinking he could tear the fabric of his very being. Thinking he could rewrite the code imprinted on his genes, thinking he could prevent the unstoppable forces of fate.
But when Torch is with him, it’s so easy. He can feel the tight stitches that had sewn him together pop, and the blood brewed with bad intentions ooze out of the seams. How his eyes cast rays of sunshine that penetrate Clancy’s chest and scare off the shadows haunting his soul. How Torch’s touch is like medicine, cleansing Clancy of the sickness caused by his sins, and implanting the seed of addiction in him. How it evolved from a want into a need.
And Clancy just let it happen.
As if the universe was taunting him, giving him a taste of that punishment he will soon deserve, Clancy hears the opening of the tent rustle, snapping him out of his daze.
It’s Torch, standing at the entrance, head tilted to the side at Clancy.
“You should come out here,” the man says softly, furrowing his brows. “we’re celebrating. For tomorrow, I mean.”
Clancy feels like he’s the last person in the world that should be celebrating.
“I don’t know, I—“ he starts, unable to meet Torch’s eyes while he lies, “I don’t feel very well.”
Torch fully steps inside the tent they share, letting the flap close behind him and sitting next to Clancy on his cot. Damn him and his selfless nature. “Anxious?”
Clancy wants to laugh, but not at Torch, at himself. For daring to be anxious about a situation he played such a major part in orchestrating. “Something like that.”
“I can stay here with you, if you want.”
Clancy also wants to say no, to tell him to go have fun with everyone. He deserves all the good times with his people, his blood, before tomorrow. But his self-serving nature, once again, takes over.
“Please?” is all he can say, and it’s more than a request for Torch’s presence—it’s begging for forgiveness, it’s apologizing for everything to come.
A ghost of a smile crosses the man’s face before he nods, reaching his arm across Clancy to gently guide his head to rest on Torch’s shoulder. The gesture alone conjures tears in the corners of his eyes.
“We’re gonna win. This plan is solid, there’s no way we can lose. It’s gonna work.” Torch whispers into what’s left of Clancy’s hair, freshly buzzed from a few days ago.
He can’t help it when a sob escapes his mouth, the dam so close to breaking, everything becoming too much too fast, closing his eyes in search of some sort of relief in the sensory deprivation.
“Hey, hey,” Torch’s voice is like silk, caressing Clancy as Torch shifts them around to face each other, holding Clancy’s face in his hands, “look at me.”
He doesn’t want to, but he can’t resist a request from Torch, can’t risk subjecting him to any more disappointment than was already planned for him.
When he flutters his eyes open, Torch is more than just looking at him, he’s searching, looking for anything in Clancy’s face to clue him in to what’s going on in the darkness in his head. The eye contact is so overwhelming, almost punishing, that Clancy has to focus his gaze elsewhere—the slope of his nose, the freckles on his cheeks, the delicate lines pressed into his skin that show how much he’s aged, how much they’ve aged. The pads of Torch’s thumbs swipe at the tears streaking Clancy’s cheekbones that he hadn’t even realized escaped.
“I’m sorry,” Clancy chokes out, cupping one of Torch’s hands on his face with his own, “I’m so, so sorry.”
Torch’s eyebrows furrow once again. “For what?” This elicits another sob from Clancy, that familiar feeling of grief and anger clawing at his insides, begging to be let out into the open.
Torch pulls Clancy in, holding his head flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around Clancy’s shoulders. Clancy grants himself the pity of crying into Torch’s sleeve.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Torch whispers, rubbing circles into the small of Clancy’s back, giving up on receiving an explanation on what has Clancy so worked up.
They stay like this for a while, Clancy hiding himself in Torch’s arms, and Torch whispering words of comfort into his ear.
So selfish, Clancy thinks, letting himself be comforted by the one person he truly loves, that he’s going to destroy without so much as a warning.
As his sobs become less and less frequent, Torch releases him from his arms and looks into his eyes again. It’s different, Clancy realizes, not a look of sympathy or even pity, but love, a wordless I forgive you, there’s nothing you could do to change that.
If only he knew.
He’s just so soft, so open, a side of Torch that only Clancy has seen, behind the carefully constructed walls of the Torchbearer, the leader of the rebellion. It’s that sight that always makes Clancy melt, always forces his selfish nature to take control, to need instead of want.
And who is Clancy if he doesn’t dive in headfirst?
They both lean in simultaneously, so in-tune with the other, resting their foreheads together so their noses brush, sharing the same air as their breaths complement each other. It’s an irresistible feeling, Clancy has discovered this a while ago. The feeling that they were forged from the same dirt, that there’s the invisible string of fate wrapped around each of their souls that sends signals back and forth, always taught enough to pull them together but never break.
And then there’s Torch’s hand, reaching up to cup Clancy’s jaw, thumb stroking his chin so gently, the scraping of his calloused hands drowned out by the tender nature of the touch.
A signal is passed through that invisible string, and they both open their eyes, staring into each others’ like it’s the last thing they’ll see. Torch’s eyes are reminiscent of the past, but not quite the same—it’s a hunger, a craving, mixed with something deeper, something Clancy can’t name.
Torch places his thumb on the edge of Clancy’s lower lip, pulling ever so slightly, but enough that Clancy knows what he’s to do next, and thinks about how much he wants it, too.
He parts his lips, lets Torch lean in closer as he closes his eyes, and Torch’s lips find his own.
A soft peck, gentle and sweet, not an ounce of heat behind it. But it’s enough to strike the flint in Clancy’s gut, catching the kindling nestled deep inside.
They look at each other once again, questioning, searching for that matching spark in the other, asking to let it grow.
Clancy is the one to deepen the kiss, mouths slotted together, fitting so perfectly as they open against the other. Torch’s lips are anything but soft, Clancy knows this, chapped enough that their drag against his own sets off an uncontrollable yearning within him to never, ever stop kissing him.
And then, they’re coaxing each other deeper, tongues meeting in the middle, wet and hot, and Clancy realizes this might be the last time they do this, this might be the last time Clancy gets to have Torch. The fire in his gut has caught and nips at his chest.
Clancy brings a hand up to the nape of Torch’s neck, tangling his fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to elicit a groan from the man, muffled by Clancy’s mouth.
Torch responds by breaking their kiss momentarily to grab hold of the outside of Clancy’s thighs and pulling him onto his lap. This vantage point yields a different perspective of Torch, one Clancy is sure he’ll never get enough of. His half-closed eyes, his reddened cheeks, his parted lips all puffy and blushed. The sight makes Clancy’s cock stir, the fabric of his pants growing tighter around it.
Snaking his hands around Clancy, Torch pulled him in closer, closer, closer, chests flush as Torch mouths at Clancy’s jaw. He lets small gasps escape, each and every touch just as explosive and monumental as their first time together. Each and every bite against the sensitive skin of his neck is just as breathtaking.
Clancy wanted to savor every moment for as long as possible, but his desperation is stronger. He can’t help but roll his hips, searching for and finding the relief of friction against Torch. It stops Torch in his tracks, stopping his assault on Clancy’s neck to rest his forehead on his chest, gasping into his collarbone.
Each noise from Torch sends a jolt to Clancy’s growing erection, grinding into each other like teenagers, grabbing at each other for anything to hold on to. Clancy needs more, needs more of Torch . He grabs at the hem of Torch’s sweatshirt, tugging on it.
“Off, off, off,” Clancy mumbles into Torch’s hair as he chuckles and pulls it up and over his head, falling softly to the ground. Clancy quickly follows suit.
And then they’re flush again, Torch mouthing at Clancy’s shoulder, one strong hand at the small of his back, the other finding its way between them to palm at Clancy’s clothed dick.
Clancy gasps, falling forward, the weight forcing Torch to retreat his other arm to hold them both up. It’s so, so good, but not enough at the same time.
“Love how sensitive you are,” Torch whispers, right in his ear, his breath giving Clancy goosebumps.
“Please,” Clancy huffs, bucking his hips to meet Torch’s hand, chasing the feeling, “I need–”
He couldn’t finish, didn’t know how to, didn’t know how to express every little morsel of thought circling his mind, but they all culminated into this: he needed all of Torch, before he was out of his grasp forever.
It didn’t matter, because Torch already knows, knows Clancy better than he knows himself. His hand leaves Clancy’s erection and his hips involuntarily twitch at the loss, until Torch is lifting him, one hand across his back, the other firmly gripping his ass, as he flips their positions. Clancy lets himself be pressed into the mattress of the cot, its familiarity is comforting.
And then, Torch is right there, hot breath bathing Clancy’s ear, as he whispers, “ When you came, you were like red wine and honey… ”
Clancy knits his brows together at the ceiling of the tent, confused, until Torch nips at his earlobe and continues.
“ And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness,” into Clancy’s neck as Torch’s lips brushed his skin, and Clancy understood. He was reciting A Decade, a poem from a book Torch had lent him years ago, one Clancy absentmindedly told him he liked. Before all of this had happened, before the torturous grip of fate had encapsulated them both, before they were Clancy and The Torchbearer.
“ Now you are like morning bread,” He takes the skin below his collarbone between his teeth, sucking just enough to leave a bruise, before running a flat tongue against the swollen flesh. Clancy wants to cry, the thought of possibly dying with Torch’s mark on him, cementing the two together in eternity, is just too much. Part of him wants that—maybe it’ll be better that way.
Torch’s lips don’t leave his skin as he journeys down his chest, taking the time to carefully brush his nipple, making Clancy squirm beneath him. “ Smooth and pleasant…”
Clancy lifts his head, meets Torch’s gaze, and feels a tear roll down his cheek. He hopes he won’t notice, that the dim lantern that cast the tent in a hazy gloom won’t be enough to show it, though he knows that it’s hopeless.
“ I hardly…” continuing to kiss down his ribcage, warm hands holding him in place, “ taste you…”
Torch exhaled a breath against the skin of his abdomen, engaging the muscles hidden underneath, as Clancy threw his head back against the cot.
“ …at all…”
He mouths along his navel, his coarse stubble brushing the beginnings of Clancy’s hair there that traveled downward. Clancy’s back arches off the bed at the sensation.
“ …for I know your savor.”
Clancy’s hand finds the tangles of Torch’s curly hair, the gravity of the situation not lost on him, wishing his memory would grant him this one thing—to be able to replay this for the rest of his life, no matter how long it could endure.
Torch’s fingers are hooking into the waistband of his pants, gently pulling, asking permission. Clancy helps him peel both them and his underwear off, joining their other clothes on the floor. Torch’s hot breath is enveloping the skin of Clancy’s waist, his groin, his cock. He lifts his head once again to look at the other man, his dark eyes glistening as his eyelashes flutter. He knows what Torch is going to say before he even opens his mouth.
“ But I am completely nourished.”
And then Torch is licking a flat stripe up his length before taking the head into his mouth, watching as Clancy’s eyes screwed shut and lips parted. The tender moment of the poem had distracted Clancy from the aching and readiness of his own dick, the feeling of Torch’s mouth on him startling but oh so relieving.
He reacted wordlessly, though not silently—each movement of Torch’s mouth and tongue that strayed from the rhythm eliciting a breathy moan from deep within him. With no hesitation, because he knew Torch, knew Torch could take it, Clancy continually offered himself to him, bucking up into his mouth.
Torch knew exactly what to do, instincts taking over as he let Clancy fill his mouth, strong hands squeezing where they were on Clancy’s hip and rib cage.
He pulled off, and Clancy took the few moments to catch his breath, chest heaving impossibly fast. He was interrupted by Torch mouthing down his length, at his balls, at the coarse hair below. Each touch was electric, tantalizing, addicting, Clancy wonders if he could come just from that.
Impulsively, Clancy pulls his knees up, heels coming to meet the back of his thighs. Taking it as an invitation, Torch’s tongue is pressing into the delicate skin between the folds of his ass, and Clancy can’t help but let the most indecent moan escape his throat.
“You like that?” He can barely hear Torch from below him, a murmur blocked by his body, but it was enough.
“Fuck, yes, it’s so good,” Clancy is squeaking, knuckles of his hands turning white as one clenches Torch’s hair and the other grabs at the sheets. “I—, I need,”
Torch doesn’t have to hear the end of that sentence, knows exactly what it is Clancy needs from him, as he climbs back up Clancy’s body. Torch’s hand grips Clancy’s jaw, hard enough to command his attention, but not hard enough to hurt. He was in his element—leading, caring, protecting—and Clancy was glad this was the side of Torch he’d remember him by.
The man is pressing Clancy into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, forcing Clancy to taste every bit of himself, to share the experience together, to bond them biologically.
When they break apart, Torch’s mouth is quickly replaced by three of his fingers, and Clancy takes them immediately, knowing what he is to do. He watches as Torch’s eyes are trained on Clancy’s lips, as his fingers slide in and out, saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth and drool dripping from his hand.
Torch pulls his fingers from Clancy’s mouth, a long trail of saliva connecting them stretches and breaks apart onto Clancy’s chest. It’s an incredibly lewd sight, sending a shock down to Clancy’s reddened cock, twitching as a bead of precome begins to collect at the slit.
Readjusting slightly, Torch positions himself so that his weight is on a forearm, bracketing Clancy’s head, his other hand waiting at his hole. Clancy’s hands find Torch’s waist, fitting so familiarly and perfectly, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were worn-down indents in his skin in the shape of his fingers.
Clancy catches his eyes, his pretty, brown, glittering eyes, tears once again begin to well up in the corners of his own. There was no hiding them this time, because Torch was right there, in a front row seat to Clancy’s own self-pity. His expression shifts into something of concern.
“What’s wrong?” Torch asks, hand stroking what’s left of his buzzed hair above him. “Do you need me to stop?”
Clancy shakes his head, unsure if he has the words to explain everything that he’s feeling. So loved, so cared for, so appreciated, despite all the shadows that follow him, the pain that he inevitably inflicts on everyone he leaves in his wake. He’s got all the time in the world to regret, to wallow—for now, he’s going to appreciate his partner while he still has him.
“You’re just,” He starts, moving a hand up to cup Torch’s cheek, memorizing the textures under the pads of his fingers. “You’re so beautiful.”
Torch huffs through a wide smile, leaning into Clancy’s touch, turning his head to plant a soft kiss into his palm. Clancy thinks he might see his eyes well up too, but it quickly departs, faster than it came. Vulnerability was always rare for Torch, but they’ve known each other long enough for Clancy to recognize it, to appreciate it before it’s gone.
Torch settles his head into the crook of Clancy’s neck, tracing circles around his rim, preparing him. Clancy can’t help but push back, a wordless plea to just do it already.
And when he does, Clancy also can’t help but reel. A sensation that could only be described as weird their first time, was so good now, recognizable as an interlude of what’s to come. Torch’s index finger glides in and out effortlessly as he kisses Clancy’s jaw, his neck, his shoulder.
But it’s not enough, could never be enough. They’ve done this enough times for the initial feeling to ebb away quickly, leaving Clancy needing more, more, more.
“Another,” he whispers under his breath, and Torch is more than happy to oblige. One finger quickly becomes two, the stretch sending a hand up to grip at the nape of Torch’s neck, his breath hitching. Torch lifts his head to watch fondly as Clancy comes undone beneath him. He scissors his fingers, so close yet painfully so far from that spot within him.
And then there’s a third finger, pressing in slowly until Torch’s knuckles brush the skin of Clancy’s ass, and he moans, rocking back against his hand in desperation. Torch receives the message and quickened his pace, sliding back and forth, the stretch and the pain and the pleasure intermingling into a feeling Clancy can only define as intoxicating.
Then Torch curls his fingers ever so slightly, pushing just a little farther, brushing his prostate just enough to make Clancy cry out, gripping at Torch’s hair as his back arches up off the cot. This draws a satisfied groan out of Torch, elated he can do this for him, can make him feel so good.
“Please,” Clancy whispers once again, eyes half lidded and cheeks blushed, expression contorted with something he can only guess looks eager, hungry, starving.
“Please what?” Torch asks him, though he already knows the answer, prodding at that spot within Clancy as he continues his onslaught with his fingers.
“ Fuck me,” he breathes, and Torch’s breath hitches, cock jumping against Clancy’s thigh through his pants.
Torch wastes no time pulling off his own pants and underwear, positioning himself comfortably between Clancy’s bent knees, messaging small circles into his inner thighs. Clancy writhes below him, craving Torch, craving all of him.
Torch spits into his own hand before coating his length, gasping slightly at the attention toward his neglected dick, before wiping what was left on his hands around Clancy’s entrance.
“You ready?” and Clancy just frantically nods, yes, yes, yes, he’s never been more ready for anything his whole life, he needs him now.
The corner of Torch’s mouth curls into a smile, flashing his canine. He pulls the flesh of Clancy’s ass with a thumb and lines himself up with his hole before pressing in, pushing all the way to the hilt, Torch’s hips flush with the backs of Clancy’s thighs. Clancy groans, long and deep, the feeling of being filled by Torch washing over him. Between them, Clancy’s cock aches, red and leaking onto his stomach.
Torch nearly pulls all the way out before gliding back in, faster this time, throwing his head back toward the ceiling. He finds a rhythm, the obscene sound of their skin slapping together filling the tent, punctuated by their sounds of pleasure flowing from their mouths.
Clancy closes his eyes, letting his other senses heighten in order to capture the feeling. Not just the pleasure, but the intimacy, the vulnerability, the closeness. Wants to be entangled in Torch forever, wants tomorrow to never come.
Without faltering, Torch lowers himself to be parallel with Clancy, their chests brushing, Clancy’s cock grateful for the friction being created against Torch’s stomach. He presses their foreheads together as he continues to pound into him, one hand reaching under to cradle his head, the other gripping his waist.
“Look at me,” Torch asks, voice wrecked with bliss, panting and huffing with every thrust.
Clancy obeys, fluttering his eyes open to meet Torch’s, the eye contact causing heat to blossom from his chest.
“You feel so good, baby,” Torch huffs, and Clancy’s nails dig into Torch’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in the skin. “Always take me so good.”
“Fuck, Josh,” Clancy gasps, rocking to meet Torch halfway, voice coming out as a low purr, “ I love you.”
Torch’s eyes screw shut as he groans, going even faster, harder, the torturous grazing of his cock against his prostate making him instinctively hook his legs around the small of Torch’s back. They’ve never said it to each other, not out loud, those words on the other side of a line neither of them had been willing to cross. But Torch deserves it, Clancy thinks, deserves to know just how deeply he feels, how important this vulnerability is for him. And maybe, just maybe, it will make up for what’s to transpire tomorrow.
Torch’s voice is a quiet whisper against his ear. “ I love you, Tyler.”
It sends an immobilizing shiver down Clancy’s spine, the realization that Torch feels the same, though he thought he didn’t need to hear him say it, he knew it all along. The idea being materialized into words was everything he would ever need, more than food, more than air.
“ Fuck, I—I’m gonna,” Torch warns him, and Clancy’s moving, trying to get Torch off of him, determined to make this last. He pushes against Torch’s hips with his feet, and Torch pulls out, confused.
“What—”
And then Clancy’s up, grabbing Torch by the shoulders and positioning him to sit at the edge of the cot, before swinging a leg over to straddle his thighs.
“Wanted—” Clancy huffs, a little out of breath from the whole maneuver, “wanted you under me.”
Torch just smiles up at him, eyes filled with nothing but adoration, calloused hands coming around to rub up and down the expanse of Clancy’s back. He wants to put Torch in his pocket, wants to crack his ribs open and carve a Torch-shaped spot in his chest, wants to breathe with the same lungs. “You’re perfect,” Torch murmurs, leaning in to press kisses into his chest. “So, so perfect.”
Clancy shakes his head, desperately wanting to tell him no, I’m not, you have no idea, wants to give him the truth he deserves, but he can’t, not when he’s looking up at him like that.
Instead, he reaches behind him and takes Torch’s cock in his hand, guiding it inside himself as he sinks down. He lets out a long sigh of relief as he bottoms out, grabbing for anything to give him stability—he settles on the nape of Torch’s neck and the other arm across his shoulder.
Torch’s hands instinctively fly to just above his ass, pressing into the taut muscle as Clancy begins to move, grinding into Torch. They exchange breathy moans, Torch’s cheek flush against Clancy’s chest, sweat beginning to collect and stick his curls to his forehead. Clancy leans down and drinks in the scent, pleading to feel him in every way, in every universe.
Without warning, Torch is leaning backward, holding himself up with an elbow and pulling Clancy with him. And suddenly, before he can react, Torch bucks his hips up, fucking up and into him. Clancy’s eyes roll back into his head as he cries out, finding that tight heat inside him, hitting it over, and over, and over. His orgasm is quickly approaching, and he doesn’t want to stop it.
And then Torch’s free hand is on Clancy’s dick, pumping with no rhythm, but Clancy doesn’t care. It’s Torch and it feels good and it’s perfect.
“Tyler, baby, I’m so close,” Torch tells him, pupils blown wide and the swell of his lips parted and wet with spit.
Clancy’s breath hitches as he teeters ever so close to the edge. “Please, inside.”
“Yeah?” Torch asks, searching Clancy’s eyes for anything to lead him to the contrary. But all he finds is desire, love. Clancy nods.
“Fuck, Josh, please come inside me,” he pleads, and its more than enough to make Torch spill inside the wet heat of Clancy, gasping as he throws his head back.
Torch’s cock pulses with the aftershocks, nuzzled so deep inside Clancy it prods at his prostate with each movement, hand unwavering from pumping up and down Clancy’s length. And then he’s coming right after him, all over his fingers, his stomach, his chest. Clancy finds Torch’s mouth with his own, pressing a long, heated kiss, a thank you, an I’m sorry, an I’m going to miss you.
They stay like that for a bit, drinking in the other, blushing and smiling like this is new and novel. When they’re like this, it’s so easy to forget everything happening outside of the two of them. Right now, they are the only two living beings in Trench, in the whole world.
Then Torch is easing Clancy up and off of him before leaving the cot to retrieve a rag from the other side of the tent, cleaning himself off before returning to take care of his lover.
They change into comfortable clothes more suitable for bed, slotting perfectly into each other in Clancy’s cot, both of their bodies still bathed in warmth as they let sleep overtake them in each other’s arms. He’s never felt so safe, not in Dema, not with the banditos, not elsewhere in Trench. Torch’s grasp is a force field, shielding him from anything that could ever hurt him.
He wonders if he’ll ever feel this safe again.
Out of everything that had transpired that night, Clancy decides this feeling is his favorite. Seeing Torch in his rawest form—exhausted, blissed-out, and full of love—was enough of a privilege to last a lifetime.
Clancy waits until he hears the familiar soft snores come from Torch before wiggling out of his grasp. There is nothing he can do to change the course of the future, not anymore. But there is one thing he can try, the only thing he truly knows how to do.
He silently walks over to his belongings, pulling out a journal and a pen.
-
TB,
There is no way for me to explain myself in a way that you could understand. This was not a choice I took lightly.
I often find myself, throughout my life, walking across a thin line. Believer or skeptic. Citizen or escapee. Transient or bandito. Loner or lover.
In every one of those instances, the choice to pick a side has, in retrospect, felt relatively easy. Like there was never even a choice to begin with; just a reconciliation of what I want, and what I need.
This, however, is the first time my body’s on the line, and I cannot choose.
How I so desperately wish the circumstances could be different. How I wish it could just be you and I, Josh and Tyler, and not The Torchbearer and Clancy. But reality has plagued me once again with choosing between what I want and what I need to do. I cannot let this rebellion fail because of my selfishness.
I joined the rebellion knowing I could die while fighting for it. I have come to terms with that inevitability.
I used to be so scared of death, in part because I knew that’s what the Bishops wanted. But I have only recently uncovered another reason—the possibility of doing everything I believed to be good and right, just for my soul to be denied a final resting place.
And while I might not die tonight, or tomorrow, or in a year, no choice I have ever made or will ever make in the future will be as difficult as the one I have made now.
I can only hope that when my time comes, I’ll have a spot in an afterlife that has a space carved out, waiting for you. Because you are good, you are selfless, you are caring.
I am so very sorry I will not see you after the battle. I cannot subject you to my final form, I cannot let you see the horror I was designed for.
I can only ask you to keep the memories of who I was before.
-Clancy