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The Hardest Part by Keya

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A thousand regrets deep under fire
While the ashes stain my heart, sheds my desire

She was supposed to own a heart of frozen clay, unbreakable, unable to fracture. She was supposed to be the guide, with dry tears and no candy sugar hurts. She was supposed to be the protector, but she failed, and in some ways, never could win because destiny would trade a thousand happy tears to make those drops bitter and cold.

She learned the hardest lessons in life with a grace born from being an immortal hunter and what she was supposed to be, she was and the hardest part she would ever have to face would be herself, the mistakes she had made.

One such wrong settled before her feet, the grave rich, packed down, stamping away the tiny person it held. The headstone, a plain unmarked cross, carried the weight of what Anna could never do and most likely never will do, because it would be a confession that she vowed never to utter.

I can't let go of the past, I just can't
But the hardest past is admitting that I have

But it was her evil, her fault. Guilt was a heartache that never truly faded even after all these years. "Send down an angel," she whispered, "And give me another second chance."

"Was it worth it?" Anna asked herself, "Was it worth the price of losing something you'll never get back, never hold, never hear the words others cherished as deeply as you yearn for blood?"

Anna looked up. There was no answer scribbled on the clouds or the stars or the moon. No answer because the fates decided the question should never be explained or reasoned, because she was the protector, nothing more and everything less.

She touched a single white rose to her lips and placed it down, a sob threatening to break free, but she held it back. She was unworthy of tears, unworthy of even being here, but she had to see, had to say goodbye one more time.

"I'm sorry," Anna mouthed, "I'm so sorry."

Dangerous pleasures brings dangerous results
And when everything is said and done
When the past comes back to haunt
Does it matter that I failed?

Slowly, she got to her knees, stooped forward, brushed her cheek to the soil, feeling below the tiny presence sleeping the eternal slumber. Was it worth the price?

She stayed like that for the longest time. And when finally she mustered up the strength to go, she gradually walked away from the grave that held her own daughter, the babe that had been dead in her arms, stillborn, so long ago.

Was it worth the price of being in hell?

The End
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