Chapter Text
I went out looking for the answers
And never left my town
I'm no good at understanding
But I'm good at standing ground
Marcy’s memorial service had been…
“I’m sorry. For everything.”
It had been… solemn.
Anne grabbed her sword and tumbled out of the portal.
Everyone in Wartwood had gathered in the center for it.
“Anne!” the Planters had cried, scrambling out after her.
Marcy’s casket laid closed in front of the fountain.
She grabbed Marcy, somehow finding the strength to get her to Sasha, who put her over their shoulder.
The townspeople had said some kind words about Marcy,
Andrias was charging them, Anne haphazardly swiping her sword above her to keep him off them. Jack Sparrow somehow knew to be ready at the window.
How she was so incredibly brave,
They landed harshly on his saddle, setting Marcy down.
And kind,
Sasha and Anne waved at everyone to back away.
And smart,
Marcy’s eyes were dimming.
How she brightened their lives .
Sasha and Anne looked at each other as Marcy’s breath slowed
Even in the short time she was in Wartwood.
And stopped.
Surprisingly, those who were thought to have the most to say about her,
Marcy was
The ones that knew her best,
So still
Who knew her for her entire life,
“Marcy, wake up!”
Who had the most to lose,
“Anne, Sasha,” Lady Olivia said. She and General Yunan had made it on with them.
Were not there.
“She’s gone.”
“...No. No, no, no!” “ Marcy…”
Anne grabbed Sasha’s trembling hands before they could get to the front of Marcy’s cloak and held them.
Grime looked past them at Andrias’s castle. “It’s sinking.”
Sasha and Anne continued to hold Marcy’s body as everyone looked on. Nobody noticed that Sprig had somehow grabbed the Music Box. They all stayed like that, everyone watching the large building go crashing down while Anne and Sasha grieved their friend, until they landed in Wartwood.
Anne and Sasha stood and looked out at everyone before retreating to the Plantar’s basement, while someone found a sheet to put over the body.
The service went on without them as they processed in their isolated silence.