[The fairy's work can't touch his brokenness but it gives him the strength to try and wrest his arm free while he hisses curses, refusing to fail at this too. But when Hector won't let go and his own body has nothing left to give, no power to drive knee or elbow into Hector and win their tug of war, he does the only thing he can do: he angles his blade downwards, towards his chest, and clamps his free hand around Hector's offending arm, straining to force the tip of his knife where it should be. A push is all it took to bring him to the edge of despair, and another would finish him. Quickly, he hopes, if only so the fairy wouldn't knit his unwilling body back together if he survived.

He arches his back and presses himself into the knife, close enough to feel the point dimpling his skin. Close enough to feel the heat of Hector's panting breath and see the slow draining of life and colour from his face. To see a strange powdery residue speckling his skin. It seems fairest that Hector should look him in the eyes when his hand runs the blade through him, willingly or unwillingly.]

Do it! It's what you had wanted!

[Isaac shouts at him, a gob of spit hitting Hector's cheek. His desperate grip squeezes tight around his glove, his body trembly-electric on the inside.]

I killed your woman! I raped you of the only happiness you have ever known and will ever know in your wretched life, and I ran free while her ashes scattered to the wind!