The words echoed through my skull. It didn’t matter anymore. Freedom was inches away. The world didn’t need me anymore. I needed Pyralis. It didn’t matter what I needed. I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t be considered a pilot anymore. How long has it been since I felt the Moonrise below me? Who was I fighting for? Pyr wasn’t here.

I wanted my arms back. They had taken away my last link to her. The only thing in miles that could tell me she was alive.

Handler clicked her tongue, shaking her head in disapproval. Every fiber in my body felt wrong, out of place. I wasn’t right. I wasn’t a pilot. I knew that I wasn’t a pilot. I had lied.

She kicked my arms out of the way of the door, before walking out. Please. Come back. I’ll try again.

I’m sorry.

===

I had laid on the cold stone floor until I passed out. The sound of the conveyor belt delivering my food woke me up, but I refused to open my eyes, to be tempted by that reward. The food on the plate smelled delicious, and I didn’t deserve it.

My body yearned for the cold, the numbing sensation that eating that horrible meal would bring. It would have been so easy to dull the sensations away, to punish myself. Despite my yearning, I knew that I didn’t deserve that catharsis that the drugs would bring. It would be too good for me. I was a monster, and I deserved to feel this.

Today’s meal was different from usual. It didn’t smell like the beef and rice they gave me every day, with the odd vegetable. Something was familiar about it, and something nagged at me. I knew this smell.

Against my will, my eyes slid open, as I saw a delicate serving of stew. I recognized the sight immediately. Lark Stew.

It was my favorite childhood dish. My parents would make it for me when I was sick, my father having hunted the birds himself. My eyes watered as I took in the view. My mother would sing a song while cooking the bird, using every last bit. Honor its sacrifice. I missed her so much. I’m sorry that I never honored your deaths the way you deserved. You deserved a better daughter than me. One who would have learned the lessons you tried to teach me, before it was too late.

Why? Why had they given this to me? A taunt? I climbed to my knees to look at the food. They had given me utensils. I saw a familiar knife alongside the fork and spoon. A reward? A reminder?

I picked up the knife, feeling its newly honed edge. It had been sharpened. They had given me a real weapon, the same weapon I had used to threaten Thalia just yesterday. This was her knife. Trust?

A growl tore through the room as my stomach ached. I picked up the spoon, unable to resist tasting the stew. There was nothing out of the ordinary, from what I could tell. Just… stew. They weren’t trying to torture me, or hurt me. Just… feed me. Give me something I couldn’t resist. Comfort me. Thank you, little lark.

Another tear fell down my face as I took another spoonful of the broth. I didn’t deserve this. I was a monster. So many were dead at my hands, and here I was eating stew. They were breaking me, and here I was crying because they were giving me more than I deserved. It hurt more than the knife grinding on my insides, and the crushing reminder of my parents.

My next hour was spent slowly devouring the stew, cleaning off any bit of meat off the bones in the bowl. Every last bit had to be savored, appreciated. I licked the bowl and utensils clean, and left the tray in a clean pile by the door. Honor the dead.

I left the knife by the other utensils, before climbing under my thin sheet, still naked. The soup warmed my insides, comforting me while I huddled in my corner.

Click.

The door creaked open, as Handler stepped in. Her flame had died down to nothing but cinders now, as she looked at the cleaned meal laying at her feet.

“Hello, Elara.” Her voice sounded so calming, so inviting. Even without the drugs, her presence demanded my attention. She stood proud, her head held high. Above me.

She continued glaring at the silverware, before her pupils focused on me. “I notice you’ve left one of your gifts here, Callisto.” Handler bent over, picking up the knife. It felt so small in her hands, despite logically knowing she was only the slightest bit larger than me physically. “Did you not appreciate it?” Her voice was colored by a hint of sarcasm, as if making fun of me.

I shook my head, confused at what she meant by gift. “Why?” Monsters like me didn’t deserve gifts. It wasn’t mine to take. I couldn’t take more from Thalia. “It’s not mine,” I sputtered.

Handler clicked her tongue again, holding the knife out by the blade, the handle pointing at me. “She wanted it to be yours, Elara. It belongs to you,” she explained. Handler waved the handle at me, as if dangling a toy in front of a dog. “After all, pilot Elara is dead. She’s quite a big fan of mutt Elara, so I hear.” Handler didn’t even crack a smile, continuing to shake the knife in her hand.

Mutt. She was right. I didn’t want to be her. Elara the pilot, the commander, the rebel. She was dead, she had died when she pulled that trigger to save Pyralis. The last good thing she would ever do. All that was left was me. I would make up for her sins, fix what she couldn’t.

I began to stand, as she shot a look at me that made me feel that sense of not belonging again. This wasn’t how I was supposed to act. I was a dog. The pilot was dead. Captain Callisto would never pilot again. My knees hit the ground, as I crawled towards her. I swore I could see a faint smile on her face, which filled me with joy.

I’m not even drugged.

She crouched a little to reach me, as she held the handle out sideways. I took it in my mouth, slobbering a bit on the composite material handle. I quickly crawled back, depositing it on my little sheet. Mine.

“I have another gift for you, mutt,” Handler said. The word still sent shocks through me. It meant that I had been bad. I had only ever used that word with Pyralis when she was misbehaving. I wanted to be better than a mutt. A dog. Her dog. I turned to see what she meant.

Handler was holding a large syringe, filled with a bright green liquid. Sunshine. I had seen them put it into my arms during sessions, and seen the liquid be prepared for my sessions. The syringe she was holding was brighter, and looked like more than twice my usual dosage. “Come here, Elara. Sit.” I didn’t think twice before making my way to sit in front of Handler. I would be better. I would be forgiven for my mistakes.

I watched as she quickly stabbed me in the jugular, injecting the whole syringe quickly into my bloodstream. The effects immediately sent me reeling, as everything suddenly felt so bright. I felt the pressure on my mind, just out of sight, shatter through, as I looked up.

If yesterday, Thalia had been as bright as the sun, staring at Handler was like watching a million supernovas at once. She was brilliant, and her presence made me feel like my skin was searing off, leaving everything inside for her to see. For her to mold.

The light shined through my head, my eyes felt like they were going to burst behind the pressure of my mind. Everything wanted to rush out, leave the little cavern hidden within my skull. Seconds felt like millenia as I felt I watched a million cycles of the moon pass. I was so small in comparison to her.

“What are you?” It feels like a god is speaking to me. Demanding the truth, my soul burning at even the slightest thought of keeping it from her. The thoughts never belonged to me.

I’m a mutt. I’m nothing but a mutt.

“What do you want?”

This one is hard. I don’t know what I want. I want to be good. I want to be forgiven. I want to see Pyralis again. I want my arms back.

I feel like I am being broken apart, as Handler gets closer to me. My mind is peeled back before her, her brilliance shining into my mind. I am nothing but a speck of sand in the desert before me, a note in her symphony. She is everything. I would play her tune, spread her love, embrace her flame.

She begins to leave, and like a moth to a flame I follow her out of the room. I don’t dare stand, crawling behind her, her shadow covering me. The darkness it brings is beautiful, oblivion consuming my mind as I can no longer think. My thoughts go blank as all I can do is follow, let her bathe me in her flames. Be baked and burned anew by her radiance.

Sometime after I begin following her, I realize that I’m holding my little sheet and the knife in my mouth. The blade feels at home between my teeth, having been graced by her holy touch. The ground I walk on feels blessed, the sound of her boots hitting the ground pounding through what remains of my mind.

Before I could even begin to recognize where we were going, I heard a door close behind me. I looked up to see Handler, gesturing to the room ahead. Turning my head to look, I was in awe. It was beautiful, the sad gray walls of the last room now paled in comparison to the stars painted across the room here. A large painting of the moon sat above a bed, set with a proper mattress and blankets. In the corner of the room laid a cage, roughly three times my size. Handler nodded, as I crawled over to the bed and set my sheet on top of it, before laying the knife on a nearby dresser.

It was for me. She had it made for me. It wasn’t my old arms, or Pyralis, but it was something all for me. Handler’s love filled the room, and I felt forgiven. I felt home. The walls lit up at her presence, the stars almost surrounding her as she stood so proud in the doorway.

“Why?” I felt the words slip out of my mouth. I felt disgusted at myself for questioning her, but the curiosity won out. A monster like me didn’t deserve this. I wasn’t a good dog.

She looked at me, her attention piercing through me. “Using every piece to its fullest potential,” she said calmly. “Honoring the dead, in some sense.” I immediately understood what she meant.

I was nothing but a carcass. Meat. Remains of Elara Callisto. I would be used, cared for, pampered. Cooked down to my basest parts, and become a part of Handler’s symphony. She wasn’t breaking me, she was refining me. The flesh picked off my bones, stewed until I was a beautiful bowl of broth. Metal refined into a blade for her use.

The thought filled my heart with joy.

It didn’t matter what came before, as long as everything was used to its fullest. I didn’t know what life the Lark had lived before it became nothing but food for me. Something to be used, honoring its memory without ever being able to understand it. Picking up a broken weapon from your enemy and making it yours, turning the barrel away from you.

Handler would make use of her lark.