For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail
--Old Nursery Rhyme
This is the right thing to do, you thought.
The daggers slipped into your hand like a familiar lifeline through the long staircase down into darkness. You mumbled the words under your breath again, attracting Ion's attention. He looked at you with concern, but you shrugged him away with a smile. You were good at that. You never thought it would become a life skill now. The nun said nothing, but you never paid attention to her anyway. In your head, like demonic whisperings, the words returned, this is the right thing to do.
He knew it was the right thing to do, he never questioned it. But now, when the seeming blue light aches around him and Ion is staring past him, through him, over him, him, him, there was no other, he questions one last time if it was the thing he wanted to do. The thought dies on his lips as he fell gently past questioning.