I don’t look at the noose or at Ash in the Imp-pen. I can’t risk cracking my armour or blurring my clarity of purpose. I try not to think of the helicopter, the giant bonfire lighting up the faces of the rebels only last night. Nate by my side, his excited face. I just keep staring at the mass of brilliant, symmetrical eyes.
In the crowd, standing near the front, I see Willow, his face clenched by an unknown emotion which hovers somewhere between fear and love. Next to him is Alice, her hands playing nervously around her neck. And I realize I hate her too.
The hangman stands – a pillar of black – his hand cupped over the lever. I know that my armour won’t let me down. I won’t fall to pieces. Resolve hardens inside me and brings a welcome sense of calm. I climb the steps on to the wooden stage, stand on the trapdoor and let the hangman place the noose around my neck. I don’t know why, perhaps a last grasp at some sort of comfort to get me through the next five minutes, but my hand falls upon the chain in my pocket. I squeeze it as tightly as I can. There’s no place like home.
The President speaks again. ‘Imp. Your crimes are punishable by death.’
I look at Alice. Her eyes fill with tears, her philtrum with snot. She just can’t bear to see the canon complete, can’t bear to leave this godforsaken place. She has no idea that when she returns home, she will be being used by the President to serve the Gems by writing a pro-Gem sequel for the fandom. My jaw clenches, the empty feeling in my chest almost unbearable. I look away, and that’s when I see them, standing in the Imp-pen. Not just Ash, but Saskia and Katie too.
Katie looks beyond anxious, her knuckles white and threatening to slice through her skin as she runs her fingers through the red of her hair. We make eye contact and she manages a wink, like she’s back in that classroom listening to my presentation. Saskia looks devastated. Grief pulls her features together and tears drip from her chin. I fleetingly think how pretty she looks with all the anger bled from her face.
Next, I look at Ash. I wish I’d told him the truth, however crazy it would have sounded. I wish I’d told him about Comic-Con and the alternate universe and Willow and Alice . . . about everything. But most of all, I wish I’d told him I love him. Even if we live the rest of our lives oblivious to each other’s existence, at least for the tiniest of moments I could have looked into those gorgeous eyes and seen the truth reflected back at me.
The drum roll begins. Just like in canon. I turn to Willow. Any second now he will vault over the barrier and on to the stage, declaring his love for me. The drum roll gathers speed. Any second now . . . But he stands completely still, his hands trembling, his eyes closed.
My stomach falls away, my heart jackknifes. It never occurred to me that Willow would freeze. If he doesn’t say his lines, if the canon doesn’t complete, who knows what will happen. I will probably die on this rope and this universe and everyone in it – Ash, Saskia, Katie, even Alice – will just cease to be.
The drum roll builds, and yet Willow still doesn’t move. His eyes remain firmly closed, his lips vibrating slightly like he’s muttering a prayer. Perhaps it was the extra time he spent with Rose, fleeing across the Imp city, which solidified his feelings of love for her. Perhaps the fact he now stands beside Alice, a beautiful and fun replacement, weakens his resolve. Or perhaps current-Willow – my Willow – really is weaker than canon-Willow. Whatever the reason, I’ve failed. Hot tears stream down my face. I feel defeated, lost. All of this, everything, was for nothing.
Come on, I scream in my head. Come on, Willow. You have to do this.
The drum roll fills my brain, now louder than a firing squad. I look to Alice. I will her to intervene, to smack Willow around the head or something. But I know she thinks if the canon doesn’t complete, I will just die, and she will stay in this world. If only she knew the truth, if only I could explain it all to her.
The drum roll reaches its climax. And yet, still, Willow remains completely motionless, eyes tight shut, not even daring to look at me. I look back to Alice. She blinks at me slowly, almost vacantly, just waiting for my body to drop.
She’s chosen them over me.
The chain tumbles from my fingertips, just at the moment the drum roll stops. Silence. Except for the soft tinkle of the broken heart hitting the floor.
This is it.
I hold my breath and wait for the crack of the trapdoor as it flies open, the snap of the rope against my neck. But instead, I hear a voice. Loud and strong and filled with outrage.
‘STOP!’
I look up to see her. Leaping over the railings, vaulting on to the stage, her pale hair flailing around her face. Alice. She stands on the stage, her hands trembling, her chest rising and falling as she snatches a series of quick, shallow breaths. She stares at me for a moment. She looks so different, her beautiful face pinched with fear, all of that honey colour drained from her cheeks. And I notice it, in the dip where her collarbones never quite meet – the split-heart necklace, its jagged edge catching the sun. For a second, the guilt of doubting her engulfs me.
She nods at me slowly. We share a moment of understanding. Then, she turns to face the crowd.
‘My name is Alice. And the Imp you’re about to hang has a name. Violet. And she is the bravest and kindest person I have ever known. Imp or Gem, she is a human being.’ She quotes the canon almost word for word, sticking to the script for the first time ever. Her voice climbs above the walls of the Coliseum, daring anyone to disagree. ‘She isn’t a temptress, or a criminal. She is my best friend. And I love her with all my heart.’ She holds me with her inky blue gaze. ‘I love you, Violet.’
I hear the gasp from the President on the screen behind me. He knows he has lost. Alice longed to live as a Gem, to stay in this world, but she is giving it all up for me. I suddenly understand what Baba meant. This is Alice’s sacrifice, this is Alice’s love. There’s no way she will write a pro-Gem sequel now. I smile at her. The biggest smile I have.
I thought it would be difficult saying my final line, knowing what awaits – the tightening of the rope, the sudden jolt of pain – but it feels right, natural.
So without further ceremony, I fill the Coliseum not with thistledown, but with my voice.
‘I love you too.’
And finally, the trapdoor opens.
I’d imagined hanging as an all-encompassing pain – one which would fill every part of my being until it defined me, became me. But it actually feels quite precise. The noose tugging against my neck, the burning collar of fire, the downward pull of the weight of my body, my lungs desperately gasping for air, my feet cycling of their own accord, searching for solid ground. And I hear the screams of the crowd, changing from joy to outrage, washing over me in waves. The light dwindles and my vision is peppered with exploding stars.