It didn't take long for them to find a way to corner death—but death didn't take long to strike back against them. Shadows came in all colors, and it wasn't until shadows claimed their own that life became deeper than that. Every shadow that twisted and turned, moving in their own light, was after Philip. They both aided and hindered the group as they ran through the hallways, Nicholas just a bit behind Colette as they rounded a corner, the Queen at their heels. Behind them, better shooters were keeping the guards at bay. Philip's legs ached, blood still dripping from the one. He struggled to catch up to the rest of them while trying to reload his gun. The small cartridge shook in his hands as he rounded the corner, slipping it into place and cocking the barrel back, pressing it tightly together and waiting for the click.

Philip's foot nearly slipped as he stopped to shoot behind him, striking a guard who'd came too close. The sound ricocheted more than any bullet could. With every second the Queen's chance of escape closed and their chances of winning grew. Her heels clanked against the floor, the sound only matched by Colette's heels and Philip's clumsily loud steps. Nicholas was like a ghost across the floor, moving swiftly.

I can't do this...oh god, I'm running out of breath. Keep going, I need to protect Nicholas and Colette. Mind over matter, that was the only way he could focus, could keep going. I might die today, Momma.

"Well, I guess you want to know yourself then. You've always been a bit of a pervert, yeah?" Junie hadn't known that his words would spark something inside of Philip. Junie had long gone—sent to another part of the Nixes, somewhere Philip wouldn't see him for a long time now. "But you'll never see me again."

"Why?"

Life took away answers and breathed confusion where it shouldn't. Yet as Philip ran through the open door to a new room, all that was on his mind was a friend he'd chased after one day. A coworker, really, who's life had changed Philip's. As he turned and locked the door, barricading it from the gunfire and noise of the outside, Philip realized what he'd done.

The Queen was there, trapped by Colette and Nicholas.

Shadows had breathed into the room a confusion that strangled and swept those who dared question it off their feet. Colette's weapon was gone, knocked to a corner where the dark had devoured it. Nicholas held his up, high, and the Queen too held a weapon, a tight looking pistol that seemed more than capable of killing in her dainty hands. Light streamed in the room in thin lines from where a window had been busted from the explosions. Chairs lay broken, cast aside, just enough room for them all to be. I'm here. I'm watching history, he realized, holding up his gun as he straightened up next to the door. Right behind him was the shouting, the confusion of Nixes and Royal Guards alike. Gunshots rang but it was an explosion from the outside that caught them off guard.

He flinched, holding his arms before his face, and in the split second before he looked up everything had changed. More light shifted into the room yet none was shed on the situation, where life had taken every ounce of crap it could retain and threw it up on them.

"You want to join?" she'd asked. She'd sounded so sure then, so powerful.

Philip wasn't powerful. "What, me?" he remembered asking, the words hanging in his throat.

A laugh, accompanied by bells, or was that just her? Philip couldn't know. All he knew was the sly smile as she'd asked, "Well, do you like the world as it is?"

Back then his answer was a lie.

Now, it was the only truth he knew.

Philip didn't like choices—he preferred having time to think, his options being things that were very far away and black and white, and the choice to be fairly evident upon first look. The fork had dropped not in the road, but in a back room with dull purple curtains and a deep black fringe across the walls. Philip, true to his nature, didn't like forks. Spoons, he thought, his eyes wild and breath heightened, I prefer spoons. I don't like forks. Don't give me forks. Give me a spoon.

Around him was a room of three. Each person stood frozen in time, their eyes scattering back and forth, chests heaving. Outside, keeping off the royal guards with the door pushed firmly shut and locked, gunfire and yelling could still be heard. Philip took a few steps away from the door, moving forward, gun held up on guard. With every wasted second Philip was watching the world burn. In his hands was a gun, pointed at Queen Elaine, her wild blonde hair tossed about from the immaculately styled half up, half down bun it'd been tossed into. The painstaking decorative details on each eye dusted with blood, the makeup that had been so cautiously applied was in disarray, her lipstick smudged, her mascara the only remaining perfection for the queen. It was her forehead that he had aimed towards, the gun only ten feet away in total, close enough to hear every whispered breath that fell from her no longer perfect lips. The anger that radiated off her was enough to fuel a thousand vehicles.

"Why are people angry, Momma?"

"I don't know, Philip. I think some people are just born that way."

"Can you help them?" he asked, looking up from a scribbling of a snake. It seemed to slither across the page, each color bright and vivid. Perfect only in the eyes of a parent. "Can I help them?"

She sighed softly, reaching down and picking up a snack off the counter. "You know," she said, swallowing, "I think the only people that can help them are themselves."

Nicholas stood just six feet away to the left of Philip, farther from the Queen, gun raised but unsteady. What should have been a composed man had become one of red stained eyes and a face that wouldn't cry but wanted too—one that shook every muscle as he tried to hold them firm, his body forced, every movement broken. His eyes were caught on another, just ten feet away from him, nine feet away from Philip, the one held in a death grip by the Queen.

"Just let her go," Nicholas cried. Hair fell into his face and he nudged it up with a sweep of his head, voice cracking as he repeated himself a second, then a third time.

The Queen wouldn't budge, holding the gun tight against Colette's head. The strong blonde looked forward, her eyes torn between Nicholas and Philip. "Drop your weapon or I'll kill her!" she barked. "Drop it!"

Philip didn't waiver.

His gun would stay; his mission was sound. I have to kill her. Kill her, or everyone's deaths have been in vain. Kill her or it's worthless. Colette was there, her life hanging in balance, but Philip knew that life under the Queen's rule she would never be happy. She'd be hung within the next few days, no less, the same with everyone else. No amount of Nixes in the world would give them that chance again. Sure, it might survive, but the reign could end there. I can't risk this.

Nicholas dropped his gun, his knees dropping with it. The only thing left standing was his head, which hung high, staring up at his mother's face in desperation. With it came the slightest tear, escaping the corner of one eye before being followed quickly by more. "I surrender," he whispered, "now let her go."

"Ah, ah, ah!" Elaine sing-songed, pointing with one finger towards Philip. "Drop it, or I'll shoot her."

"What do I do if I've got two choices and both are right?"

His father stretched his lips into a fine line before taking a large sip of tea. "I don't know," he said. Flipping a page in his book, he shrugged. "What do you do, Philip?"

A long pause came, but Philip knew his answer easily.

"You choose."

Shooting the Queen meant the mission would succeed. I'd be a hero. I'd have been the one to defeat Elaine. Philip had never gotten the chance to be important. He was a no one, a person who leaned on the line instead of going all in or all out. I'd truly serve my country.

"Drop the gun, Philip," Nicholas said.

It meant defying Nicholas. My leader...the one who truly deserves this position, the son of this wretched woman. Colette's mouth opened but her words were lost to Philip amid the noise. The Queen, her gun tight against Colette's head, yelled for him to put down his weapon. Nicholas, tears ruining his composure, screaming to let her go, to put down the gun. And Colette, words on her tongue, filling the air, something brave and inspiring no doubt.

"Drop it!" Elaine's voice mimicked her sons, waving the gun around for just a second before pressing it back against Colette's head. The girl's eyes screamed for something to happen, for the tension to end.

Nicholas wouldn't stop—he pressed forward, screaming basically. "Drop the gun, Philip!" He knows she'll die if I don't. Shooting meant possibly killing Colette. He'd never forgive me if she died. Their words came over and over again, non stop blaring through his mind. The world stopped and all time ended for a moment as Philip held his breath, the choices before him. It was time to pick up the fork given.

"What do you do, Philip?"

Philip knew what to do, how to do it, and why to do it, but that didn't make the decision any easier. For the first time in his life, Philip's decision hung on his own advice. He didn't dare breath, didn't dare let his choice be known to any. Then, his shoulders slacked, his head looked up, away from the top of the gun. Colette caught his gaze.

"You choose."

Philip's eyes closed but for a second and his finger pulled the trigger.