(Narrator's P.O.V.)

I shouldn't have told him.

It was too soon.

I left his room as soon as I'd told him, afraid of what he might say. He looked at me with such shock and confusion, I didn't want to know what his initial reaction would be. I ran away like a coward. This story was changing my original role, time messing with the person I'd once been; who I was supposed to be.

Protagonist. That bastard.

If he hadn't.... If only he'd done something different. Maybe I could've done something differently too. If only I had made the better choice. I could have prevented his death. The death that made this all happen.

Damn him.

His death was my fault though. Protagonist knew it. The other characters had an idea of what happened...an accident. Thats what they thought. That a murder of their very own had been an accident. It was such bullshit.

I made my way down the hall to my room, fading in and out of visibility. I was rejecting this role, or maybe this story was rejecting me. Maybe I should have told him. I was running out of time. We both were.

I had to calm down, Narrators were emotionally detached. I had to fit this role or the story would tear me apart. I dragged on and then fell to my knees, breathing hard. I had to be cold, collected. I had to stop feeling...feeling for him.

"Narrator?" A voice came to my side, I turned to see Love Interest. Thank goodness. Please save me, I thought as I wrapped my arms around her. She gasped and sat still for a moment before gathering her senses again. She wrapped my arm around the back of her shoulders and gently urged me to my feet. With some effort I staggered up and let her guide me the rest of the way to my room.

She reached for the handle to my door and I froze. She didn't know. None of them knew. Love Interest, Heroine and her boyfriend knew I was from a different story, but they hadn't made the connection. The deep connection to Antagonist and myself. Only that bastard Protagonist knew. I couldnt let her see the pictures of him in my room. She wouldn't understand. She would see it as an obsession. She didn't know what we had. Before.

I shot out a pale hand and covered hers to make her stop.

"Wait," I breathed in a panic. She stopped and turned to look at me.

"What is it Narrator?" She asked with a tightness to her voice. I waited a moment and then leaned my head on her shoulder, people are more likely to help those who seem to need them.

"My room...i need to go to yours," I began. "I can't be found for a minute." I gasped. She leaned her head around my chest to look at me with a puzzled and slightly frightened look.

"What's going on Narrator?" She asked me urgently. I shook my head as a door closed somewhere further down the hallway.

"Not here." I breathed. She hesitated and then finally helped me follow her to her room. I was starting to shift again, my skin changing from tan to pale, ink flowing I unnaturally under my skin. I was the story. The Narrator. I was solely responsible for it all. When the characters played their roles, they only knew their portion. I knew it all. I saw everything. It was my burden to bear and I did it alone.

Love Interest avoided looking at me while I struggled to keep the story in balance. Myself in balance. It wasn't wise to look at the raw story I held. They say if you do, you can see your future and your past, all the possibilities the story holds for you. It can make a character go mad, illogically trying to change their role in the story to be what they saw. Only I could bear this burden.

We reached her door and she shifted my weight to open it. She closed it securely behind us and we shuffled to her bed so I could collapse onto the white sheets. I had eased back into my role, but I was feeling weak with the effort. Love Interest watched me uncomfortably, obviously brimming with questions, but unsure if she should ask.

"Love Interest.." I said in a calmer voice that had less feeling than before. "If you want to ask me something, you should or else you'll be tormented forever." I told her in the cold, neutral tone of my character. My eyes faded from brown to watery gray and now there was nothing of the person that had needed her help. My skin and hair were white as paper and my eyes like ink. I was nothing more than a vessel for this bloody, hellish story.

She took in my transformation and something changed in her eyes, maybe a resigned feeling of disappointment. "What happened Narrator?" She asked me softly. I closed my pale eyes.

"You mean before I started losing it in the hallway?" I asked simply, sitting and leaning back on my hands to look at her chin so our eyes wouldn't meet. She only nodded in response. I sighed like the topic  bored me. "Antagonist knows." I said flatly. She froze.

"Knows what?" She asked tightly. "A-about the death..." She too had blood on her hands. His death was also her fault.

"Why? You don't want him to know what you did?" I breathed sarcastically, "Do you think he could love a murderer? That is, if he loves you at all." She flinched.

"I hate you like this Narrator." I stood from the bed and crossed the room to where she stood in a single stride of my long legs. I towered over her and watched her shrink back. She looked so fragile, but it was her job to be that way, her character required her to be weak. I leaned towards her, so I was almost pressed against her, looking down on her pathetic figure.

"You did this to me." I said with no emotion at all, almost considerably worse than being angry or hurt. Her head dropped to look at the floor. Her hands were white knuckled as she probably resisted the urge to cry. If I was myself again, I might try to comfort her...myself..what did that even mean anymore?

"It was an accident." She pleaded in a barely audible whisper. I escaped my thoughts and took her in with unblinking eyes. Dead eyes. In a way, I guess she'd killed me too. I lifted a cold hand to her face and watched her cringe at my touch. I didn't give off heat anymore. She knew what my hands had felt like before this, my strong, warm hands. My skin was a deep tan once, if I can remember right. And once upon a time they had held Love Interest and caught her tears. Those lying tears that brought me here.

"There are no accidents." I said "Not in this world." I watched her cave in on herself. She stood there like she was waiting for something. "I'll never hold you like I used to." I said like a slap to her face. She blushed hard, knowing it was stupid of her to think I might after what she did. With nothing more to say, I  turned back to her bed to sit down comfortably, unaffected by what had just happened. "He found out I don't belong" I told her, like we were just having the conversation started earlier.

She took a moment, but then finally responded. "Does he know what story your from?" She asked with some worry in her voice. "Does..does he know.." I cut her off.

"He has no idea about that, its too soon. He can't know until its absolutely neccessary." I eyed her seriously, conveying the urgency of this matter. She nodded quickly and then paused before looking at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"what is he going to think of you Narrator?" She asked, making me falter. I had never thought that far ahead.

"He'll remember me and everything will be like it was." I said, more to reassure myself than for her. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

"But then you'll want to leave this story right?" She asked.

"naturally." I responded quickly.

"will we die?" My eyes widened. I had only ever thought of Antagonist. All of this was for him. I had never thought of anyone else before. If I left the story, surely it would cease to exist. I had never heard of a story without a narrator of some kind. I looked down at my thin, pale hands and shoved my feelings deep within my character.

"He died." I sad so matter-of-factly I thought the very words would crush her. She bit her lip and I could see the tears forming at the bottom of her eyes. I could hear it in her voice. 

"You dont mean that..." She was holding her arms to her body like she could hug the past away. I sighed and stood from the bed. She looked up at me, practically tilting her head all the way back to do so. I crossed the short distance to her and she waited expectantly again for the comfort that never came. Instead I reached past her and twisted the handle on her door. She suppressed a sob and stepped to the side so that I could leave. I hesitated though, and bent really low so I could speak into her ear as I looked straight ahead at the blank white door. I was exactly like this door.

"No one can get away with murder." I said cooly and then straightened as I opened the door and left the room, closing the door firmly behind me.

Everything was going to plan. I would let every last one of these tainted characters die. And I would feel nothing, because I had one person to give my feelings to, one purpose in life.

            I will save you Antagonist.