Aguard unfastens my cuffs. My anxiety causes his features to blur together, but I see the glint of hate in his eye, sharp and clear. He drags me to the door and I prepare myself for the crowd, but when the doors slide back, I see only grey. The craft has landed in the city, beside the Coliseum. They want me to walk through the Imp gates, the gates of the condemned. Just like in canon.
I step from the craft and the stench of rotting bird hits me. For a brief moment, my heart soars. I take a moment to absorb my surroundings. I can see the walls of the Coliseum a hundred or so metres away. But I can’t see Ash. He must already be in the Imp-pen. And I see no other Imps. I guess they’ve squeezed into their hovels, watching the proceedings on scavenged television sets. I search for the city gates, but a swarm of armed guards obscures my view – bumping up against me, sweeping me along so I become part of a single, khaki entity.
From the other side of the wall, a shiny fanfare erupts. In ten minutes, I will hang. My legs stop working and the guards have to pull me along, my feet dragging behind me like two simian hands, as if I really am an ape. I reach the gates and they push me into an upright position. One of the flamboyant stylists appears. He wipes cotton buds beneath my eyes, rubs oil on my lips, combs out my hair.
I hear President Stoneback’s reedy voice rising above the Coliseum walls. He says the exact words from canon. Only this time, he’s talking about me.
‘Welcome to the Gallows Dance, fellow Gems. We are about to witness the death of Imp number 753811. A Night-Imp who used her animalistic ways to trick an upstanding young Gem into thinking he might have feelings for her. A Night-Imp who seduced and lied her way into a young Gem’s heart in order to access government secrets. A dirty little spy. Trying to bring down the Gems, trying to destroy our way of life.’
The crowd roars.
They all step away from me – the stylist, the squaddies. I sway on the spot, shivering in my overalls, staring at the impenetrable metal gates. I start to shake uncontrollably, worse than when they pulled me from the river, and I think my heart may be about to burst.
The President’s voice again: ‘So let’s meet this temptress, this spy.’
The gates begin to open. The crowd falls silent. I watch the slice of colourful Gem world expand and expand until it is all I can see. And despite the terror pulsing around my body, I still appreciate the irony that my very own black moment should be so filled with Gem colour. Densely pigmented suits of emeralds and scarlets, glossy sheets of hair, every colour of skin from porcelain to ebony. Yet every face looks the same. Symmetrical, perfect and hungry for retribution.
The silence holds. I stand perfectly still, just breathing and blinking and staring right back at them. I realize how much I hate them. And it surprises me how intense the emotion feels – more consuming than love, a physical thing radiating from me in waves. And that lacquered Russian-doll shell is back, encasing me like armour plating, holding me upright, delivering strength to my legs, my arms, all of me.
They want a hanging? I will give them a hanging.
‘And here she is, ladies and gentlemen. Guilty on two accounts. Relations with a Gem and high treason. It’s a shame we can’t hang her twice.’
The crowd laughs. I begin to take strong, hate-driven strides towards the stage. I hear Nate’s voice in my head and smile. Balls of steel. Balls of steel.
I don’t look at the noose or at Ash in the Imp-pen. I can’t risk cracking my armour or blurring my clarity of purpose. I try not to think of the helicopter, the giant bonfire lighting up the faces of the rebels only last night. Nate by my side, his excited face. I just keep staring at the mass of brilliant, symmetrical eyes.
In the crowd, standing near the front, I see Willow, his face clenched by an unknown emotion which hovers somewhere between fear and love. Next to him is Alice, her hands playing nervously around her neck. And I realize I hate her too.
The hangman stands – a pillar of black – his hand cupped over the lever. I know that my armour won’t let me down. I won’t fall to pieces. Resolve hardens inside me and brings a welcome sense of calm. I climb the steps on to the wooden stage, stand on the trapdoor and let the hangman place the noose around my neck. I don’t know why, perhaps a last grasp at some sort of comfort to get me through the next five minutes, but my hand falls upon the chain in my pocket. I squeeze it as tightly as I can. There’s no place like home.
The President speaks again. ‘Imp. Your crimes are punishable by death.’
I look at Alice. Her eyes fill with tears, her philtrum with snot. She just can’t bear to see the canon complete, can’t bear to leave this godforsaken place. She has no idea that when she returns home, she will be being used by the President to serve the Gems by writing a pro-Gem sequel for the fandom. My jaw clenches, the empty feeling in my chest almost unbearable. I look away, and that’s when I see them, standing in the Imp-pen. Not just Ash, but Saskia and Katie too.
Katie looks beyond anxious, her knuckles white and threatening to slice through her skin as she runs her fingers through the red of her hair. We make eye contact and she manages a wink, like she’s back in that classroom listening to my presentation. Saskia looks devastated. Grief pulls her features together and tears drip from her chin. I fleetingly think how pretty she looks with all the anger bled from her face.
Next, I look at Ash. I wish I’d told him the truth, however crazy it would have sounded. I wish I’d told him about Comic-Con and the alternate universe and Willow and Alice . . . about everything. But most of all, I wish I’d told him I love him. Even if we live the rest of our lives oblivious to each other’s existence, at least for the tiniest of moments I could have looked into those gorgeous eyes and seen the truth reflected back at me.
The drum roll begins. Just like in canon. I turn to Willow. Any second now he will vault over the barrier and on to the stage, declaring his love for me. The drum roll gathers speed. Any second now . . . But he stands completely still, his hands trembling, his eyes closed.
My stomach falls away, my heart jackknifes. It never occurred to me that Willow would freeze. If he doesn’t say his lines, if the canon doesn’t complete, who knows what will happen. I will probably die on this rope and this universe and everyone in it – Ash, Saskia, Katie, even Alice – will just cease to be.
The drum roll builds, and yet Willow still doesn’t move. His eyes remain firmly closed, his lips vibrating slightly like he’s muttering a prayer. Perhaps it was the extra time he spent with Rose, fleeing across the Imp city, which solidified his feelings of love for her. Perhaps the fact he now stands beside Alice, a beautiful and fun replacement, weakens his resolve. Or perhaps current-Willow – my Willow – really is weaker than canon-Willow. Whatever the reason, I’ve failed. Hot tears stream down my face. I feel defeated, lost. All of this, everything, was for nothing.
Come on, I scream in my head. Come on, Willow. You have to do this.
The drum roll fills my brain, now louder than a firing squad. I look to Alice. I will her to intervene, to smack Willow around the head or something. But I know she thinks if the canon doesn’t complete, I will just die, and she will stay in this world. If only she knew the truth, if only I could explain it all to her.
The drum roll reaches its climax. And yet, still, Willow remains completely motionless, eyes tight shut, not even daring to look at me. I look back to Alice. She blinks at me slowly, almost vacantly, just waiting for my body to drop.
She’s chosen them over me.
The chain tumbles from my fingertips, just at the moment the drum roll stops. Silence. Except for the soft tinkle of the broken heart hitting the floor.
This is it.
I hold my breath and wait for the crack of the trapdoor as it flies open, the snap of the rope against my neck. But instead, I hear a voice. Loud and strong and filled with outrage.
‘STOP!’
I look up to see her. Leaping over the railings, vaulting on to the stage, her pale hair flailing around her face. Alice. She stands on the stage, her hands trembling, her chest rising and falling as she snatches a series of quick, shallow breaths. She stares at me for a moment. She looks so different, her beautiful face pinched with fear, all of that honey colour drained from her cheeks. And I notice it, in the dip where her collarbones never quite meet – the split-heart necklace, its jagged edge catching the sun. For a second, the guilt of doubting her engulfs me.
She nods at me slowly. We share a moment of understanding. Then, she turns to face the crowd.
‘My name is Alice. And the Imp you’re about to hang has a name. Violet. And she is the bravest and kindest person I have ever known. Imp or Gem, she is a human being.’ She quotes the canon almost word for word, sticking to the script for the first time ever. Her voice climbs above the walls of the Coliseum, daring anyone to disagree. ‘She isn’t a temptress, or a criminal. She is my best friend. And I love her with all my heart.’ She holds me with her inky blue gaze. ‘I love you, Violet.’
I hear the gasp from the President on the screen behind me. He knows he has lost. Alice longed to live as a Gem, to stay in this world, but she is giving it all up for me. I suddenly understand what Baba meant. This is Alice’s sacrifice, this is Alice’s love. There’s no way she will write a pro-Gem sequel now. I smile at her. The biggest smile I have.
I thought it would be difficult saying my final line, knowing what awaits – the tightening of the rope, the sudden jolt of pain – but it feels right, natural.
So without further ceremony, I fill the Coliseum not with thistledown, but with my voice.
‘I love you too.’
And finally, the trapdoor opens.