At first they roll their eyes. They do not understand. You forget their names now--
FAIR WHEN THEY NEVER LEARNT YOURS
--but all of them, indiscriminately, look upon you with similar expressions as you stand before the class with your projected close-up of the marks of Crimsona Major and your illustrations of his human form and your notes and your speech of six months' meticulous research. All of them sit in the raised lecture rows, and thus they seem taller than people should be. If it weren't for Crimsona, gently holding you from the inside, perhaps you would be afraid. Perhaps you would be upset when they stifled giggles and shook their heads.
It is time to end this. You can get him out, while you still can. You can show them all. You can unite them all. You will set them free. It is the greatest thing to do for love. Nobody stops you when you bring out the surgical-grade boxcutter. You push the spine-like blade out from its black plastic shielding. A fresh, unblemished blade. It is very sharp. Though you know you're doing the right thing, your hand trembles as you move the blade above Crimsona Major. You remember dissecting frogs and sheep hearts in college. Is there any difference? It will only sting for a moment. You have your gauze. You've swallowed as many painkillers as is safe to ingest. Even so, you see stars. You see a dark, twisting night, an ouroboros of space and time. You see it all in the closing gap between your arm and the tool. Outside, it is a clear blue day.
EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY
I LOVE YOU
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗