ONCE IT HAD PASSED, Megan shouted in exhilaration. She surveyed the carnage below and then left it behind her. Her job there was done. She needed to continue her work. She needed to show the world.

With each broken relationship, she felt stronger. Her wings beat harder. She flew faster, and each arrow was shot more rapidly.

She moved on to the next town and stopped for a little more than a few seconds at the odd country house parked in the middle of nowhere. Again, she hovered in the air and let the arrows find their homes themselves. Town after town fell to her onslaught and each time, she was jubilant in her victory.

Long into the night and over the next days and weeks, Megan took her bow across the country and beyond. An ocean was nothing to her wings and, after a while, the seeds of hate she was sowing began to self-propagate. The swell of tension started to feed upon itself and devour the love she was racing to destroy.

When she paused long enough to comprehend what was happening, she was horrified. At first, she was angry—how dare these people take it upon themselves to turn on each other? It was her job. Her destiny!

But then she understood just what she had done. Love was no longer a part of the world. This path she had taken had come to a precipice and she had continued over the edge. Her original intention was to make people, at first just a few but then everyone, know how she felt. To know despair.

She had accomplished that but, when the situation in so many countries was quickly escalating to war, comprehension dawned. She hadn't just speared the hearts of the populace. She had pierced the heart of the world.

Was she so utterly devoid of feeling she would rather the Earth be a barren wasteland where Mankind faded from existence in a blood red haze? If no-one felt anything for their fellow man or woman, she had signed her race's death certificate. She didn't want that. Hadn't intended that. She just wanted them to feel what it was to be lost. To be hurt.

Frantically, Megan closed her eyes and mentally reached out. She used the power of the Quickening she had consumed to feel for someone she had missed. She felt like a blind man fumbling for a light switch. It was a futile attempt because, even when it was found, it would be useless.

But she could hope. She lifted herself higher than she'd dared fly before, trying to sense a soul she had yet to taint with her weapon. She could feel the darkness in each person, the light extinguished by her arrow, but could discern not one.

It couldn't be true! She couldn't have damaged everyone! She dropped back down to Earth, uncaring of being seen. Flying directly over the heads of the angry mobs who were now starting to riot in the streets, she searched for the one person who she could possibly use to turn the tide. The one person who could redeem her and save them.

Though Megan's hunt was tireless, it was also fruitless. Defeated, she returned to the cabin.

She settled onto the porch, gripping the handrail tightly. Her knuckles were white. Her brow was creased and her breath ragged. She felt suddenly weak, the Quickening that had empowered her ebbing away. There was nobody left. No-one remained to either complete the puzzle of loathing she had been piecing together or to stem the outpouring of revulsion she had instigated.

Her time was done. Her destiny fulfilled. Not the one she was chosen to complete, but that she had chosen for herself.

She lifted her hands, intending to use the bow on herself. Perhaps she should have done that in the first place. Brought happiness to her own heart so she could then do the same for others. If she could just do it now, maybe, somehow, the spell would be broken. She'd wake from this nightmare. She'd still be staring at the smudge on the wall.

That would be fine. She could handle that. If she were the only one broken, the world would still be mended.

No arrow appeared when she pulled back on the string. She barely seemed to have the strength to hold the bow at all. Her arms felt heavy and her body ached. As she watched, the bow began to dissolve in her hand. Within seconds, there was nothing left but a faint waxy residue in her palm.

Standing, even with the support of the rail, was becoming an effort. Megan tried to hold herself upright but the strain was too much. She collapsed. Looking down, she noticed feathers. Once black but now grey, they surrounded her where she sat. She raised her head, the muscles in her neck complaining, and looked behind her. The beautiful wings she had worn with pride were now tattered. She watched a feather, the barbs separated as if they couldn't stand to be together, slide out of her back and fall to the floor, the black fading as it fell.

A dark liquid, thick and putrid, oozed from each of the pores where the feathers had been, matting those remaining. She coughed, and similarly coloured mucus sprayed the railing and her legs. She could hear a faint, rhythmic whistling and knew it was her own lungs doing their best to force the air through the constricting tubes.

The colour of her skin was changing, a mottled brown discolouring the flesh. It had been raining and water was puddled in a dip in the ground. She crawled to it to see her reflection. The lines of worry and spite that had lined her forehead had deepened, breaking the skin to create sores that were starting to bleed. A sob splattered the water with slimy phlegm.

No longer able to support her own weight, Megan collapsed. Her face was partially in the puddle and the spray that floated on top drifted towards her eye. She watched it move closer, unable to prevent it touching her eyeball.

As she lay dying, she managed to take a deep, razor-filled breath. She expelled it, along with the lining of her lungs, but managed one final word.

"Sorry."

The air around Megan shimmered and a figure appeared. It stood over her, looking down. Unusually tall and completely hairless, the man crouched. A tear fell from him, dropping onto the barely breathing form. Megan shuddered as the skin started to heal and the colour returned. He touched her head. Hair fell away but he could already see new hair growing.

But it was too late.

As Megan's final breath slid from her body, he extended his pure white wings and wrapped them around them both.

The air shimmered again, a heat haze where there was no warmth.

The puddle was clean. The mucus spray was gone.

As was Megan.