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“Hope...which whispered from Pandora's box after all the other plagues and sorrows had escaped, is the best and last of all things. Without it, there is only time. And time pushes at our backs like a centrifuge, forcing outward and away, until it nudges us into oblivion.”
― Ian Caldwell, The Rule of Four
The wraith is so tall its presence looms into the sky, towering over even the spires of the cathedral, as wraiths are wont to do. Its caricature of a face stretches into a skeletal grin, its bony digits releasing translucent cubes that contain the emotions of the captive townsfolks below.
Not for the first time, Marinette is grateful wraiths and transformed magical girls are both invisible to the normal human eye. It is simple bad luck that they stumbled upon a wraith the one time they went into town on Marinette’s day off, imagine the chaos if they were caught fighting an eldritch abomination in broad daylight!
Or maybe not. Marinette knows from experience that people under the influence of a wraith aren’t exactly capable of fear. It was part of the reason they should defeat the wraith as soon as possible. (the main reason being she has been looking forward to her day off, and how dare this thing interrupt her precious time with her friends!)
Evidently of the same mind, [plum] clucks her tongue, transforming her soul gem into its orb-like shape with a flick of her wrist, “The one time we’re not actively looking for a wraith to fight…”
“Only more reason to wrap this up quickly!” [teal] proclaims, already transformed. She holds her quarterstaff in front of her, parallel to the ground. Mist seeps from the roof of the cathedral that they are standing on, rolling outwards like a carpet of white in front of [teal]. [teal] waves her hand, and the fog retreats to reveal a stairway that reaches skywards, each step made of an individual staff.
[plum] unclicks the safety on her flamethrower. Marinette pulls her sword from her sketchbook. With a nod from [teal], the three charge.
With the sprawling stairway of staffs making the wraith’s monstrous torso accessible, the three make quick work of the wraith. A crisp cracking sound echoes through the air, like the sound of glass shattering, followed swiftly by the wraith’s cube-like weapons bursting apart.
The battle is over.
Marinette watches as life returns to townsfolks in the plaza below, continuing with their days as if they hadn’t just lost an hour of their lives to an eldritch abomination beyond their wildest imagination. [teal] orders her stairway of staffs to recede, disposing the three back on the roof of the cathedral before dissipating into fine mist.
The wraith folds into itself and crumbles, glitching into a tower of black pixels that eventually condenses into a pile of dark cubes, floating at eye level in front of the three magical girls.
Marinette grabs the grief cubes from the air, and counts. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Three grief cubes for each of them.
Grinning at a job well done, Marinette tosses [teal] and [plum] their share of the spoils. Holding her grief cubes between her fingers, Marinette presses her hand to her biceps. The tension in her shoulders ease as the grief cubes draw the darkness out of her soul gem, returning it to its brilliant pink shade.
She’ll get another two uses out of these grief cubes, Marinette thinks as she presses them into her sketchbook. The grief cubes join the rows of unnaturally black squares that sprawl across the page. There have been so many wraiths around lately; Marinette will have to start a new page soon.
They make their way out of the cathedral before they drop their transformations. Kyubey, who was waiting for them in the plaza, immediately bounces towards them. Grinning, Marinette picks up the fluffy creature and drops them onto her shoulder, their favorite perch. Kyubey immediately begins nuzzling Marinette’s cheek, making Marinette laugh and scratch them behind the ears.
“So how’s that for a job well done?” [teal] grins, throwing her arms around [plum] and Marinette’s shoulders. Kyubey makes a sound of disgruntlement at being disturbed, climbing up to Marinette’s head to escape [teal]’s arm. [plum] rolls her eyes, but leans her head onto [teal]’s shoulder.
Marinette laughs as she leans into [teal] as well. She squints at the setting sun, its golden rays setting the stained glass of the cathedral alight. “I just wish it wasn’t on my one day off. Now we don’t even have time to go to that cat café you were talking about.”
“Well, just because we don’t have much longer doesn’t mean we can’t have fun!” [teal] rebuts, “Besides, it isn’t my father will scold you for getting back late if he knows you’re with me. So how about a celebratory drink before we go home?”
Marinette’s face lights up, “At that boba place you took us to last time?”
[plum] hums, “Sure. But only if you’re paying, [teal].”
[teal] pouts. “I thought we were friends! Do I only have the worth of a wallet to you?”
“Obviously,” Marinette nods with a straight face, “You’re, like, our sugar mommy. It’s written in our friendship contract that you have to pay for our boba drinks, even when we’re old and grey.”
“Yeah, yeah,” [teal] sighs, “I get it. I’m the only one with money between the three of us. Honestly, what are you two gonna do without me?”
That’s the last time they go into town for a while. A week after Marinette’s monthly day off, her mentor announces that he’s chosen her to feature in his art exhibit.
“You’re one of the most talented people I know.” [teal]’s father tells her, “This will be a great opportunity to broaden your horizons; I’m sure you’ll learn plenty from this exhibit.”
“Don’t disappoint me,” Marinette hears, “Or I might just realize your position is just a result of your Wish, and all your talent is fake.”
Marinette throws herself headfirst into her work, forgetting her magical girl duties, her friends, even to eat and sleep. Kyubey stops hanging out in her workspace, and in hindsight, perhaps it hoped its absence—the lack of reminder—will only speed up the darkening of her soul gem.
For those few weeks, the only thing that keeps Marinette alive is [teal]’s kindness. The blonde girl brings Marinette food and water and a constant supply of grief cubes, even dragging a reluctant [plum] along to visit. By the time Marinette is comfortable enough with her work progress to pay attention to her surroundings—by the time she has the presence of mind to realize all that [teal] has done for her—
It is already too late.
That’s the last time they go into town together, ever again.
Before Marinette met [teal]—before even [plum] entered [teal]’s life—[teal] had a magical girl mentor.
The older girl had no name and no home. She wandered the world with only the clothes on her back and a single Kyubey for company, aptly calling herself the Traveler to all who asked. At that time, [teal] was just a recently contracted magical girl, a foolish child who had not yet realized just how dangerous the magical girl lifestyle was. The Traveler had found her mauled half to death by a wraith, and nursed [teal] back to health with her own magic.
In the few months that the Traveler remained in this town, she taught [teal] everything she knew about being a magical girl. The Traveler was particularly fond of tales regarding past magical girls, and during their time together, regaled [teal] with many legends that she later shared with [plum] and Marinette.
Stories of Jeanne D’Arc and her loyal companions, of Queen Hippolyta and her army of magical girls, of how Camelot fell to the plotting of magical girls who could control wraiths, of Queen Himiko and Hua Mulan and even a man named Ea-Nasir. The legend the Traveler favored above all else, however, is that of heaven.
Rumors of an Afterlife that belongs to all magical girls, a resting place after they sacrifice themselves to cleanse the world from wraiths. It is a place of joy and hope, somewhere the battles and sufferings of their pasts have no place to reside, a paradise where friends seek reunification and enemies strive for reconciliation. It is a heaven, made by and for magical girls.
It is a myth too good to be true, Marinette thinks, though [teal] has always been far too taken by this romantic notion. What proof is there of this imaginary heaven’s existence? All who might’ve ventured to this heaven are too dead to tell the tale, and those who claim they went to heaven and lived to talk about it are probably liars.
Kyubey encourages her skepticism, and in later days, when she so desperately needs to believe there is kindness somewhere for their wretched souls, she counts it as a point in favor of heaven’s existence.
[teal] begs and pleads and finally manages to convince Marinette to leave her workshop for a short stroll.
Later, after—everything, Marinette would like to say she saw something off about [teal]’s posture, that the paleness of [teal]’s face or the slight tremor in her arms was enough to pull Marinette from her work. But the truth is Marinette doesn’t even realize [teal] has been struggling until [plum] gives it to her straight—when it is far too late to make amends or say “thank you” or even apologize, because [teal]’s corpse is already cooling in the morgue.
The reality is that Marinette is a selfish, cruel being, because she only agreed to spend time with her friends because she was already mostly done with her project anyway.
It happens so quickly—those seconds crystal clear yet blurring together in Marinette’s mind—but between one step and the next, [teal]’s soul gem blackens
and much later Marinette realizes [teal] must’ve known what was about to happen, because she gasps and stumbles and tears spill from her eyes, a requiem for all the seasons she will never get to experience now
and then she turns to Marinette and [plum], and speaks with a gravitas showing that she knows these words will be her last
“Thank you. I’m so glad I got to meet the two of you,” [teal] beams, through the tear tracks on her face. “I hope you’ll live to a ripe old age. I’m only sorry I’ll never meet your spouse or your children.”
She crumbles to the ground, a marionette with its strings abruptly cut. On her finger, her ring shatters into sparkles, blown away by the brisk autumn wind. The cloud on her middle fingernail—the mark branding her as a magical girl—fades so completely it is as if it never existed.
[plum] wails. It is the most vulnerable Marinette has seen her. And as if [plum] has sucked all the vitality from her limbs, Marinette can only stare blankly at her best friend her family the body on the ground.
Is this the fruits of her labor?
Marinette tries to carry [teal] back to the mansion, but [plum] refuses to let her touch the body.
The entire household grieves, but her patron takes time out of his mourning to tell the girls, “This isn’t your fault. I know you loved each other—you tried your best.”
Somehow, it makes Marinette feel worse.
Behind her, she feels azure eyes burning into her back. (part of her wishes [plum] will burn her to a crisp like the fury in her eyes promise. at least then she will have paid for her sins)
“She chose you over the both of us, you know.” [plum] tells Marinette, her voice as quiet as the whistle of air before an executioner’s blade finds its mark. The muzzle of her flamethrower digs into Marinette’s neck. “She gave you her share of grief cubes, knowing that she won’t have enough for herself. I tried to stop her—saw that she was wasting away—but she said you were more important. And now—and now—” and now Marinette is standing and breathing and alive in all the ways that mattered, while [teal] is six feet underground “—it shouldn’t be her. It should’ve been you.”
“It should’ve been.” Marinette agrees solemnly.
“You—you—! You’re not supposed to agree with me!” [plum] seethes. Her grip on the front of Marinette’s dress tightens. “How am I supposed to get mad at you like that!?”
“But it’s true.” Marinette replies with a calmness she does not feel. “I should be dead. She shouldn’t.”
That brings a broken sob out of [plum]. “She—she didn’t deserve to die.” [plum] whispers, tears welling in her eyes. “She—she wasn’t supposed to leave us. Why—why did she—you—it’s all because of you! She left me, because of you!”
[plum] doesn’t need to tell Marinette not to follow when she leaves. Marinette remains where she sits, nailed to the ground by grief and regret and a darkness so tangible it feels like a physical weight on her soul—
Ah.
Marinette opens the palm of her hand, summoning her soul gem in its orb form. Despair coils in the crystal she now knows to be her soul, polluting the gem that hasn’t been pink since the day [teal]—left.
([teal] sighs, “Honestly, what are you two gonna do without me?”)
Her lips curl into a bitter laugh. Marinette understands now; [teal] was truly the glue holding them together. Her absence has given way to a void that could only be filled by a ticking bomb, and now—
How much longer until we join you?
Marinette shakes answers out of that monster who calls itself Kyubey.
She learns that she has sold her soul for a life with a deadline.
She discovers that the heaven the Traveler spoke of is more fact than myth, that it is an entity called the Law of Cycles, that it claims the souls of magical girls when Kyubey’s powers have polluted them beyond repair.
That Kyubey (slept in her bed) (ate from [teal]’s plate) (did chores with [plum]) ḷ̷̨̛̛̇̈͛̎̐̃̅̿̽̒̇̔̕i̶̲̠̙͕̖̳̳̲̊̋̽̅̉͛̒̇͝e̴̡̨̛̺͎͕̺̠̠͔͚̼͑͋͂̈̅̐͑͛͑̈́͂̕d̴̹̺̲̹͙̗͖͍̯̒̐̐̈́͑̈́̏̏̇̆͜
(monster liar TRAITOR but then isn’t she the same?)
Marinette snarls and beheads the Incubator with the sword that [teal] and [plum] designed for her. It does not make her feel better.
(later, Marinette rips the page containing their sword from her sketchbook, burning it: a pyre for their friendship. that does not make her feel better, either.)
Perhaps having people who care cared about her spoiled her. Marinette spent the first thirteen years of her life alone, yet the past few weeks of isolation feel worse than her childhood has ever been. It is only once [teal] and [plum] are gone that Marinette realizes she has gotten used to having partners to watch her back.
All things considered, she isn’t surprised that she would eventually die at the proverbial hands of a wraith.
This caricature of a human is woven from shadows and bones. It isn’t even that large, but it is nimbler than any wraith Marinette has encountered, its outline blending into and bleeding out of the shadows at will.
It pins her down with gaunt skeletal limbs, grinning from a skull with too many empty eye sockets. Its digits are cold and bloody, painted red by the lives of past magical girls. Marinette notes with cold detachment that she doesn’t think she can escape from this one.
(there is part of her that doesn’t want to try)
(heaven is a place of joy and hope, a realm where martyrs release their burdens and sinners seek redemption. heaven is her destination after death. [teal] is waiting for her there.)
The wraith curls a hand around Marinette’s neck. It can snap her spine in half so easily, a more painless death than she deserves.
Marinette closes her eyes, and waits for the end.
But instead of the cold embrace of death, she finds a wave of heat blasting across her skin. The pressure upon Marinette’s neck eases, Marinette’s limbs suddenly freed as the wraith becomes preoccupied with whoever sent out that blast of heat.
Marinette opens her eyes, only to find her previously dim surroundings ablaze in a sea of purple flames. The fire should’ve burnt through the entire alley, leaving no nook and cranny untouched, yet the spot around Marinette remains conspicuously free of soot.
She slowly sits up, rubbing the bruise marks around her wrists. There is a magical girl nearby, beating up the wraith with the business end of a flamethrower. With their surroundings set alight, the wraith cannot slink back into the shadows to hide. It can only fight the magical girl head on, a battle in which the magical girl is crushingly victorious. Marinette doesn’t need to witness that sight to know who came to her rescue.
“…[plum].” she whispers, her throat raw for reasons other than being choked by a wraith. why are you here?
[plum] bludgeons the wraith with her flamethrower one final time. The wraith glitches, then crumbles into a heap of bone ashes that is blown away by the non-existent wind, until only five grief cubes remain.
[plum] snatches the cubes out of the air. She spins around, fury twisting her features, and pointedly does not dispel her flamethrower.
(Marinette wonders if she can goad the other girl into turning her flamethrower on Marinette. maybe then they’ll both feel better.)
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” [plum] spits, hauling Marinette up by the frills of her apron.
“I…” Marinette looks away.
“Because it looks a lot like you were just lying there, letting that wraith choke you!” [plum] hisses. There is a spark of…something other than fury in her eyes. Marinette does not bother to find out what it is. “You could’ve taken that wraith, I know you’ve fought worse solo! So why did you—what if I didn’t arrive in time? Were you trying to get yourself killed!?”
Marinette stays silent.
“Oh my heavens.” [plum] grits her teeth. The glow of her flames makes her eyes gleam unusually brightly. “You were. I can’t—I just can’t believe you. You—” she raises her free hand, the hand with a flamethrower still perched upon her arm. Marinette can’t help but flinch back, so certain [plum] is about to fulfill her wish, and yet fearing the strike all the same.
But [plum] does not attack her. She only presses her hand to Marinette’s left bicep. Marinette exhales sharply as despair that she didn’t even realize had accumulated drains from her soul gem, and it is only then that Marinette notices [plum] is holding the grief cubes from that skeleton wraith in her palm.
“…why did you save me?” Marinette asks. you should’ve just let me die. “I thought you made it clear we were done.”
“I—” [plum]’s voice wavers, then hardens. She pulls her hand away from Marinette’s soul gem, pocketing the used grief cubes. “I couldn’t let you throw your life away. Or did you forget already, you ungrateful bastard? You owe [teal] your life. How could you render her sacrifice in vain, just like that!?”
“…you’re right.” Marinette murmurs. She knows all that, of course. Marinette just…
Marinette just misses her. Misses them.
“Good.” [plum] sneers. She releases the front of Marinette’s dress, allowing Marinette to collapse back onto the ground. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Or else.”
“Will you come back?” Marinette blurts before she can stop herself. “Even if we can never be friends again, at least come back to the mansion. I—” I miss you “—your family misses you.”
[plum]’s spine stiffens like a rod. Her lips curl in contempt. “Good,” she spits, “Don’t expect me you save you again.”
She walks away without another word.
Marinette stands up and fights.
She tried, she really did.
She still doesn’t last.
The wraith this time is large, with false limbs sculpted from marble and gore-coated nails fashioned from ceremonial daggers. Marinette doesn’t think [plum] can blame her, if she ever finds out she fell to a wraith like this.
The wraith pins Marinette down far too easily, driving its dagger nails into Marinette’s shoulder to stake her to the ground. Marinette pulls out her sketchbook with her free hand, intent on drawing a spare weapon from its pages, but her blood-soaked fingers slip across the familiar pages, unable to gain traction. And then the wraith is knocking Marinette’s sketchbook from her grip, stabbing its footnails through her wrist, and Marinette fails to see how she will escape from this one without [plum]’s miraculous interference.
I’m sorry. I did try.
She still struggles against the wraith, channeling magic into her limbs in hopes of breaking free, in the memory of [teal] and [plum] if nothing else.
(but there is a seed of relief in her heart, when she feels the weight of despair coil around her limbs, a physical indication that her soul gem is overburdened by darkness)
Ah, not much longer now…
(it’s over) (it’s finally over) (she doesn’t have to struggle anymore)
[teal] didn’t deserve to die—that is an undeniable truth.
But some say there is no greater liberation that death—
And perhaps there is truth in that as well.
(death isn’t so bad, now that she knows it isn’t truly the end)
(maybe Marinette can finally release the “sorry” lodged in her throat now)
(and perhaps when [plum] is ready to join them, they’ll get to regain the simple joy they once had)
In the same moment the wraith carves its fingers into Marinette’s chest, Marinette’s soul gem is overwhelmed by darkness. Soft warmth envelops her, the same warmth of sleeping in a soft bed after a hot shower, blocking out even the pain of the wraith tearing her body apart.
Marinette glances up, and somehow, she isn’t surprised to find a being with the gentlest hands cradling her. The Goddess smiles at her with kind golden eyes, hair as soft as cotton candy and wings as light as a child’s unburdened dreams. She cups Marinette’s soul in her warm hands, like Marinette is something fragile and precious instead of a friend-killer and traitor and imposter who took advantage of her mentor’s goodwill by getting his daughter killed, and guides Marinette patiently as they ascend—
Marinette ends up in heaven, and memories rush into her mind. Of a lifetime in a world with witches, and another in a world with wraiths. Neither is significantly kinder than the other was, but in one world she died with hope rather than despair—it was a relief only one world could offer.
There is a girl kneeling next to Marinette when she wakes, blonde hair and teal eyes and a magical girl dress, despite the lack of a soul gem on her finger. And in that moment, Marinette is overwhelmed by the magnitude of the gift the Goddess has afforded her.
She opens her eyes, and tells [teal], “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t say: I miss you, I shouldn’t have left you, I’m never going to leave you again.
(it was just as well that she left those words unsaid, for those three sentiments would soon turn into two truths and a lie)
[teal] smiles, tearful and bittersweet, and painfully hopeful even in death, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”