I walked alone to the tower. It was hard staying alone for so long, being labeled a murderer—and seeing a corpse. I needed someone and that someone could not be Oda, or Aideen.

I wanted to see Oscar.

Why? I didn't know myself.

The outer door was now bolted from the outside, a change Oda likely made to stop Oscar from escaping. It only made it easier for me to go in, so I unhinged it and went up the stairs, going to what was a prison, but now my sanctuary. When I opened the door I knew it was Oscar. He sat in his bed, twirling the flute in his hand.

"Why are you here?"

Ouch.

"Am I not welcome?" I muttered, feeling tears prickle my eyes. No. I will not cry.

"What happened? There was a commotion last time in the forest."

"A girl—a contestant, was killed." My low voice cracked. "I found her. Tristesse. I was suspected and had to go through interrogations."

"So you're all alone." He caught the flute and turned to me.

"Oda didn't like me helping you." I leaned on the wall across from him. "Otto was lost in the forest and now the tower is bolted."

"I've learned," he said.

Why was he so calm? It bothered me, but what did I expect?

"I told you to kill before it began," he sounded distant.

"What?"

He smirked a little. "They would do anything to be queen. Everything. You'd never win, even with Oda. You're too soft."

"You mean I have a conscience. Unlike you. You're awful, why can't you say what's on your mind? Why do you only watch as the story unfolds?"

"Didn't you say you'd rescue me? I'm waiting."

"I lied," I found myself saying, "I only cared for Otto, not you."

He just sat there, face obviously hurt. I was surprised when he tried to laugh it off, but he—he cried.

Oscar cried.

"Why—did you come here just to say that? I thought you would be different from the rest. I thought you would help me." He bared his teeth. "I should've known!"

He stood up before I could apologize and I knew he was leaving. My legs were wobbly.

"No, Oscar!" I cried. "I didn't mean that! I—" before anything else left my lips, he ran for the door.

No.

No.

No.

Why had I hurt him again?

I gathered my skirts into my hands and chased after him once again, but this time it was my fault.

I didn't mean it. Although Oscar was fearsome and cruel, I didn't mean what I said. He was lonely—he was scared and sad all the time. He was going through such pain, and that's why he was so bitter. Guilt overwhelmed me, along with regret.

"Oscar! Please wait!" I begged, but he quickened his steps and jumped down the stairs then out, escaping deeper into the forest, which was endless. "Please!"

The wind slapped my face and my loose hair obscured my sight. I could only see flashes of green and brown, of trees and dirt, and the moving figure in white. It went down and slipped through two thick trees and I followed.

"Oscar!" I cried, my sore throat hardly allowing me to yell. He keeps moving, faster than ever. I couldn't keep up with him this time. I was losing him for good this time.

No, I didn't want that.

"Oscar! I'm sorry!" I cried. He stopped. I trembled from relief. He turned to me. His lips were bleeding, the red filling in the cracks of his pink lips, pressed together.

"I don't want your help. Don't appear before me again." His voice was so cold. Colder than I've ever heard him. I shook my head while the tears fell from my eyes.

Why was I crying? I didn't understand myself. Was it guilt? Was it sorrow?

Why did it hurt?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I sobbed. I walked closer to him. He only watched me. "I wasn't thinking when I said it, I don't know why I said that. Please don't say that."

"Why does it matter? Your goal is Otto, not me." He wasn't even loud. His voice hurts more when it's barely a whisper. I continued taking wary steps until I stood before him. His hands were in fists and his shoulders clenched up, but he still didn't move.

"You're just like everyone else."

"You're wrong," I said, looking at his face. "I came because I wanted you to say something. Say that you believed in me."

Yes. That was why.

"I wouldn't admit it, but I was glad it was you, and that made me guilty. And I was upset you didn't care about me. I wanted your care, like when I cared for you. I always thought of saving you but you're right, I can't even save myself."

His face was burdened with creases and the blood now trickled to his chin. I raised my hand until it touched his face but he flinched—like my touch hurt him.

"I can't always be what you want." He held his head down to look at me. "But I'm trying, Karlina. I've tried to be confident and brave when I'm scared and a mess."

"I know. I know, I'm so sorry."

He didn't move when I touched my fingertips to his face again. Delicately, I wiped the trail of blood on his cool skin and slid my hand over his cheek, bringing his face to mine before I kissed him.

He put his hand lightly over mine and his fingers weaved into mine, and then his arms encircled around my waist. We pull closer together—forming a warm shield against the approaching winter wind, against the pitiless reality.

It was different from our first one; it was full of passion, sorrow, guilt, and what shouldn't be. What couldn't be. What would never be.

"I'm sorry," I repeated once we pulled apart.

His lucid blue eyes look away in pain. His fingers departed from mine and the arm loosened from my body before taking slow steps backwards.

"You're a cruel person," he said. "You don't love me. You simply pity me, too, but you don't understand. You say you want to help me, but you wouldn't want Otto to disappear too. Your pretty words are only false hope. Even what you said about dandelions. They die so easily. Why didn't you say that?"

He looked at me. I didn't have an answer.

He turned away. This time he walked away calmly, no longer running nor escaping. He was leaving everything behind. This time I could no longer chase after him.

I raised my hand—the hand he held—to my cold cheeks. The tears trickled down my hand and ironically, they felt warm.

It was wrong of me to have done that. It wouldn't bring us eternal happiness, only a moment of ecstasy, and ecstasies end abruptly, like falling from a great height.

And he was right. I didn't truly love him. I didn't know whether I wanted Oscar to live, or Otto. If I had truly loved him, why couldn't I give Otto up?

But there were things about Oscar that I couldn't forget. The way he stopped when he chased me. The way he believed in me enough to have a talk. He showed me his room, his past, his hidden scars. He let me have the couch. The coat he put on me. The way he waited for me to catch up. The conversation at the fountain.

"You're a good sister...Weeds. Aren't they just unloved flowers?"

The way he kissed me. It was tender. It wasn't like before. He had wanted love too, someone to understand him, to care for him.

I fell to my knees in the dirt, sobbing.

And I had given him false hope this whole time.

I cried for Oscar's life, I cried for Otto's confusion, for Oda's determination, Aideen's obedience, for Oriana and her father, for Annabelle and her mother, and for Catalina's black world. I cried for Tristesse's death and Oscar's.

I cried for the Dandelion System, the cruel system that brought so much pain—that brought us all together.