It was becoming too much. All the war and fighting- All the loss and grief. Tears dripped from Valkyrie's eyes as she remembered all of it. She had been able to dig those memories deep, but now, they were clawing their way out of her, trying to swallow her whole. No. No. No, she screamed at them, leave me alone. I can't do this. Not now.

Still, they continued to consume her. Everything began to feel pointless- all of her thoughts and memories. What did they matter? Everyone was going to die anyway. All of her friends. She thought about everyone she had lost- Ghastly, Anton, Ravel, Carol, and nearly Alice. The list went on. Even worse, she caused more deaths than she lost friends.

I'm not a good person, she thought, and I never was. How young was she when she had killed her first man? She leaned her head against the back of the couch; heavy cries escaped her lips. She hugged herself, serving as her only source of comfort. A morbid loneliness had been weighing her down for a long time, though she did not know exactly how long. Months? Years? It didn't matter now, because she was tired of it.

Her thoughts began to rotate around a single hope; it was a hope that somebody would care if she'd die. Probably not, she reasoned, Not after all of the people I've killed, the families I've broken apart. I have hurt everyone who has ever met me. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew this was not so. She had helped people, but she refused to acknowledge it. She thought of Dexter's scars- those were her fault. She thought of Alice, who had a piece of her soul stripped away. Valkyrie had done that. She had taken away eight years of Alice's life. She thought of Darquesse, and knew she should have killed herself a long time ago. That would have saved a lot of people.

Valkyrie's head was beginning to hurt, and her face had scrunched together, furrowed brows and gaping mouth. The lines of her forehead bunched up. She looked at herself in the reflection of her phone; her eyes were puffy and tortured. Suddenly, she felt insecure. She had always felt accepting of herself- body and mind, but right now, all she wanted was to curl up and hide away from everyone forever. The thought of reaching out to someone seemed daunting.

They wouldn't want to help me anyways. They hate me.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. Her presence was a burden, and reaching out would only cause other's frustration, and herself guilt.

But maybe...

No, they didn't want to deal with her right now.

Maybe if I…

No no no no no. Her mind was at a constant battle with itself. There was a detachment from reality, shutting her inside of herself, turning her against herself, and this self-deprecation was unbearable. Suddenly, she knew how to break her conflict. She reached for her phone again, opening the Phone app. If someone answers, she decided, I won't kill myself. First, she dialed Skulduggery, who didn't answer, although he usually does. Next, she phoned Tanith. Nothing. Then, it was Dexter's turn, and she hadn't any hope left, or if she did, it was buried deep.

But the call connected. Dexter had picked up the phone. "Valkyrie?" he asked, a bit of concern in his voice. Valkyrie rarely phoned him.

"I'm so glad you answered," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. There was a brief silence on the other end, contemplative of Valkyrie's words.

"...Are you okay?" Dexter asked.

Valkyrie smiled sadly, "I'm okay. I just- I just wanted to talk."