29
I kneel beside Hermes, his white unicorn coat soaked in his own blood.
“Why aren’t you healing?” I ask.
“The bug poison, remember?” he tells me, coughing up some blood. It trickles down his chin and I feel a stirring of pity. I try to push it down but I can’t. “I’m weakened past the ability to heal.”
“You're...dying?” I ask. I don’t know how to feel.
“I should have been a better father to you,” he tells me.
“You weren’t any kind of father to me at all,” I say.
He lets out a sad little laugh. “That’s my girl. Kicking your enemy when he’s down.”
Despite my hatred for the man, I take his hand. This is my father; without him, I wouldn’t exist. Without him, I wouldn’t be me. And since we’re stuck here for eternity, I guess I better learn to live with it.
“I know the jar is broken,”
