Charloft: The End
It was in the tabloids, the papers, and for once they both agreed on something. They agreed that a woman named Magdalene DeFoe was murdered on stage after the greatest performance of her life. They agreed that the singer Blind Mag sang a song about escape and freedom from imprisonment that she had suffered her entire life.
She died with the world watching, it would be very difficult for the press to say otherwise. She knew she was going to die that night, and it gave her a sense of peace that she didn’t know she could possess, years of being called a name she hated and never truly knowing how her days would end. Knowing that she was going to die blind that night was more than she could have ever hoped or prayed for. For Blind Mag did pray, she was alone in the world beyond that of prayer and a search for that peace.
She saw her god-daughter that night, the very image of her best friend who was taken so long ago, she even saw Nathan- a mere ghost and shadow of the past that she couldn’t believe still walked the earth. Had it been a day earlier, it may have been enough for her to go back and beg Rotti for forgivness and to keep her on and alive. But she was already singing her swan song.
Magdalene DeFoe took the stage a final time, wiped her GenCo eyes and began to sing. Her song was one of a bird, Chromaggia, one that had flew it’s whole life and destroyed others in its attempt to escape. It was Mag’s song, her life set to chords and rhythm.
When she gave Rotti and the world back her eyes she was at peace, the pain didn’t matter, nothing did. She was finally the girl that had once played in the flowers and questioned the clouds. She was finally seeing the world as she always knew it.
When the rope snapped, (for she could never believe that Rotti would ever harm her, not after so many years), she fell, the feathers on her dress not aiding in slowing her fall. When she died, she was alone, on stage, viewed by the world, but that was how she had lived- a death any other way would have been inappropriate.
However, that moment of the fall, the moment that those spikes pierced her skin and the even the moments following as her life slipped away, she was not Blind Mag, but simply a woman named Magdalene DeFoe.
And she had found that morning.