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Battler’s fingers carded through the witch’s golden hair. There was a soft smile on his face. And yet, the witch did not look at him, and merely had a dull expression. That did not deter Battler in the slightest, nor did it dim his smile, nor did it cause his gentle touch to cease.
“Your hair is beautiful, Beato,” he murmured, his voice kept low and gentle for her. “You’re beautiful…”
Beato did not respond. Even then, Battler continued to speak.
“Is the tea to your liking?” he asked. “I thought we’d have mint tea today. I know it’s technically not ‘real tea’, but it’s okay to be a bit heretical sometimes, isn’t it? We’re witches, after all…”
Of course, the witch before him, with dull blue eyes and lips that did not move to speak, merely to faintly draw breath, would not reply. She would never reply again. She would never sneer at him again, would never smile at him again, would never laugh again… for all eternity.
That was the price the witch had paid to close the sixth game: she had revived, only to ‘die’ once more. This was the fate Beato had chosen for herself. And even if Battler could move pieces shaped like her, could always bring forth a piece in her likeness, it would be nothing more than an illusion that would do naught but obey his orders. He understood that. And… he had accepted this Beato.
Even if she would not smile, even if she would not speak, it was still the person he loved. So, he wouldn’t cry. So, he wouldn’t despair. Because she was right here. She was not in pain, nor was she suffering deeply, as she had been in the fifth game. She would not need to be pierced by red or blue truths again. She would not need to cry for him again. He had carried out a proper funeral, he had carried out a beautiful final 8th game for Ange with her piece, but he would not abandon the Golden Witch. He would not forget the promises he had made to her.
Still smiling, Battler’s hand fell from her hair to rest gently over Beato’s hand. “Ladies first, so you can have the first sip… Today is a different tea set than usual too, did you notice?”
He’d procured a set with verdant leaves with golden speckles and lines. It was fitting for both mint tea and for the Golden Witch. Since his beloved could not speak, he had to think about what she would like. Since his beloved could not even nod or shake her head, he had to turn the chessboard around constantly to try to grant her even the smallest bit of happiness, even if he would not see it with his own eyes.
Because he loved her, he believed that she had at least a little happiness. He simply could not see it with his eyes. But, it could still be ‘seen’. Sometimes, if he looked closely, he would think that he saw the smallest bit of light in her eyes. And so, he would continue like this.
He brought Beato’s hand to her teacup, and helped her bring it to her lips. She took very small sips, but even so, she was drinking it. It was proof that she was alive, even if it was only the slightest bit. So, in return, he continued to smile softly at her. Even if he did feel sorrow, even if he did spend many nights in despair, he didn’t want… to show the person he loved such a sad, pitiful sight. He didn’t want to worry her in the slightest. So, no matter what, he had resolved to smile.
“It’s good, right…? I told Ronove to add honey for you, I heard that if you drink mint tea straight, it can be too bitter.” He chuckled a little. “You have such a sweet tooth, jeez…”
Her expression didn’t change in the slightest, but after a certain point, she stopped sipping from the cup, and so he set it down. Regardless of how much he teased her, she would never pout or scowl, would never make snappy retorts, would never protest. And yet, he still hoped, still prayed. Despite knowing that such a miracle would never arrive… he wanted to see her smile again.
She didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to even hold his hand of her own free will. He wasn’t bold enough to ask for that. Just to be able to see her smile. Just to know that she really was able to find some sort of happiness like this… even when he was selfishly tying her to this world… Yes, that alone would be enough for him.
The rose garden they were having tea in was beautiful. The red roses around them were in full bloom, carefully tended to by Kanon (and Jessica, when she wanted to help out). They had tea here often, though on rainy days Battler would usually decide that they should have tea inside the mansion instead.
When the two witches were having tea, no one else entered the garden. In fact, very few besides Battler even spoke to Beato at all. Virgilia, Ronove, Gaap, Shannon, Kanon… it was merely those few. Even the Stakes of Purgatory no longer acknowledged Beato as alive, even if they acknowledged her existence. The Beato before him was beautiful and eternal, but… without will, without life, she was nothing more than a ghost, a shadow, a doll.
Battler sighed, leaning over the table to press a kiss to Beato’s forehead. “I really… love you, you know?” he whispered.
“...” As always, there was no response.
“I’ll wait with you forever, Beato. I really will. I’ve gotten way better at keeping promises.” He chuckled, trying not to cry. He’d always been an easy crier, but for Beato’s sake, he had tried to improve. “I wonder, if I wait a thousand years… will you smile again?”
The melancholy that had swept over him was cruel, and dug painfully into his heart, which could not bear it. To have someone so dear to him so close, and to be unable to bring even the smallest smile to their face… Was that not the worst kind of torture? Was this not the cruelest sort of ending that could have been given to him?
His hands cupped her cheeks, his fingers felt the softness of her skin. She was slightly cool to the touch, and even when his hand passed over her lips for a moment, her breath was the slightest exhale of air, soundless and strange. He wanted to breathe life back into her, wanted to see her cheeks flush with warmth and tinged with pink, wanted her eyes to sparkle like when sunlight hit the ocean waves, wanted… He wanted Beato to live. More than anything, he wanted this person who was so precious to him to be able to fully express herself and to enjoy the world.
Beato had always been so vivid, so bright, so alive. And now she was dead, and it was for his sake, and it was such a heavy burden to bear that he could not bear it. There was no one else to bear it with him. There was no one to share in this sin with. The person who he should have been able to share everything with was, after all… right here…
“Sorry, Beato.” Battler sniffled a little, his vision blurring slightly. “I really shouldn’t cry in front of you, I’m sorry…” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry… if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be like this… If I hadn’t…” The words caught in his throat, and sobs spilled out instead.
He gave up on trying not to cry, retreating from Beato to clutch himself and to muffle his sobs into the sleeves of his jacket. She shouldn’t have to see him being this pathetic. She shouldn’t have to witness what a failure of a man he was, what an awful witch he was. Beato hadn’t broken until the very end. She hadn’t cried before him until she’d been pierced with stake after stake of faulty blue truths. She hadn’t given up until he’d pushed her to that point, until he’d broken her beyond repair, and even then, at his request, she’d laughed and tried weakly to put on the mask of the witch.
“Sorry… Sorry…” he muttered those useless, meaningless words over and over. They didn’t have any significance. Because their recipient would not respond to them. Because they did not hold anything behind them but his painfully worthless emotions that could not do a thing.
Despite his position as the Territory Lord, despite his position as the Endless Sorcerer, he could do nothing for the Golden Witch except to remain by her side, to treat her gently and lovingly, to try to grant her every comfort and happiness he could. And now he’d finally failed to do even that. Now he was bawling his eyes out and crying in front of her, displaying how broken and wretched and selfish he was. He was nothing more than another Kinzo, crying before Beatrice and begging her to smile for him again, and he felt disgusting for the thought, for the comparison. He was such a selfish, disgusting person, powerless and yet cruel in every respect.
He couldn’t save his sister from growing up in such a lonely way, he could not save Beatrice from her death, and now he could not even save her soul, could not even truly bring her to the Golden Land that she had sought for so long.
Someone wrapped their arms around him, and he didn’t bother to push them away, merely crying into their shoulder weakly. He couldn’t take this any more. He couldn’t… even if he wanted to, even if he had to, this was too much. It was too lonely, too painful, and he could tell that he was breaking even if he wanted so badly not to break, and he wasn’t sure what sort of shattered, twisted thing he would become, but… if that sort of thing would be capable of harming Beato, then he did not want to live. Then the person who had so kindly embraced him should not be granting him comfort, but instead should be granting him the mercy of death.
“Please…” Battler whispered, his voice hoarse, shaky. “I can’t do this. I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t, please… let go of me…”
“Do you think I’d let you escape…? You’re my Golden Sorcerer alone, are you not?”
It was a soft, feminine voice, one he knew well. One that he would never truly hear again. He felt a new wave of tears welling up. “I don’t need an illusion of you right now. Please… go,” he managed to say despite the sobs that were already building up once more. “I’m weak enough that this makes me happy, but please…”
She didn’t disappear, didn’t cease to hold him. Her arms instead tightened. “I won’t disappear.”
“Why…” he murmured, trembling, his eyes shut. “I don’t want… to see a memory of that smile…”
“You won’t see a memory.” She laughed, and it was a merry, bright cackle, just as beautiful as it was in his recollection. “You’re such a dense man.”
“Mm, I’m dense,” he agreed, though his voice was strained. “I can’t bear to drown in a dream of you, but I can’t bear the reality of you either… I’m sorry. I’m… an even worse witch than you are…”
“Open your eyes,” she commanded. “Or I’ll pry them open, Ushiromiya Battler. You mustn’t cry like this. Aren’t you a witch?” She poked his cheek, and his eyes flew open, an unconscious reaction to the act.
An empty chair, and a witch with long hair holding him tightly. When she noticed that he’d opened his eyes, a soft smile settled on her features. It was as if he had fallen into the sweetest dream imaginable. If this was a dream, then he could only wish never to wake.
“Beato…” he whispered, his tears forgotten. “Beato, Beato, Beato…” All he could do was repeat her name over and over, as if he was praying to her, some long-forgotten god in a small, hidden shrine with nothing more than one devout believer.
He embraced her back, standing up, and then, without another word, kissed her, his eyes still open, still trying to memorize the sight of her face. He pulled away after a moment, and she scowled at him with reddened cheeks, though she didn’t let go of him in the slightest.
“You’re… really, you’re…” Beato mumbled, and then blurted out, “I love you.”
He smiled at her, at that adorable miracle in his arms. “Do you really promise… that you won’t disappear, Beato?”
“I promise…” She hugged him tighter, leaning against his chest. “You promised to stay by my side, too. So you… can’t take that back now…” she whispered.
He patted her head. “I won’t. Forever and ever, okay? And now you can tell me what teas you don’t like, and yell at me for my bad taste…” His eyes were wet with tears, but they weren’t painful, now. Rather than being a representation of his sorrow, they were clearing it away, purifying him.
“Yeah… I will. And you’ll just have to put up with me.” Beato laughed softly. “I’m all yours, and you’re all mine.”
Battler didn’t need to see her face to know that she was smiling. After all, with his heart… he could ‘see’ the most beautiful smile in the world, one that would be with him for all eternity.