The stone palace is dank, unlit, a breeding place for demons and nightmares. It was once a great temple, but its people are now extinct and its religion gone, swallowed into the jungle as if it had never been. It's the sort of catacombs that people get lost in, vanishing into the darkness. There is nothing the girl would like to do more.

She runs through the tunnels of the stone building, deep in its foundation, soundless except for her measured breathing and rhythmic feet. She runs from monsters she cannot see or smell or hear but that she can sense just behind her She knows they're there, chasing her, trying to catch her and break her and steal her soul away. Her black jumpsuit is camouflage in the shadows; her long hair is tied up out of the way, her boots with soft soles to silence her passing. Except for her eyes, she might not have been unusual. Except for her eyes.

Now, where a corridor turns a bend, they catch her. Ahead of her, she sees Striga with the one man who could help her. But he is unsure of himself, of events, of her purpose in being here. And now her pursuers have caught up to her from behind and she is completely alone. She looks around her, fingers caressing the gun at her side.
"Don't bother."Striga tells her. "You couldn't kill anyone here. Stop fighting this, Princess. It was meant to be." The girl smiles bitterly at the irony. It was meant to be. It is your destiny. The same words, by different people, with different purposes. Then her bitterness fades, and she is left alone with the knowledge that she has failed.

She collapses to her knees, the movement masking the gun she has freed. A princess in filth, a leader left alone, a goddess brought down to the level of a slave. Only the darkness is the same. The Dark Princess. How the girl hates her nickname. Hates it, and embraces it, because it gives her presence, gives her substance, gives her purpose. Until she failed.

She gazes down at the gun, then at the people surrounding her. Striga is murmuring words of encouragement, in the same tone used to sooth a hostile dog. The girl looks back to her gun.
"I'm sorry, mother. I love you." She whispers. Then she places the gun against her own temple.
"No!" It was the man who could have helped her, instinctively reaching out now that he realizes her danger. But she has already pulled the trigger.