Complete freedom.

W.M had started thinking too much and now it hadn’t stopped. Guilt and shame were at least part of it; at the things they’d done, the way they felt, after everything. What they’d been complicit in. What they hadn’t done. Every problem under the sun. The realization that this wasn’t the way things were meant to be, the way they’d actually wanted them to be. The realization that they had coasted off of impulsiveness and childish tendencies, had believed things would play out as they did in pipe dreams and fairy tales. That they had believed in a world where everything played out the way it was supposed to — deterministic — but having trouble coming to grips with ultimate chaos.

…Yeah, complete freedom. That was the gist of it, anyway — the pretense by which they had kept the oil burning this long, that which had fueled the machinations that led to the point of their escape. …Looking out over grey waters, though, left them wondering; what won freedom was this, really? A freedom alone, loomed by fear, by always the thought that death laid bare mere heartbeats away if it so chose. A freedom poisoned by overthinking. Was liberty such as this real liberty?

Even the animal inside, the remnants of what was first Basilisk, dying as it was even as its human twin clung harder to its heels like a loving parasite, begging for its help — as the very act of doing so subsumed it further and further into the fold of their humanity, tinged by all of its complex knowledge, and burdens, hopes, dreams, fears and loves, taught it more it never wished to know, forced it to keep thinking — even the animal knew this was no life, no real life. The animal contemplated existence, now, given the time and space, only to be tortured by the act of doing so. Unfair. Cruel. The true animal was unshackled by the burdens of looking so far forward, did not care to consider every consequence of every thought and action and every regret and did not map out these webs of difficult emotion — and instead was blessed with their relative ignorance, fit to seize their days and live within the confines of their conscious existence rather than be driven mad by existential musings, be driven to inaction by grief, worry, and despair. They knew but one singular and true objective; to live, and thus, to die. Time to die.

Human-people wanted to do that, too; but living for them was far more complicated, built up and shackled upon pillars of neuroses which beast, as it were, was never meant to experience in the same way. We have our worlds and our worlds apart.

But W.M. — oh, how they were beginning to loathe the moniker more every day, as the conditions under which they’d been christened it and embraced it and which they sought, even thrived in, had faded, as the beast rejected them, begged for rest — for a last kindness — W.M. liked feeling. Saved you. Save me. W.M. liked thinking, even. Sure, sometimes both things were painful, even incredibly so, and not always right or rewarding; but still, it was nice to love and to be loved on a level as complex as this — not mere instinct, or less-difficult emotion, or even genetic obligation, but on a fundamentally deeper level. One which Basilisk didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. Don’t understand. No need. Knew your love. Loved them, saved them. Saved you. The deal. My end. Now, you save them. Now, you save me.

It had taken them a long time to come to the conclusion, but it had come nonetheless, only after all of this time and all of the misery inflicted upon not just them but others too; among them, others they cared about. Maybe most people they knew weren't in the picture anymore, were dead, or gone — but there were still their traveling companions and, if there were to ever be another miracle in their life, maybe even ████ — God, they'd never even thought about how much they missed her, loyal friend as she once was, one of the last of a dying breed (that being, people who could put up with W.M.'s bullshit, particularly then, even across such a distance and across so much time). Really, they had found themselves missing their human-life for the first time they ever had; had spent their whole life praying for release from their human shell, and now that they’d gotten it, in their own way, felt… lost.

Everything was overwhelming. Nothing they thought had once made sense made sense, and nothing they were thinking now made any sense either, a spill of mental waste that signified nothing and meant even less.

Save me. The voice was crystal clear. Unmistakable. Firm and pleading.

How?

Let go.

I can’t.

Not true.

I need you.

Needed.

I still do.

Not true. You need not me, you need you. You need them.

...My whole life I often felt like an outsider, was treated poorly by a lot of people. People who should have known better. When I could finally be wanted, and be needed, and reap the rewards of that and everything else... I would have done anything to keep that, and I did. I did all of it. And sometimes I liked it.

And then I started having second thoughts. I got to really understand what went on down there, the real cost of everything. The pain, the fear, the fury. Agony. The true face of Hell. That's why I did what I did then, why I planned to do what I was going to do, burning the damn thing down. I guess I thought I would be different, because— because up to that point I'd been so lucky. I thought I'd be the hero, I guess. But I shouldn’t have considered myself above other people. And when I was caught, I chose to beg. Not even really for forgiveness, but for the opportunity for penance. Not penance for the company, penance for me. For everyone who suffered, because of me; because of what I did and what I didn't do, because of my choice to serve the company. And, yeah, some part of me wanted to see my project through to the end even then. Besides, I thought I was a strong person. I'd suffered before, this would just be more of it, and then maybe they'd see how good I was at suffering and decide to take me back. And maybe this time, I could do it right. Suffering with intent. Some part of you, with all its bluster, thinks you can take the pain. Until it happens to you, I guess you don’t realize how bad it is, no matter how bad you think it is. And all the testing after that I was willing to put up with if one day I got out, if they put me back; and when I was freed, I was willing to stay this way, if I could adapt. But I couldn't. And seeing my body? ...And when we were killing, when we were surviving, I didn’t get to put much thought to how much I kind of liked being who I was — I already went through the identity crisis thing in college, for god’s sake. I don’t even know what I want anymore. ...God. What I’m saying doesn’t make any sense; the way I feel doesn’t, either. I feel different every moment.

It is tough. I know it is hard for you. I know you have done bad things. But you have done good things too, and you can do more. You, you are human. You know that for sure now. Human is an animal, but not like I. Human is different. Not better, but special. You can help people in ways far better than I and that is what they need right now from you. In being special, you have one life this way, and so must live it. Could have done better, I agree, but it is not the case that everyone does. Even fewer make the change, make the realization. Make it the case for you.

But I’m not human. Not anymore. There's nothing left to change.

The body, no. My body. Not my body. Your mind, still human.

…A human mind in an animal body reads animal to me.

Human is animal. Human is human. Humans look different.

One terrible human, then.

Does not matter. All humans, terrible sometimes. Many ways, you taught me. I learned, before. But humans can be good, too. Humans have special experience in the world, learn more than I. I do not want to know these things. You do.

…I don’t want to say goodbye.

No one ever does. Hard. You know as much already, many times before. I know as much. They know, too. Always hard. But necessary, every time. Never forever.

I regret.

I too.

I regret too much.

I too regret.

I’m sorry.

No need. Either way, I'd forgive.

I didn’t mean to be this way. I didn’t want to mean any of it. I didn’t want this to be my life. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not them, not you, not anybody.

Maybe you did, maybe didn’t. Either way, doesn’t matter now. Born again. Always time to change. And cease to speak in past tense. There is time yet.

…Okay.

Good.

You really think I can do it, don’t you?

I do. You have what you need. For everything else, look inside — at you, not I. People need people. Even people need animals, or the other way around, but not this way. This is no path for us. You go. Live for others. Live for them. They love you, you love them. Maybe you think you are always bad at helping them but you are not. Just need to try. Whatever you decide you need, to get by. But live. Believe in you. Much as I can.

Thank you.

By design, a thankless job. Merely survival, necessary of all beasts. That which drives us forward, even you. Perhaps you give me too much credit. How much of it was you? You are a thinker. Think about it. In any case, appreciated. If only to sate you.

…I love you.

…Did you hate me?

No, no hate. Hate many, not you. Maybe did, at one point; but you became me. Were me. I understand now. Understand you. Understand You taught me many things. I did not want to know them. But, still fun. Chance not given to other animals. Perhaps, the only animal who has ever regret, ever worried, as you do. Who has ever loved, as you do. Who has ever felt as you do.

Did you hate loving?

No. Loved loving. Best thing learned from you, probably. Maybe, one thing glad to learn. Depth of your love, bottomless. Even primal. Special. Respectable. Like looking on the eye of the world. You think I never understood, but I did. And I am changed by the knowledge.

…Were you ever even here? Real? Or did I just want to believe that you were?

Ha. Real? Was I? Was I an excuse to deal with the actions you took, that you felt you had to? To cope with your own pain? Your life, your indecision, whatever else? Does it matter? Really? Think about it. If the idea of a story helps you, then I was made, lived what I could. Some lives are better than others. The wheel revolves. Now, your turn. You live life, much as you can. Make it a good one. Your wheel revolves, one day. Maybe, you rejoin us, then if that is what you wish, you can truly be happy, return to what you were. Or maybe, you are happier human. Maybe even something else. And perhaps even we meet again. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, at least one of us is a lucky one. Believe what you want.

W.M. let out a deep sigh, almost reflexively, the act of it itself felt out of their control; an exhale so deep, in fact, that the strain of it twisted about their heart like the coils of a constrictor, could drive them to tears, almost — and pulsed deep in their chest long after they had begun to breathe normally once again.

…

…

…

Goodbye.

No reply, no answer but the sound of the fathoms, quiet as a cradle.

Orange eyes snapped open.