Plunging the knife deep into herself, Ana prays to the powers that be, to all the deities that rule over creation to grant her strength, to bear witness to her sacrifice for the brave woman in her lap.
Her mouth moves fast, speaking the familiar mantra from the sacred tongue she has learned since young. Each of them a plea, begging the very world to bend and see.
She wanted to cry every time the thought of catastrophe enters her mind, but refuses herself the emotion, crushing it alongside the idea that causes it. I won't fail; she insists to herself.
Quinn tries to stop her, to get her to do nothing to let her go. However, Ana is unwilling and unable to do so, not when she's sure this course of action will save Quinn from certain doom.
So, she persists, ignoring the woman's hand no matter how tempted she was to reach out and comfort her. But unchanging still, Quinn keeps calling to Ana, forcing their eyes to meet once again.
And Ana can't bear the sadness in her orb, an acceptance and gratefulness that reflect nothings but one thing to her: Quinn means to give up, and she wanted Ana to do the same. But why? Ana can't help but ask as she continues to repeat the prayer, though she already loses some of her conviction.
She never knew the woman to be the one to give up before, the rumors about her and what Ana has personally observed so far certainly signals to the extreme opposite of said reality.
Yet, here she is. Laying on her lap, tired and defeated; prepared to move on. And if she's ready, then surely: Ana should let her go, even when she doesn't want to. At any rate, why does my opinion matter? Again, she asked herself. I'm nothing to her. And the quick answers cause her naught but pain in her chest, drawing her attention there to see—a miracle—a blinding light, brilliant and warm, though not oppressive like the sun.
It was a sign that the Great Mother listen and is keen to grant her wish, so long as she's willing to finish what she has started. With that thought in mind, Ana regains her will, and have them redoubled by the radiance.
The sentence she belabors over and over burns her throat with non-existence smoke now, cooking her tongue in fire imaginary. Her jaw's hurting, begging for her to stop, the glimmer in her breast disappears with each reiteration of the prayer.
She knows what will happen to her when she finishes, yet it doesn't halt her. The possibility for a permanent consequence to her body and mind doesn't cause her to falter, the opposite of it, in fact.
The valor she held in her soul grew greater and greater until finally, in a supernova, it explodes, leaving none but crater and rubble in the space where her heart should be, and darkness where the light once was.
Quinn stands, she fell.
And Quinn catches her savior, their place reversed now. The revelation causes her nothing but immense distress and turmoil, begging the deities above for anything except the truth that the Matriarch—Ana just shown her.
She would much prefer whatever else, any other certainty but this. She watches the woman chest rises slowly, calmly, as if the sleep she's having are not triggered by significant injury and exhaustion.
There's nobody around them, and even if there was; the sound of the battle nearby will be more than enough to serve as a distraction. Here she is, the person she was sent to kill by her client, defenseless and weak.
All she needs to do is take out the small dagger hidden in her boots and slice her neck, and she shall have the friendship of a malleable crown prince who will owe her a favor beside.
Just imagining what she can do with that kind of power, that sort of influence to a burgeoning kingdom that just survives a civil war, causes a little impish smile to play on her lips.
The only thing required to be done, the one obstacle between her and that amazing of a prize is the Matriarch, Ana Monte. Which means, there's only one matter left to be done by her.
With speed, she pulls out the small dagger and hovers it over the woman's neck, aiming it carefully to the place she knew will generate the most bleeding. She won't even suffer for that long, a few seconds at most.
When the thought occurs to her. "I apologize, Matriarch." Quinn creases her brow. "You don't deserve to suffer at all," As she slowly, kindly, reluctantly, raises the blade then plunges it down.
A beat stops her dagger, a hairbreadth away from Ana's nape. She's familiar with the noise, it was the sound of a heart scared and helpless. An innocent perhaps, watching her about to commit the act.
Unwilling to let anyone know of this crime of her, she looks over the area carefully, studying each branch and bushes with suspicion and straining her ears to its limit, trying to uncover the source.
But there's no one around, only Ana and her.
It's her heart that's beating that fast, that frightened. Why? She grimaces, finding now answers. Hesitantly, she confirms the hypothesis by touching her own chest, ruling the theory true.
Not only that, but her cheek's wet; her breathing's shallow, fast, and uncontrolled. Emotions she so carefully conceal and diligently employs now run amok, seeking revenge by destroying her faculties and capabilities at making rational decisions.
She grits her teeth, trying to win a war that she already lost inside her head by forcefully pushing the dagger down using her prostheses, but her real hand refuses to budge, not allowing the blade to move an inch closer to her savior.
In frustration, she screams and threw the dagger away, planting it deep into a tree trunk as she sighs, giving up.
Losing all her will for bloodshed, Quinn smiles turn wry and almost sheepish as she looks at Ana's face. "You will be okay, Matriarch. I won't harm you, not now, not—"—ever. She stops herself before she says it.
"Not now," she repeats as she pulls the dagger free from between her ribs. "Pinky promise." And heals her with what little knowledge of medicine and spell she has in her repertoire.
Only after she's sure the Matriarch wouldn't die on her as she carries her body back to the encampment does she rise. "Now!" Bringing Ana with her in a princess carry. "Let's go home." With an almost sincere smile adorning her face.