As I close the door, my room is bathed in soft, twilight hues, and the last glimmers of daylight danced on the horizon. Today was exhausting for me. A day filled with battles that I never thought I'd have to face. Sitting down on my bed, pulling my shoes off, I see a remarkable sight in front of me–a vase of a beautiful floral arrangement of white and pink roses. They sit on the windowsill, adding color to the otherwise sterile room. They are alive, I think to myself, more alive than I ever felt.

I wrap myself in a large, soft duvet that was neatly folded on my bed. Its soothing comfort beckons me to lay my weary head down. I am exhausted, not just physically but emotionally. It seeps into the recesses of my emotional being. The relentless internal battle between Avalon and myself, a vocal confrontation with my own reflection, and my vigorous therapy session has taken its toll on my mind, body, and soul.

As the room grows darker and the moonlight casts through the window, I curl up beneath the blanket. My thoughts wind down, focusing on the steady rhythm of my breathing. The room around me fades away into obscurity, and I find myself stumbling into the realms of my subconscious. I drift away into a realm where the past and present meet, blurring the lines of dreams and reality.

          The alleyway feels like it's a passage to another world. The rain falls in a never-ending torrent, each drop a searing reminder of the life I've walked into. The downpour should be chilling, but it's warm, as if my descent into darkness has changed nature's course. The rain hangs as a curtain, making the path ahead difficult.

I've been here before. Not exactly sure how to pinpoint when, but my surroundings are familiar. It's unsettling. The brick houses, damp and lifeless, line the narrow streets. Their windows are like vacant eyes, staring at me with a haunting stillness to them. My every footstep echos, vibrating off the walls as I venture towards my destination. There's a reason I'm here, making my way through the shadows of a quiet neighborhood. One that seems too far gone at this point.

As I navigate the alley, the shadows conceal my every step. My surroundings are quiet, only the sound of the rain accompanies me. Under the light of the lamppost, I see a black sedan's door open and a man steps out, holding his briefcase over his head to protect him from the rain.  My mind clicks–he is my target. My heartbeat quickens, the anticipation takes its course. My hands twitch by my side, hovering over the knife in my sheath.

He's not an ordinary man; he's an ex-Hydra scientist, one who dared to question the organization's methods and motives. His greying hair is now drenched in the relentless rainfall, despite his attempt to block it. His face, etched with lethargy, deceives the weight of the secrets he carries–with the knowledge he holds when he made his dissent from the sinister ranks of Hydra.

Before I make my move, I wonder if his choices have led him to this moment. His choice to leave, knowing that with what knowledge he possesses could lead to his unlikely end. Maybe this was his choice, or a choice that he was forced into by coercion. But there is no room to be sentimental in my world. I've been trained to execute orders without question, to be an executioner for those who were set free, to be a weapon to determine someone's fate. But tonight, he is my first victim, and I will show him what I am made of.

As if the very streets mourn the impending violence, I approach him from behind, my footsteps silenced by the downpour. In my hand, I steady my knife, waiting for my moment to strike. It feels exhilarating knowing that the last thing the man will see is my face. This is my instrument of death. There is no turning back now.

In a silent but deadly motion, I attack. I pull his head back by his hair, taking the blade of my knife and slicing his throat. It's a ruthless kill; his cries are drowned out by the rain, his pleas for mercy drowned out by the void. A crimson spray explodes into the night, creating my masterpiece that trails down the pavement. The deed is done, and my message is clear: Hail Hydra.

His lifeless body drops to the ground, silencing him forever. I can feel the weight of my actions on my chest, threatening to suffocate me. I will never be the same person I once was before this. My life is forever altered by this kill. The innocence I once possessed is now tainted by the blood on my hands.

As I walk away from the scene, something compels me to glance at my reflection in a puddle. But it isn't my face staring back at me. It's the girl I once was–Avalon. The sight startles me to my core. It strikes a chord, reverberating across my ribs, down my spine and falling right into pits of my soul I forgot I had. The sight of her, the sight of me, is too much, squeezing my lungs as I choke on the blood and rain. I swipe at the puddle, my reflection rippling as crimson stains the girl staring back at me. She doesn't go away. Only turns bloodier and more grotesque. I feel like I'm suffocating in a crimson sea of my victims, and the weight of it feels like a slow, agonizing death.

          And I wake up abruptly. My heart is pounding in my chest, and for a moment, the nightmare clings to my consciousness like a never-ending fog. My hands tremble as I frantically wipe my hands on the sheet beneath me, trying to rid myself of the blood. But it's not there. The sensation lingers, the feeling of warm blood covering the palms of my hands.

My mind is a storm of memories threatening to consume me. The decades of violence, the lives I've extinguished by my own hand, it terrorizes me to my core. I've fought to keep this darkness at bay, to keep myself sane, to keep myself from going back under. But I failed. Everything has come to the surface, and I cannot keep myself together any longer.

I can't contain it. I snap. The anger, the frustration, the guilt–it takes over, crashing on me like a tidal wave. My body trembles, and I dig my nails into my palms, in hopes of physically restraining the turbulence within. But it's like trying to hold back a hurricane with my bare hands. Every emotion, every life that I've taken–it floods my mind, taking over me without hesitation. It's like I'm reliving every gruesome moment, every single assassination, feeling the pain of my victims–including my own.

I'm sitting up in my bed, my breaths are rapid and shallow. My hands are balled so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. This room feels like a pressure cooker about to explode, and I'm right in the middle of it, with no way to escape. I feel like I can't breathe. It feels like I'm suffocating on my own guilt. There is nowhere for me to escape the terrors of my mind. And facing them is the most difficult task at hand.

          All my attempts to compose myself are futile. The dam breaks, and I let the maelstrom of emotions take me away. I scream, a raw, primal sound that echoes in every corner around me. It's foreign, even to me. It is an audible representation of the war that rages within my mind. It's not just a scream of anger; it's a scream of despair, of anguish. It's a scream that carries a lifetime of violence, bloodshed, and insufferable guilt. I know what I've done, and it's ripping me apart at the seams.

With trembling hands, I rise from the bed, my movements staggered as I make my way towards the window. I push it open as much as I can, in hopes of getting some relief from the confinement of this room. Tears swell in my vision, and I grip onto the windowsill, only to see the vase in front of me. I feel like I'm teetering on the edges of insanity, and there is no end in sight.

At the brink of my destruction, I completely lose my sense of self. The room becomes a battleground for my demons, my canvas for my rage, as I lose my connection with myself.I try to rip myself out of this reality. This reality where I'm a murderer, a killer, a predator with no purpose other than to maim and harm.

The cool sensation of the vase beneath my hot sticky palms barely offers relief. Another one of my screams intertwines with the splintering shatter of porcelain across the tile. It isn't enough. It won't be enough until I tear apart every part of this dimension and claw myself out of my own skin. With each item I destroy, a painful memory or a piece of my torment is exercised. The table becomes a collection of my shattered dreams, the chair turns into my twisted memories, and the mirror becomes a reflection of my fractured persona. In the middle of my chaotic disaster, I am both the creator and the destroyer.

The room is the witness to my unraveling, the walls echoing with the distortion of my anguish. This is my purge, an instinctive attempt to rid myself of the torment that gnaws at my mind. But as I stand in the midst of my destruction, I realize that it's not enough; I have to break through the physical walls that hold me captive.

Without hesitation, I charge towards the window, my vision blurred with tears, and anger in every step. I throw my body into it, the glass shattering on impact. The world outside surrounds me, the feeling of falling gives me some form of relief. My body crashes to the ground below, but I can hardly feel the pain. The adrenaline coursing through my veins urges me to my feet, and I take off running. I run faster, and harder than I ever have before. The wind screams loud in my ears, like its trying to take my mind off the voices that are fighting for dominance.

But unfortunately, I know that I cannot outrun myself. The torment follows me wherever I go, until I collapse onto the forest's floor. My body gives out from under me, my screams echo through the trees–it is my desperate attempt to silence the storm. I'm lost, I don't know who I am as I battle between identities, and I don't know how to find my sanity. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the blood and dirt beneath me. I begin to punch the ground with my fists, as if I could beat the pain out of myself.

In this moment of despair, I feel like I am unraveling at the seams. Every fiber of my being is being torn in two, and I don't know who I'm becoming. The world around me blurs, leaving me alone to face my torment. In the midst of the chaos, I feel a presence within me, a flicker of warmth in the darkness. It's Avalon trying to crawl her way out of the depths of my consciousness. I can hear her, I can see her, and I realize now that she's trapped, just like I have been.

We are both prisoners of our own doing. We have been locked in a never-ending battle of control. A battle that I never expected to lose, but as the walls crumble, she makes herself break through. But as her presence grows stronger, as her warmth envelopes me, a flicker of hope ignites within.

"We don't have to be enemies, Red," her voice is soft, like a lifeline in this misery of mine. "We can learn to coexist, to find a balance between us."

Avalon is no longer fighting to escape. She is no longer banging on the door, trying to escape the confines of my mind; she's extending her hand, offering me a way out of this darkness. After all this time, I thought her kindness was her weakness, but it turns out, it's her greatest strength. I realized I was never alone in this battle; she's been with me the entire time. And together, we can face our demons and maybe, have the chance to heal.

And then, I feel it. The switch between us. It is like the heavy fog that clouded my mind had finally lifted, allowing me to see clearly. My mind expanded, Red's reign over me has lifted, but she's still in there. The world around me, once filled with chaotic emotions and surges of memories, begins to stabilize. Red wasn't used to the guilt that I long carried, but soon enough, we will learn how to manage those together. Right now, they are replaced by a newfound sense of clarity.

"Thank you, Red, for letting me take over."

I sit here, in the middle of the quiet forest, bathed in the gentle light of the morning sun. I take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, and wipe away the remaining tears on my cheeks. My past, my guilt, and the burdens I carry no longer weigh heavy on my shoulder, but they're still there, I'm just not suffocating on them anymore. For the first time in what feels like years, I'm Avalon.

I sit on the soft forest floor, legs crossed, and gently rocking back and forth. The world around me seems overwhelming, so vivid in detail, as if I've opened my eyes for the first time. Every little sound–the rustling of the leaves, birds chirping, the wind whizzing past my ears–fills my senses, and I close my eyes, taking it all in.

It's a slow but steady process of reacquainting myself to the world as Avalon. The burdens of my cataclysmic life still linger, but they no longer smother me. Instead, I find a growing strength, recognizing Red as my vigilant protector. Wherever I venture, and whoever I aspire to be, I trust that she and I will take this world by storm. Only this time, there will be less violence and we'll sow seeds of compassion, tending the gardens of our souls with care. Together, we will piece together the fragments of ourselves and build something beautiful from our anarchic past.

With this sense of clarity, I know what I have to do. Something that I've been waiting for since Bucharest. I need to find the man that I've been longing for–James Buchanan Barnes. I've been locked away for long enough and I've been driven away from him by the assassin that lives within me. But now, I make the calls, and I will always find my way back to him.

My heart races as I make my way out of the forest and into the open. I know that the facility I've been kept in isn't far from here, and I can almost taste the reunion that I've been yearning for. The sun has risen fully now, casting a warm glow on everything that surrounds me. A reflection on how I feel knowing that I can be who I truly want to be, again.

That feeling comes again. One that I haven't felt in ages. A familiar presence growing stronger, approaching from a distance. It's him. Bucky. He's out here, searching for me. I don't need to see him; I can sense that he is. The connection between us is pulling us together like two magnets drawn to one another.

As I round the bend of the path, there he is. Bucky stands a few yards ahead, his gaze scanning his surroundings, searching for any sign of me. His hair, once disheveled and unkempt, is now neatly combed back. He looks different from the last time I saw him, but there's no mistaking the man I spent years searching for.

I pause for a moment, just taking him in. I can feel the weight of everything we've been through together–Hydra or not. Every moment in my life has led me to this. The sun casts an illuminating glow on his features, and his eyes meet mine. There's a glimmer of surprise, then recognition, and finally, a radiant smile takes place on his lips.

"Bucky," I whisper, my voice barely carrying through the distance that separates us. But he hears me. He knows it's me.

Without a second thought, I break out into a run. I sprint towards him, my heart pounding in my chest. The world around me blurs as I focus on the one thing that matters most; being with Bucky again.

As I close the distance between us, my heart beats in anticipation. The forest around us seems to hold its breath, the leaves swishing softly as if in admiration of our reunion. When I reach him, I don't slow down. I crash into his arms, almost knocking the both of us over. But Bucky's strong, steady presence keeps us upright.

Time seems to stand still as we hold onto each other. The weight of what we've been through together and apart pressing against our hearts. I can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against mine, our breathing syncs with one another. The familiar scent of his cologne consumes me, grounding me in the moment.

Finally, he breaks the silence. He sighs, resting his chin on my head. His voice soothing my soul. "Long time, no see, Princess."

a/n - I'm very proud of this chapter! n was my #1 supporter and helped me create this masterpiece. listening to 'the view between villages (extended)' by noah kahan had me DREAMING about writing this chapter. i hope you guys like it--and let me know what you think!! - k