1,2,3,4. 1,2,3.4. 1,2,3,4. Somewhere in the background, unseen, unheard, a woman clad in crimson tapped. She sat upon a barrel, a journal of leather in her hands. She counted down every other second, her expression silent, serene. A finger tapped on the side of the barrel, a quiet, hollow sound unnoticed by the throngs. She watched as they led him to the gallows, as the noose tightened, as the lever was gripped.
She saw, and she dared not blink; at this, which was the moment of one end. Sacred, sacrilege; sisters and one and the same. Neither bore forgetting. Neither bore missing. She did not protest, even as others did, even as one sought to intervene. The time had passed.
1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4. A countdown of life. Time remaining. Promises and hires, unfulfilled. Jobs never taken, histories split. How many paths might have opened? How many now fell into the echelons of the never-was, like sand, like dust?
Not so long ago had it begun. And now... the end. 1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.
The hands wrapped around the lever. Muscles strained. In an instant, her hair stood on end, her breath caught.
"In the space between one breadth and the next, the moment between one heartbeat and the last; there stands a man named Alec," she breathed.
1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.
1
2
3
CRACK.
In an instant, like lightning, like mist, a man and his infinite potential faded to nothing.
And the Lamb of the Lord bowed her head, for she saw that it was evil, and shed but a single tear.
And again; "In the space between one breadth and the next, the moment between one heartbeat and the last; there stood a man named Alec."
"Welcome home, Alec."
