Watching stars fall over our heads

Jude

I remembered I had fists today
I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise

Jude has a letter sitting on his coffee table in his little studio apartment in Torchline that he hasn’t responded to. He’d been halfway through a response when Sohalia had shown up, throwing what little sanity and composure Jude currently has into the ocean and leaving him staring at half-written words blankly for days on end. How is he supposed to keep lying to his mom?

He visits her every few weeks. Not as often as Edmund given his brother is able to traverse the distance much faster - something he was never bitter about before, but which he has started to feel creeping in along his ribs as if born into existence by all the other hateful, unfamiliar feelings he’s been experiencing. He hasn’t been by this season though, and for good reason. There’s no way his Maman won’t see through his abysmal poker face in person. At least in letters he can lie and reassure, invent fun things to tell her that don’t exist outside his own head.

But he doesn’t think he can keep moving forward anymore. Noe is his only crutch, because he tries not to lean too much on Edmund - bright, bloody star that his brother is, with all his potential and power - but even that crutch isn’t enough.

So he packs up a small bag, bids goodbye to Noe, and takes the first skyboat to the Grounds without any notice for his mother.

He shows up at her door, face still mottled with old bruises because he hadn’t stopped by the Fountain before he left, clothes and hair ruffled and eyes dark. “Salut, Maman,” he murmurs when she opens the door, throat tight. Jude doesn’t want her to see him this way, doesn’t want to worry or disappoint her, but the need for her comfort outweighs his reluctance.

Am I a murderer?
Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?