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There is no world bereft of my love for you.
It was not in Mabel’s nature to indulge in the fantasies of a simple life.
Such wishfulness, such longing for mundane ignorance was the most explicit form of weakness.
And Mabel was anything but weak.
The unquenchable fire that ached, bone-deep inside her plant-mellowed flesh was, for the first time, almost satiated by the sheer closeness of the one beside her.
The angel whom she had been blessed with the privilege of laying her eyes upon, the saint with the soft, dark curls, entwining her fingers as she delved into an urgent embrace, those anthracite eyes that both soothed the flame in her heart and caused it to flare in an all-consuming tide.
And yet there was a primal fear that plagued her heart, that Anna Limóne did not know her.
Anna, her Saint Anna, the one she needed to protect from the horrors of the undead, the one who dearly loved the mere idea of Mabel.
Foolish Anna, brave Anna, the one who would never know her, the one she would never be able to redeem herself enough to be worthy of, and yet knew, painstakingly, that neither of them could ever have another whom they could hope to love half as fiercely.
They were bound to each other by the thread of fate, of souls, of the past and the present in this cyclical system, trapped.
Like Mabel somehow always found herself to be.
Break free of their constraints, and one would always find another, and another until they could swindle themselves into the delusion that they were free.
And Mabel’s corrupted heart almost felt whole enough to do so. To convince herself that, provided she was together with her other half, her soulmate, she was free.
But she was not free.
And it was in moments of mind lapse, in the crevices, the cracks of her conscience that guilty visions would play before her eyes, true and clear as the thirsty, untethered, burdensome desires she carried close to her chest.
Like now, scouring her old bedroom for clues, for something.
Mabel’s gaze returned to studying Anna.
This was not the life Anna deserved.
And as sinful or bad or unworthy as she was, Mabel knew that it was not the life she deserved, either.
The first one was the easiest to admit, to claim as her own.
It was one she’d even confessed to Anna. Over voicemail, of course, but confessed aloud all the same.
“Careful - you’re going to burn them, Mabel!”
Fantasy-Anna retained her faithless attitude, so it appeared.
“I’m not incompetent. I’ll serve only the best for my Mi Reina, my queen.” Mabel purred, though she reluctantly let herself fall away from her lover’s arms to check the food.
She could feel the warmth from the pan, the rich smell of chorizo and potatoes. An arm snaked around her waist. Anna’s head nuzzled her shoulder, her breathing soft and rhythmic and so alive.
Mabel exhaled, the scents and sensations fading into the faint lingering of fruitless wishes. She tried to recall where they were, but the setting was nothing but an incomprehensible blur.
They were outdoors.
The setting was clearer now, Anna’s soft hand in her own calloused fingers. Her wrist was whole, the healthy glow of deep caramel skin proclaiming her humanity.
A warmth pricked at her eyes, and Mabel squeezed them shut, drifting back into the fantasy.
A broad, white sign lay across the roof.
A bakery.
The enticing smell of baked goods wafted through the air.
Mabel gazed softly at Anna’s wide eyes.
“Which dessert do you want, Mabel?” Her voice was similar to an excited child, not in its juvenile nature, but more from the delighted innocence that made Mabel's heart ache a little more.
“All of them, Anna,” she replied quietly.
The vision shifted, colours merging, transitioning like a low budget romcom.
.
And they stood under the umbrella of a bright pink magnolia tree.
Such a cliché.
The factor that made it infinitely better was Anna Limóne’s smile.
“I am so happy,” she murmured, beautiful and full of such hope, “ I feel like weeping.”
It was sickly sweet, and Mabel should have recoiled in disgust, in the foolish, dull-witted adolescent naivety.
This was not the Anna she had plunged so hard, so deeply in love for.
This was but an unsophisticated, rudimentary projection of her yearning, and she knew it well.
And yet…
“Mabel!”
Mabel blinked, the room sliding back into focus.
“Mabel?”
Anna’s face, real Anna’s face stared back at her, blemished and tarnished and perfect.
“Mabel, what-?”
All traces of dream-Anna faded as Mabel took a step forward, one hand brushing her cheek.
She could feel the presence of the other worlds, she knew they were there.
Worlds in which she’d been a lightbulb, a fox…a girl.
Worlds that she’d died in, worlds that she wished she’d seen such a fate.
Worlds in which she and Anna had a chance of happiness together. Whether that included this world, she doubted.
But there was something so undeniably, so unyieldingly true that resonated in somewhere deeper than her heart, her soul, but within the code of physics, within the code that made everything sensical, right, and everything in between.
There is no world bereft of my love for you, Anna Limóne.