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She can’t sleep in the immediate aftermath. Her eyes cannot close, because when they do, she is holding her sling again, preparing to throw it. He is trapped within the branches of a tree, a shell of his former self, bracing for impact. She watches as the rock moves with grace throughout the air, only for it to connect with the person she loved above all. His body goes limp, and upon opening her eyes, hers does, too. She looks down upon her hands, only to see them covered in blood.
An overwhelming feeling of dread and guilt shortly follows.
Most of her time is spent crying. The world moves along without her; day turns into night, and spring turns into fall, but she is stricken with grief, and cannot move on. She lives in the mountains now, but does not possess the strength to explore it, not alone. Every time she takes a step, something feels wrong. He is not following her, nor is he at her side. His laugh does not brighten the room any longer, nor do his beautiful blue eyes.
And so she lays upon her bed, growing more disheveled by the day, with tears in her eyes. She reaches out, flailing in the darkness to feel the touch of his hand one more time, but it is in vain. All that remains of him is a memory that she holds close.
When no more tears can be cried, she fantasizes about her death. One by drowning would be too long and arduous, and with what little strength she has left, something she cannot complete. One by hanging is, by comparison, much faster, but perhaps too abrupt. Death by a sea of rats, though, seems much more fitting, and all the more plausible. The thought of rats, once bringing her feelings of terror and uncertainty, now brings a sense of closure. She is content, happy even, to exit the world in such a manner.
The only thing that stops her each time is his voice, still living in her head. He pleads with her to stop, and she dutifully listens.
For how much longer, she does not know. But so long as she is awake, the thought of a slow, painful fade to black follows her.
And, so long as she is awake, she relishes in it.
But when her body cannot go on any longer, and her mind is verging on madness brought on by exhaustion, she passes out on a bed made for two. Instinctively, she wraps her hand around the other half of the bed, trying to pull his body close to hers for comfort. Like he did when he was scared. Like they did every night they spent together.
It felt natural and right.
But nothing is there. Instead of his body, her hand meets but a ghost of his body.
She knows it’s over. He’s gone. But in her dreams, a land far away from her own, she can see him. Not a nightmare, but a dream.
It's a paradise.
She is home again, back in Guyenne. Where she first met him. It is fall, and the leaves have begun their slow descent to the Earth. But she does not have time to see the sights, for before her stands a door. One that will bring her to him, at last.
She opens it and walks in.
He is as she remembers. Small, but hardly frail. Uptight, but only until he sees her. Innocent, but not like he was just a year ago. She approaches quietly, but he hears her. His eyes, big and beautiful, stare up at her, while his mouth quickly quirks into a smile. Before long, his arms meet hers as they wrap each other in a hug. He holds on tight, and so does she, for if they do not, they may be lost again.
She kisses him on the top of the head and tells him all he has missed. It is not in detail, he should not know them anyway, but he still listens intently occasionally interjecting with a question or observation. He laughs, and she laughs with him, through the hazy, optimistic yet melancholic atmosphere.
Hours are spent catching up, but only minutes are spent saying goodbye. Still, it is enough for her.
As awakening grows nigh, she professes how much he means to her, and how difficult it is for her to go on. Again, he listens, something he always had a penchant for. When she is done, tears in her eyes, he offers no words, but instead takes her hand. Together, they watch the sunset bring closure to her dream
She abruptly awakes with tears in her eyes, for her hand is empty. But she is also happy. To his face, she was able to get one word off her chest. One that he needed to hear, but couldn't while he was alive.
One that Amicia longs to tell him.
Goodbye.
From that point on, his death no longer haunts her closed eyes. Rather, she closes them often, to see his face.
Days and weeks pass, yet she still yearns for sleep, just to see him again. She does not live, not anymore; her life is but a sad reflection of what it once was. Rather, she waits until she can see his face again, hold his hand, and tell him goodbye all over again.
But his face slowly disappears into the void of lost memories.
As reality quickly paves way for her own, dream world, his features, once vivid, and the only thing she could think of, become less distinct as time goes on. His face becomes distant as if hidden by her mind. His body soon follows, but the last to leave is his voice.
Eventually, she is left professing her love and bidding farewell to a void of darkness, instead of her brother. It is a sad truth, but a truth, nonetheless.
She has forgotten him. His face. The touch of his hand.
His voice. Lost forever.
She awakes to the birds chirping outside, like a bell ringing out across a vast land. She rises, getting ready for the day ahead, but wonders if today might be her last. She hopes it will be, for if it is, she can join his side once more. Brother and sister, side by side, nevermore to part again.
Death will bring them together again. Amicia watches out the window, patiently waiting for her time to come, for Death to come knocking on her door. When It does, she will only be too glad to open it.
And before long, she will see him. The real him.
Hugo’s face will no longer be but a distant memory. But until then, she clings to dreams, merely the constructs of her unconscious mind, for she does not know where else to go.
It’s all she has left.