They have offered me my life for my love.
They will kill us all- unless we surrender Julian.
He is the chosen one; I see that now. It makes sense suddenly, because he was always more than what he seemed.
How could anyone do this to him? And how can he not? He is too noble to let them kill us all. When they hand him over, he will go.
Lovely Julian!
They have offered our lives for my love.

All listen when he speaks. My heart used to thrill, but now it throbs. Soon he might speak no more.
He says he will go and will betray himself to death to save lives. If it will save lives. Since he has determined to do this, he will not turn back. Julian is so much nobler and better than I, for he would die for his own betrayers, while I did not know until this moment that I would die only for him.
He tells us that all they have said is true: he is the chosen, which is why those whom they hate want him and why they have been crueler than before. It is all because of him. And, for him or against him, many will die.
Will we fight? Will we try once more?
He looks at me as if I struck him or dropped him into swirling seas with the words I said. They are not mine, Julian, for I only carried the doom.
A lord you are- a childlike lord! I have a brother who hold me close now, to keep me still, but though you speak with the voice of a mortal, younger and frailer him, your words are those of a king, above him. Strange, how you command so. Like a child, you are both flawed and pure.
They have offered our freedom for Julian, my Julian. (I dare not call him that aloud, only in my thoughts. There he must always remain beloved.)
They may as well have asked me to carve out my heart. I cannot live without a heart, and Julian cannot give me a stone to replace it.
They have offered me my life for my love, and thus my life for my life. They have nothing to offer. Nothing to take.
But when he looks at me, his face says again that he will go. He does not want more to be murdered, especially for him. I pierced his heart when I sobbed that they wanted him, that we would die if we did not hand him over.
If I were the only one at stake, the only one to save or be killed, I would not let him go, for I have nothing I can lose that he is not. But the others do not love him.
Will they give over "the boy"?
"The boy!" They spit it out as if he were a curse, a disease, or an animal. He is not. He is chosen, and he is lovely. He would be lovely even if he were not chosen!
They are intolerable. They should kneel before the chosen, not talk of betraying him. But he is gracious, even understanding, even now, even to them, which only means they will get what they want from their cowardice.
I made you laugh once upon a time, Julian. It was so easy when you were just another boy. So easy to like and be liked, to sit together and- and laugh. Just laugh. I wish I could make you laugh again, but now I have little hope that we ever will, especially when I see your face- almost weeping. If you do weep, do not waste tears on me, who brought your doom, and thus, my own. Tonight and continuing, I cry for you, as you laughed for me.
Shall I always cry? Forever, until a broken soul kills me?
"Narcissa," you say.
I had forgotten my own name. Did you know, Julian, that you brought the narcissus out of her self-centered shell and taught her to love, without conceit or arrogance?
"Narcissa…"
No. I am Narcissa no more. Until you return, my name is Sorrow. Oh, Julian…