The Hero of the Story

Suddenly I can see how this is going to end. Some day, Jenny will disagree with something that Merrill wants. And Merrill will look at her with hurt in her big, dewey, eyes and say I never thought you'd turn against me. Everyone I trust betrays me in the end. Everyone is against me, no one will listen. And once that happens, Merrill will stop holding back. She will stop worrying about what other people think or want, because she knows better than they do, and besides, they won't listen to her anyway. They're blinded by fear for what they can't understand. The fools. She will show them. She WILL help them, no matter what they want. She will MAKE them listen. And she will reach out and grab the blood in their bodies, the electricty in their brains, and she will make them obey. She will make all of them obey.

I have seen this story before. The powerful spirit, or mage, or other fantasy creature, blazing with power. Someone hurt, and angry. Someone whose lover has been killed, or whose friend has betrayed her, or who has finally seen the extent of evil in the world, and has had ENOUGH.

Evil Willow is DONE with this shit.

What bothers me about this story is that this has always been Merrill's story. Everything that she's said, starting from her first appearance on the slopes of Sundermount, everything I've learned about her history, her personality, it all adds up to this. Looking back I can see it. All the clues were there. Merrill has always thought that she knows what's best for her people, despite what they actually say they want. She has always priviledged her own desires over the desires of others. Even though her desires are, on the surface, selfless, her insistance that only she can decide what dangers to accept, what risks to take, is incredibly selfish. She has always seen things in black and white. Everyone is either for her, or against her. And if the mirror is worth saving, it is worth any price to save. I wanted to believe in the story of the plucky underdog. But the thing is, the story of the plucky underdog looks exactly the same as the story of the world-destroying blood-mage. No one understands. No one will listen.

And I, with my eyes full of pluck, supported Merrill the whole way. I agreed with her. I helped her. I had my doubts, but I pushed them aside. It was Merrill. I loved Merrill. I trusted her that it would all turn out in the end. And when the clan attacked, I killed them all for her because I thought she was the hero.

But she has never been the hero. And I should have known.