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She should’ve known.
As soon as she stepped foot into the godless church, Ava should’ve known something was terribly wrong.
She was the only one who seemed to not notice, after all.
The very atmosphere seemed to pay its respect; an eerie, dead silence filling the room.
Then there was the stale air slightly tinted with the scent of a particular crimson liquid.
Ava might’ve noticed the metallic scent if she focused on it deeply enough, though she never would have been able to with the blood rushing to her head: pounding, warning her against staring too long at the seemingly lifeless body dangling from the chains above the altar.
Even the windows were smashed in, crystallized rubble joining the dust in adorning the water-damaged flooring, so cracked it could barely even be classified as such.
Windows shattered as if to say not even God had been able to bear witness to the scene inside.
But Ava had noticed none of this, not at first.
Not when she had been on a mission to rescue Beatrice like some prince charming swooping in to save a defenseless damsel in distress.
Beatrice would’ve yelled at her for dreaming of such, emphasizing some ideology regarding feminism or individual empowerment.
In retrospect, Ava would laugh dryly at the fact.
But for now, Ava could think nothing of the future.
Not when the love of her life didn’t seem to have one.
And so, neither Ava’s surroundings nor any grasp of time could touch the woman.
Because love is blind.
Maybe that’s why Ava still thought Beatrice had a chance to make it out of that god-forsaken building.
Maybe that’s why, even in the face of certain heartbreak, Ava still saw Beatrice as untouchable.
Or why a future Ava would even be able to imagine Beatrice scolding her for her vision of a prince-charming style rescue, despite never being able to scold her for anything again.
Ava had no choice but to watch herself begin to walk over to the altar, sitting witness to her own body as if she had no actual control over any of its movements.
Then the walk turned into a run, and Ava felt the scream building deep in her chest, replacing the few snarky lines she had prepared to dish out to those of Adriel’s followers that had taken Beatrice in the first place, before heroically saving her.
As she laid eyes on the woman in question, however, none of those words seemed to matter. None of them even registered in Ava’s brain, not while the tears pricked at her eyelids as she subconsciously scanned over the older woman’s body.
Ava could at least somewhat handle the bruises and open wounds — Beatrice would heal with time, even if that mean a lot of it — as much as the sight filled her mouth with bile.
Even the complete and utter lack of movement from the once-nun could be chalked up to the older woman simply being unconscious, as Ava certainly tried to tell herself.
But what worried her most, and what she could not seem to shake or find an excuse for, was how inhumane Beatrice looked as her body lolled aimlessly from the metal shackles that barely propelled her on her tip-toes.
The very air around the body — Beatrice, Ava shuddered at having to correct her inner monologue — was empty.
Beatrice was empty.
There was no tinge of red that flushed her cheeks, a tint that always became that much more apparent when Ava would make some dumb, childlike remark aimed to make the other woman laugh (she always would, too).
There was no sign of emotion at all on the face of Ava’s favorite person to just stare at in the middle of the night, during their 3am talks while the rest of the world was fast asleep.
She couldn’t even discern the remnants of scornful eyebrows, scrunched ever-so-slightly when Ava did anything more misguided than usual.
She was completely unrecognizable.
The only hint of life at all was the streak of dried blood along Beatrice’s hairline, trailing down the side of her face. Blood that so scarily contrasted with the pale skin it stuck to.
She was just so pale.
The woman that Ava loves. The woman she swore she would run off with one day, somewhere where no one else would find them and where they could just exist for eternity: no demons, no Adriel, no pain.
Just each other, waking up everyday to a warm sun and the even warmer hold of Beatrice.
To the Alps.
You were supposed to take me with you , she wanted to scream.
Beatrice looked completely devoid of any remnant of humanity that Ava could discern.
Beatrice looked dead.
After a few moments of processing what she was seeing, albeit not very well, Ava sent the processed thoughts to the deep abyss of her mind as she refused to acknowledge or accept them.
Ava wouldn’t even risk blinking, as there was a certain fragility to Beatrice’s very existence, as if even a moment of diverted gaze would take anything she had left of Beatrice away from her.
A nagging feeling deep within her core told her that was happening anyway, but Ava wouldn’t dare let that voice surface.
By the time Ava had reached Beatrice, an endeavor that felt both neverending and instant at the same time, Ava began to see the brunette’s injuries in much more available detail.
The dark purple bruise that encapsulated Beatrice’s closed eyelids.
The raw wrists that she hung from.
Every little scrape, cut, and trauma to the woman’s body.
It took everything that Ava had to not throw up upon seeing what peeked out at the side of Beatrice’s core, which showed through the torn away bottom half of her shirt.
Ava’s eyes unwillingly traced the gash, bringing her eyes to the carving along Beatrice’s entire back as Ava let out a pained gasp that trickled into a half-sob.
The carving in the shape of a cross.
Deep slash marks littered with pieces of torn fabric.
The only thing Ava didn’t look for was any sign of Beatrice’s breathing.
She didn’t think she would be able to stomach what she’d find.
Ava internally debated with herself over her next course of action, ultimately deciding to unshackle Beatrice.
What that would do, Ava wasn’t quite sure, but she didn’t think she was sure of anything anymore.
And she had to do something.
She went to fiddle with the shackles, with the help of a key that had been carelessly dropped onto the flooring not far from where Ava stood.
But Ava’s hands simply shook far too much to remove the shackles, not even able to keep hold of the key after barely managing to pick it up in the first place.
After dropping the key, resulting in a loud clanging to the floor, Ava felt the deep panic bubbling in her chest.
Rising to her throat as a numbing chill radiated along her spine.
She did her best to compose herself as much as possible, trying to stay focused on the current task at hand.
What task? That annoying voice in her head asked, but she spared herself no answer.
She took a quick step back before accurately blasting the shackles off with minimal usage of the halo, replicating the same clang the keys had made as they also fell to the floor.
She thrusted forward to catch Beatrice as she fell, helping her descent to the ground.
Ava gently lay Beatrice to the wooden floor, tossing her own legs down as she set Beatrice’s head in her lap.
She caressed Beatrice’s jaw with her thumb as she took just a moment to stare at her closed eyelids, desperately wishing for them to suddenly, miraculously open. So she could stare into those stunningly light brown eyes one more time.
Her fingers traced her hairline next, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind Beatrice’s ear.
Ava instantly regretted the fact upon seeing the cut the action revealed.
Ava shuddered at how it no longer seemed to be bleeding, despite a startling depth.
It took all of Ava’s willpower to not sob, scream, or both.
She rested her head on Beatrice’s chest momentarily as she gave in to a few stray tears, becoming too strenuous to hold back. She pulled her head away, staring at Beatrice’s closed eyelids to speak to her.
“C’mon Bea,” She pleaded with everything she had, every fiber of her being. “Please,”
She let out a small sob as she struggled to speak.
“Please don’t leave me.”
The whined twang to her voice would have echoed through the church if Ava’s voice had been anything above a whisper.
And just like that, she was a child again.
Pleading for a miracle only a child could allow themselves to imagine plausible.
Crying on the side of the road as her mother’s body was covered with a white sheet before even being lifted into the ambulance.
Complete lack of feeling in her body, despite a sharp pain in her heart.
Complete and utter helplessness.
But this time was somehow worse.
Because she wasn’t helpless.
Because she had the world at her fingertips, and power greater than the world could ever comprehend in her back.
She had heaven and hell at her fingertips, yet she could still do nothing for the woman that she held with them.
She bit the inside of her mouth as the metallic taste fought to be noticed; as if Ava was capable of noticing anything at all.
She couldn’t give up, not yet. As far as Beatrice was concerned, not ever.
“We still have to go back to the Alps, remember?”
Nothing.
Beatrice only remained as she was, and as Ava feared she would now always be.
Lifeless.
And so, Ava put her head down on Beatrice’s chest, and she cried.
With everything she had in her, every sob racking her body full-force, she cried.
Ava’s chest hurt from such, but it was the newfound numbness in her heart that somehow made itself more known.
Numbness so powerful Ava didn’t even notice when golden light emanated from her back and seemed to hug Beatrice, bringing their bodies together as if they were one singular unit.
As if she had only ever existed to exist with Beatrice. As if her power was not hers, but theirs, and not even the gods could contest it. As if Beatrice was Ava’s, and Ava was hers. An indisputable fact that was as true as the grass being green.
Ava only lay there, head on Beatrice’s chest as she gripped onto the ex-nun with a hold tighter than she would ever think she was capable of.
Aggressive sobs ravaged Ava’s body as she held on for dear life.
Her trembling hands ran through Beatrice’s hair as she nestled her own face into the crook of Beatrice’s neck, the hint of golden light at the edge of her vision too minimal to be noticed by the grieving woman.
It was the heat that Ava did notice, however, contrasting the cold presence under her.
The heat manifested from seemingly nowhere, enveloping the two women and making it difficult to breathe.
Ava gasped for air as she reluctantly pulled away from Beatrice, the younger woman’s brows scrunching in confusion at the sudden increase in temperature.
And the sudden increase in exhaustion.
When Ava began to blink open her pained eyelids, she winced at the sudden intensity of light.
Golden glow tainted the majority of Ava’s view, the halo-bearer only able to see Beatrice as the rest of her surroundings melded into yellow haze.
Ava pried one of her hands away from Beatrice, bringing it to her own back only to recoil upon impact.
She brought her finger within her eyesight, her eyes widening at the visible burn on her fingertips.
Her ears pounded, Ava doing her best to ignore the raging headache brought on by a mix of grief, exertion, and tears. Tears that were dripping down onto the person who lay in front of her, just under her grasp.
Beatrice.
Ava wildly darted her red eyes along the woman’s body as she tried to regain her bearings, her heart beating out of her chest.
Beatrice’s whole body had a golden glow surrounding it; uncannily identical to the glow that had now begun to dissipate from the church atmosphere.
Ava allowed herself to hope, just for a moment.
But Beatrice still wasn’t moving. She was still pale. Lifeless.
But the cuts on her face suspiciously seemed much less noticeable than they had just a few moments prior.
And so, Ava put her head back down onto Beatrice’s chest, and tried to replicate whatever the fuck she just made happen.
And as far as she could tell, she succeeded in doing so.
The same glow from before reappeared, and though it took a bit more out of Ava this time around, more of Beatrice’s wounds had begun to heal themselves.
Ava even swore she saw the woman’s chest rise when she did finally pull her head away.
Check her pulse, Ava told herself.
But she didn’t want to know.
She couldn’t.
Before long, though, the curiosity and desperation in just needing to know somehow overwhelmed the dread of knowing something she never wanted to acknowledge.
And so, with trembling fingers, Ava carefully moved her hand to Beatrice’s neck amidst the fading golden forcefield-like presence around the two women.
The tears already more aggressively pouring from her eyes, her mouth twisting into a pained frown, seemed to know what Ava would find before she found it.
Because deep down, she had expected it.
There was no pulse.
The panic became too unbearable to push down as Ava frantically moved her fingers to different parts of Beatrice’s neck, the golden emit from the halo now completely gone, desperately searching for any sign of life, as if she would even be able to do so with the degree to which her fingers were shaking. But she craved any sign that the voice inside of Ava was mistaken. She needed something to prove it wrong.
Until she found it.
Beatrice’s lips parted ever-so-slightly as a small breath elicited from them.
The relief that immediately encapsulated Ava’s very existence was simply extraordinary, a warmth replacing the coldness of grief that had begun to establish itself there just moments prior. Her eyebrows immediately relaxed from the scrunched position Ava wasn’t even aware they had developed.
As she saw Beatrice’s features begin to twitch, her head turning ever-so-slightly and being accompanied by a tired groan, a grin not-so-slowly infected Ava’s own features through the tears. She brought both hands, one from the now-healed wound on Beatrice’s side, to the brunette’s jaw. She let out a relieved scoff as she pressed her forehead to Beatrice’s, closing her eyes and expecting to bask in the newfound warmth of previously chilled skin.
Though her forehead did have a slight warmth to it, Ava could sense that something was still wrong.
It was still far too cold. And pale.
Her smile fell slightly as she unwillingly acknowledged the fact.
Her relief had been premature.
She brought a hand down slightly to check her pulse again.
Although there definitely was one, it was weak.
So extremely weak.
And it seemed to be losing strength by the second.
“It’s not-” She muttered out, more to herself than anyone else. “It’s not working.”
She tried a few more times to summon the halo’s power, and though less wounds littered Beatrice’s body at the end of each turn, her pulse remained barely existent.
“Why isn’t it working?” Ava’s frustration bit through her tone. She swayed at the exertion and the toll the halo was taking on her body.
“Because it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Beatrice’s voice, if it could even be called that, felt like broken music to Ava’s ears. Like the eerie music that plays in a horror movie before the main character opens a door they definitely should’ve left closed.
Beatrice’s voice was just as weak as her pulse. It was strained, and Ava half wanted to tell her not to talk so that she could conserve her energy.
But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
And she wanted to be selfish, just this once, and hear the voice she missed so dearly.
Because she knew this was the last she’d ever hear of it.
“Hey, Bea,” Ava chose not to comment on Beatrice’s frightening reply, taking the hand that was checking her pulse and bringing it up to the side of her forehead. Her voice was soft and gentle, barely louder than a whisper.
She used her hand to gently sweep a strand of hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear, letting her hand trail back down to Beatrice’s cheek after the fact. She managed to force her mouth into a smile, more for Beatrice’s sake than her own.
She was dying.
And both women knew it.
And Ava, somehow, by some miracle, had managed to conjured up this one last stolen moment.
And she’s be damned before she wasted it.
By now, Beatrice had managed to groggily blink open her eyes to look at Ava, who fought with every fiber in her being to not break down at the glance.
She had to stay strong, for Beatrice.
She had to savor that glance, not knowing how much longer she had left of it, but knowing no definitive amount of time would ever be enough.
Whether it be selfishness or desperation, Ava just couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Not when she had just gotten her back.
“Just hold on for a little longer, okay? It’s not time yet. You’ll be okay,” The lies felt sweet as they rolled off Ava’s tongue; like they’d somehow become true if she said them sincerely enough. Ava’s forced smile faltered, and she never could put it back on, not fully, even as Beatrice gave a soft smile of her own. Beatrice nodded as she closed her eyes.
Ava worried she would never open them again, but she did.
Even so, Ava knew she was having way too much trouble breathing. Rather than the consistently calm breathing — regardless of circumstances — that she usually witnessed from the brunette, Beatrice would go long seconds without any breath movement at all. Then her chest would spasm as a subtle gasp would be released from her lips. Each ‘breath’, definable as such in technicality alone, took a painful toll on her already distressed body.
The halo-bearer sniffled as her next words came out, going to fiddle with Beatrice’s hair again. Beatrice leaned into the touch as Ava spoke.
”I always thought we’d have more time.”
“Timing never was our strong suit,” Beatrice observed, the small voice breaking and only discernible to the younger woman due to their proximity.
Ava’s facade cracked again. She looked down for a moment to compose herself, noticing that Beatrice’s hand was twitching, begging to be held.
So, she held it.
She traced her knuckles with her fingertips, taking in every curve and texture. She rubbed her thumb in the skin between Beatrice’s own thumb and index finger, something she had read once was supposed to be calming.
Or maybe Beatrice had mentioned it one time after a stressful shift at the bar, using the method on herself and gaining a curious expression out of Ava.
Everything sort of just blurred together at the moment.
A few tense seconds passed before Beatrice broke the silence. She fought to keep open her eyelids, which threatened to permanently close with every passing moment. Still, she looked at her love with so much stubbornness and clarity in her gaze, effortlessly (or maybe not so effortlessly) masking the fragility of it.
As if she was going to leave, but she would be damned if she went out without a fight.
“Ava?”
“Yeah, Bea?”
“I’m so tired.”
It took Ava everything she had to not just lose it right then and there. As she sat holding Beatrice in her lap, she struggled to focus. Her vision became blurry with tears that she tried to blink away, accidentally letting a few escape.
That was when it hit her.
She had to let Beatrice go, no matter how much she despised the idea. Because here Beatrice was, struggling to maintain eye contact as she even more so struggled to take in every strained breath. Beatrice was so deeply tired . And Ava hated herself for not accepting it sooner. She hated herself even more as she spotted the stray tear slipping down the side of Beatrice’s face. Ava brought her thumb to it, gently wiping it away and letting her thumb linger on the now slippery skin. Beatrice closed her eyes at the contact.
“I know, baby.”
And she did.
“You can-” Ava’s voice caught in her throat as she almost finished her sentence with ‘ go ’.
But she couldn’t.
“You can sleep. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, always.”
“You’ll be okay?” Beatrice asked, her voice like that of a child’s as she scrunched her brows, which were littered with beads of sweat. Her voice sounded guilty, and her eyes were still shut.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Ava lied, nodding a little too quickly. Her forced smile reappeared as Beatrice forced her eyes open again. The halo-bearer knew she wouldn’t be, but she also knew it was what Beatrice needed to hear, even if the older woman didn’t quite believe the words herself.
“I’ll meet you at our old apartment,” Ava started, her voice cracking. “I’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed, but don’t worry, I won’t make it. I’ll get it from that place around the corner that you really liked. The one with the really nice owner, that old lady with the accent you had some innate British connection with,” Ava paused to laugh through the memory, earning a soft yet pained smile out of Beatrice. “Then we’ll just walk around town, a cup of tea in one of your hands and a smoothie in one of mine. And I’ll hold your hand with the other one. We can hike up one of those mountains and just lay down and watch the sunset. It’ll be just us.”
Ava paused to stop the tears from spilling as her voice cracked. She scrunched her nose as she half-heartedly rubbed it on her sleeve.
“And maybe our golden retriever that reminds you of me, or our german shepherd with calm, big brown eyes just like yours. We’ll be at peace. Just like we always talked about.”
Beatrice drank in her words before replying.
”I’ll meet you at the Alps,” she agreed.
Beatrice croaked the simple sentence out with as much confidence and reassurance as possible. Of course, it was just like Beatrice to try and reassure Ava when she, herself, was the one in her final moments.
A new kind of weakness took over Ava. A numbness that sourced from her fingertips, interrupting the hold she had on Beatrice.
And with that, Ava could no longer maintain the pretense of strength. She took the hand that was still on Beatrice’s face, bringing it down to the older woman’s chest and then resting her own head there in defeat.
And she cried.
She sobbed into Beatrice’s chest while trying to listen to the woman’s heartbeat at the same time, as if it were her favorite song coming to an end. Because it was. Yet, somehow, the very impermanence of the pounding heart made it even more beautiful.
There was something about knowing she was listening to her favorite song for the last time that made her appreciate it all the more.
Her ear, pressed to Beatrice’s chest, drank in every heartbeat as if it were the last. Because for all Ava knew, it was.
And the tears fell accordingly.
Her ear rose and fell with each movement of Beatrice’s chest as she struggled to breathe, each breath more and more shallow and the breathing itself less and less frequent. Ava felt her stomach drop at the fact.
Beatrice squeezed her hand with what remaining strength she had left, and so Ava lifted her head from the woman’s chest to look at her.
“I love you so much, Bea,” she said between pained gasps of breath.
“I love you too, Ava.”
Beatrice replied immediately, as if by second nature.
As if Beatrice had only ever lived for one purpose: to love Ava.
As if she had done just that, and her job was now over.
And even though Beatrice was still alive, both women knew those would be her last words.
It was fitting that the last two syllables to ever leave those lips were her name.
Oh, how she loved when Beatrice said her name.
The way the three letters would meld together on Beatrice’s tongue as if Beatrice loved the very word itself.
Ava even loved how her name sounded when Beatrice was scolding her.
And she loved it especially when she wasn’t.
It wasn’t long before Ava leaned over to press her lips against the brunette’s, yielding an immediate coldness that enveloped the younger woman both physically and soulfully.
The coldness dissipated, replaced by what seemed to be the only source of warmth within Beatrice’s body at the moment.
It was Beatrice’s last endeavor.
Ava grasped Beatrice’s face as if somehow, just somehow, kissing her passionately enough would keep her alive.
It wouldn’t.
But that didn’t stop Ava from trying.
Even as Beatrice opened her eyes to look at Ava one last time as she pulled away, Ava opening her own eyes, the halo-bearer knew this was it.
The last time she would see those eyes stare at her.
And Ava stared back.
God, she loved those eyes.
Ava studied every shadow and every highlight. She drank in every little variation in shades of brown. She studied the eyes as if they would disappear the second she blinked or looked away.
Because they would.
So she memorized every little detail out of the fear that one day, many years from now, her memory would never be able to do Beatrice’s eyes justice. Never be able to replicate the pure beauty and love she sat there staring at right now.
She worried that one day all the little things would slip her mind: every little detail of her eyes, the way her hair fell, and how her freckles looked in the height of summer. Or the way her voice had slightly different intonations based on her different moods or even times of the day (yet her voice was always calming and composed, Ava never understood how).
She feared that one day, maybe far down the line, her mind would no longer be able to recall the full beauty that was Beatrice.
And it wouldn’t. Not fully.
Because, Ava realizes, Beatrice is exactly what people mean when they say certain life experiences cannot be put into words.
Or rather, memories.
As Ava knows that Beatrice cannot and should not be reduced to single snapshots in time.
(Ava still found herself trying.)
The longer Ava tried to study the shadows, highlights, and slight dips in color of Beatrice’s eyes — desperate to catch every last detail in case she had somehow missed something — the duller and less distinguished the details became. Diminished beauty peered in through the eyes that were always so full of love for Ava, able to fill her with such life and light at a moment’s glance.
It was almost ironic now, as Ava watched the same kind of life and light flicker from Beatrice’s eyes. The light continued to flicker, and each time, Ava’s breath hitched as time froze while she waited, hoped, and begged for it to return. Then it would return and Ava would feel the tangible relief. But then it would flicker again. Then again, and again, each return taking a little longer than the last.
Until it never came back. Until Beatrice’s eyes resembled nothing more than reminders of what might’ve been, but would now never become.
Ava’s trembling hands drifted to Beatrice’s eyelids, gently pulling them down.
And in that moment, when she couldn’t find any sign of life, what Ava craved more than anything was one more image of Beatrice looking at her. She chastised herself for being so greedy, but at the same time, she wished she had once been more so.
She already missed the emotional, unwordable stories that the two orbs always seemed to be able to tell with just a glance.
She just wanted one more story.
But she knew all she would find if she lifted up the lifeless eyelids would be emptiness.
And that, Ava knew, would be her own nail in the coffin; something she would never recover from. How she would recover from any of this at all, in fact, Ava wasn’t sure.
Ava brought Beatrice’s lifeless body closer to her chest, taking her in her arms and wrapping them around her with such a force that she swore it would somehow bring her back. But that would be naive to even think.
Even for Ava. And Ava knew better.
There was nothing left to do but to do just lay there, on that desolate church floor, with her arms wrapped around Beatrice’s as Ava tried to convince herself Beatrice was hugging her back.
She tried to imagine Beatrice holding her, with arms the younger woman had once called home.
But home had never been so cold.
With not even God as her witness, for not even a divine soul could bear to watch, Ava held the woman that she loved with no intent of ever letting go.
Loved .
Ava hated how Beatrice had become a past tense.
The sobbing, which Ava hadn’t even noticed had started up again, only got worse when Ava realized how eerily unmoving Beatrice’s chest was while pressed against her, Ava unable to hear or feel a heartbeat nor any rising of the woman’s chest.
When the crying stopped, only for Ava’s lack of any more liquid in her now-dry eyes, Ava brought Beatrice down to her lap once again, grasping the ex-nun’s hand gently. She squeezed it, part of her daring to hope she’d get a squeeze back.
There was none.
She brought the weak hand up to her lips, softly placing her lips on Beatrice’s knuckles as she closed her eyes, thinking out loud.
“What am I gonna do without you, Bea?”
Live. She would live her life, just as Beatrice would want her to, no matter how much it hurt to do so. Just as she has once told Beatrice to do without her.
Maybe this was some sick, twisted form of karma.
In that moment, Ava pledged to carry Beatrice’s spirit with her for as long as she lived.
Though it wasn’t quite enough, as nothing would ever be enough, knowing that each beat of Ava’s heart was for Beatrice even in her passing somehow allowed her to not be utterly consumed by grief.
Her heart would beat for the both of them.
And that would somehow make things just okay enough to deal with.