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Regret.
Regret is a terrible feeling, along with guilt and unrest.
Memory felt all three as he sat in his room, shaking, with tears streaming down his face and its wings wrapped around their body.
/”I should have stayed dead, they don’t deserve to have to deal with my bullshit- I don’t do anything, I’m below them all..”/ Icarus muttered to himself, his hands finding their way into its hair and tugging, ripping some thin strands of hair out. He kept spiraling, thinking about what would happen if they didn’t exist, if it was just.. Gone, how much he’d like to disappear.
Then he remembered where he had hid his dagger.
Psyche had made itself a dagger out of a piece of scrap-metal that he found, making a handle out of an old hairbrush, wrapped in leather. Memory staggered up and grabbed their dagger from the hiding spot - under his dresser, pushed to the back, and studied the sharp blade.
He looked down at its body. They rubbed over his torso, feeling every scar that was left from each time it was killed.
He traced its finger over the blade and stares at the blood welling up on their finger, before he took the dagger’s handle in both hands and-
SHINK.
In went the dagger, in his diaphragm, hitting their lungs, and then out, as Memory quickly stabbed itself and threw the dagger and stumbled to their bed, where he sat, fell back, and bled out.