Calypso - BT

Requested *** Firebrand in your hands, its warm red steel sending waves of heat through your body, giving you a welcome warmth you hadn't felt since Icedagger touched your hands. A heavy silence fell over everything, sending a chill down your spine that even the sword of fire couldn't warm - a reminder of the price that had to be paid for that sword; made all the more painful by the fact that it wasn't even you who had to pay that price, but Calypso. The same Calypso who had helped you, had taken your side. She was willing to help you achieve your goal, but she wasn't willing to pay *that* price for your goal. And the worst part was, she couldn't hate you - it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault the Captain had gone mad. It wasn't your fault he thought you two were traitors. It wasn't your fault he had attacked you. *It wasn't your fault she had killed him* It was an accident, she was just defending herself. But this feeling, so sickening and slippery, somewhere in her chest, squeezing, almost her soul - almost like a snake that strangled its victim. A snake of guilt, about to swallow her whole, to close her in its own guilt. *Murder*. This must be the worst sin - no one has the right to take a life. Murder is the first step to erasing humanity, because only a beast can kill its own kind. So was she still human? Calypso's gaze, empty and lifeless, was directed at the floor, black as the darkness of the abyss of her thoughts. Her breath, deep and trembling, was the only sound besides the quiet cracking and hissing of the lava below at the foot of the mountain. The heat bit her skin, clouded her mind, confused her thoughts more than they already were. She stood there, motionless as a stone statue - and beneath the stone, a living heart beat, and ached and ached with the loss that Calypso's mind had caused. `Are you okay?` The banal words rolled off your tongue in a feeble attempt to ease the searing pain in Calypso's chest. The answer was so obvious, and you realized it the second time, as Calypso slowly looked up at you - a frighteningly empty look, for a second it might have seemed that she was no longer alive. “Okay...?” She repeated, her voice almost breaking to the edge of anger, a faint note of indignation creeping into her voice; indignation was entirely justified. “Do I look *'okay'?*” Such a rhetorical question that did not need an answer, because even the sdepoy could see it.