I surged over the table, knife wielded dangerously in my hand and aimed at Delaney’s heart. He blocked the fatal blow with his hand, hissing as it was shoved nearly halfway through. He tumbled back in his chair, and I landed just to the side of him with a loud crash. He pulled the knife free with a curse and threw it to the side, instead immediately deciding to go for my throat, wrapping his large hands around my neck and applying an agonizing amount of force.

“I was wondering when the time would come,” he hissed out. “Can’t say I thought it’d be this soon.”

He grabbed my head with a single large hand just to slam it against the floor. My vision swam, the world a little blurrier than before.

He pulled me forward only to slam me back against the floor again. I was dizzy, so very confused and lost for the moment, but I noticed Atticus's expression as he observed the struggle. The blank, emotionless state of his face confirmed my suspicions; he was on no one's side but his own. 

I couldn’t blame him for it.

"You can't possibly think this is a fight you can win," Delaney hissed. "You have a strong heart, but that doesn't mean shit in a fight. Give this whole charade up and you'll get to keep your life. I might even forgive you for it."

“Fuck you,” I panted out. I took a shot at his throat knuckles first and, when he blocked the attack, I shifted for just enough leverage to knee him in the crotch. 

He sucked in an abrupt breath of pain, loosening his grip for a second only to tighten it a moment later when I attempted to twist out from under him. The blow must have been considerably strong because Delaney took a long time to recover, his face pinched and his movement, while still strong, noticeably weakened.

We grappled, both of us trying to get the killer edge that was held from a distance from either of us; myself debilitated by dizziness and Delaney by what was no doubt agony running through his otherwise powerful frame. The blood from his hand was dripping all over my face and chest, smears of red decorating every place those corrupted palms touched.

I couldn’t help the smile that mutated my face if I tried.

From the corner of my eyes, I watched as Angelica raised the previously discarded knife above her head, the wicked edge the bullet and the back of Delaney's head the target. I watched her hesitate, watched her hands shake and her eyes quiver as she stood there, those beautiful orbs no doubt cycling through each and every outcome. Each and every way everything could go wrong and right. Each and every way her heart might shatter for good or mend into something forever unbreakable. 

I don't know what she saw, but her breath emptied at the same time the blade slipped from her grasp to clatter to the ground beside me. She curled over, gripped her head with either of her hands, and sobbed.

"Lamb..."

I didn't know what I had been expecting, but it was enough.

With Delaney temporarily distracted by the sound of the knife hitting the ground and Angelica’s weeping of devastation, I reached for the knife in one moment and, within the next, its blade was shoved into Delaney's chest. Delaney groaned, lurching backward out of reflex that turned out to be no good as I followed the movement.

“You stupid bitch—”

The words were interrupted by a cry of pain that resonated loudly in the limited space of the dining area. Similar cries continued to ring fruitfully, beautifully, as I sent the knife into his chest again and again and again.

Again, again, again.

Blood splatter coated the floors and walls, my hands and face, everything. My already scarlet dress was painted an even darker shade of red with every violent movement. It was lovely, even better than the painting I had fabricated in the atrocity that was my thoughts and mind. Two pairs of eyes burned into my back from where I sat straddled on the body that was only growing limper as the seconds passed. I savored the scorching sting as his flesh split and opened for me as easily as severing the wings from a fly.

It felt good; so good, in fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel so good again. All things eventually came to an end though, so, with a sigh and one last plunge of the knife, I paused to take in the exhibit beneath me.

Delaney stared back at me with lidded eyes, still somehow drawing breath no matter how shaky and faint.

“Just like a fucking Valorian,” he managed to say through a throat full of gore. “Well played. You…You took back your life. Doesn’t it feel so…so good…?”

I didn’t bother to refute his claim because we both knew it'd be a lie. Instead, I turned to Angelica who still stood a little behind me and off to the side. My stare was expectant as I ignored the continued ramblings of Delaney who still lay bleeding out beneath me. Moving to kneel beside his soon-to-be corpse, I beckoned the girl closer and handed her the knife.

Angelica took it slowly, gently, as if cradling a small, helpless animal. She straddled Delaney’s chest in the same way I had, lifting the knife for perhaps the second time in her entire life, trembling and crying as Delaney sluggishly ran his hands up her thighs, along her waist, and eventually all the way up to cup her cheeks. 

He smiled at her fondly, whispering, “my beautiful, sweet, innocent little Dove—“

Angelica’s nightgown was decorated deep crimson where it’d once been white as she shoved the knife down Delaney’s throat, whimpering softly as Delaney convulsed around the vicious violation. The man, the source of all of my most painful memories, most painful nightmares and waking dreams, finally went completely still, his eyes bloodshot but faded. It was eerie, and it felt more like a work of fiction than real life.

I wondered if it would ever truly sink in.