6,000 feet. Up until now I've wondered what it's like to die. I won't have to wait much longer, considering the fact that I'm falling from the roof of a building. There's so much to be wondered about- how I'm going to get there, where I'd be going, and what I would be doing there. I don't know to be honest, but I'm about to find out.

5,990 feet. This isn't what I thought I would be doing with my life at this point. I thought that I would've died before I was eighteen, so I've been winging it from then on- not very well, but winging it all the same.

5,980 feet. I can hear Malachai holler my name. I want to holler back at him, and I do-the noise gets lost in the wind.

5,985 feet. I wonder what it's like on the ground right now. Is Suvarna alright? What about Haritone? How many innocents have died because of me?

5,970 feet. I've heard that on your deathbed you remember everything good and bad that's ever happened to you. Is that what I'm doing right now?

5,965 feet. With that train of thought I want to look down, but the wind prevents me from doing so. I want him to hear everything that I think, every little pain he's caused- each and every death, instance of grief, separation, and genocide. I want him to know how much pain he has caused in his search for resurrection.

5,960 feet. There's so much I regret. I want to turn back time and tell myself that I shouldn't fall into his trap. I want to catch every knife I have ever thrown, sheath every sword I have ever swung, and stitch every wound I have caused. But I can't. Even if I did my legacy is already written into the stars- Karynn March, the bird with the broke wings.

Legacies write themselves most of the time, whether it's known or not. You see, our actions define us in everything that we do, think, and say. You can't ever reverse them, and nor can you try and repair the damage. The damage that was done is still there, and it festers underneath the bandages of a promise, until finally the bandage breaks and the wound sizzles out in the open.