Click—
The only sound that followed the pull of the trigger was a metallic snap.
"I emptied out the barrel. Before we left," Margaret said, her face shadowed by a grim expression.
"...."
Vanitas couldn't look at her.
"Don't take your own life," she added, stepping closer.
The silence between them grew heavy. His hand trembled around the empty weapon before he threw it away.
"...."
His gaze dropped to the bloodstained ground beneath him.
Margaret didn't speak. She simply stood there, watching him. Her own hands clenched at her sides, as if holding herself together.
Because if she didn't, who would?
She couldn't ask that of Vanitas.
"Just let me…" Vanitas whispered. "I won't truly die… I'll just return to a certain point in time…"
His voice was empty, as though he were trying to convince not Margaret, but himself.
Somewhere, deep within his twisted reasoning of his grief, he clung to the belief…
