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The world falls in a matter of seconds: her world that is.
With the still-ringing cry of a triumphant yell, air whistles swiftly ahead of Sasha. A determined blade pierces, striking true, slashing through coiling cables, snapping coppered wires. Orange crackles wildly. Alive. Dying. Diminishing sparks cast high above her; a speckled starlight dappled across canopied twisted, gnarled cords. Like the world, they also fall, a meteor shower of orange spraying down upon them. At the same time, glass shatters from all around, thousands of pin-pricked eyes imploding one by one. The room rumbles once, and then twice, followed shortly by an earthshaking scream – one that shrills through eardrums, the sound clenching Sasha’s heart within an iron grip as she clasps her head; a futile attempt to block it all out.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Past it all, beyond that chilling terror and blood-boiling turmoil, that pained shriek is far too familiar. A warbled cry: the notes too disjointed, forced, controlled, and The Core-Darcy-whatever-the-frog that thing is wails an awful, heartbreaking screech. As it does, the multitude of layers start to peel away until eventually, it’s Marcy’s voice that floods back to the surface, brimming with agonised pain.
Then they fall but where Marcy should rise, she too falls, taking the world along with her.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
The Core’s last words echo, frenzied, wrathful, and truthfully, Sasha thought she had. The cabled helmet had clearly been a weak spot left unprotected, unguarded, fragile. With Marcy masked away, lost behind malicious orange unseeing eyes; all Sasha needed to do was break her out. Pulling or cutting it, well, that should have worked… right? It’s what made sense! Cut off the head of the snake and all that nonsense. A perfect opportunity. This was supposed to be simple. Just get the box: check. Stop The Core: check. Save Marcy.
No plan ever goes simply, you know that Waybright. Better than anyone.
Damnit, isn’t that what they’ve fought towards this entire time? To get them home; and yes, all three of them – no matter what Sasha might’ve thought before. After all, it’s how they’d arrived. They’ve always been a trio, and despite everything, still are. Everything that’d happened in between? It doesn’t matter – well, no, that’s not right, because of course it matters. If Sasha ever turned her back on that now, she’d kick herself multiple times over and then maybe a few more just to get it into her stubborn head. Anyway, she understands. Sasha gets it now. They’ve changed – and that’s okay because she’s changed, different, better. It’s not about who she was then; it’s who she is now that counts. Besides, there’s a promise to be kept and Sasha’s done breaking promises. With her last breath, she’ll save them: the town, the rebellion, her girls.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Those wretched words echo again, haunting, mocking, and… maybe she doesn’t. Not when Marcy lies motionless, a fallen star felled across cold, cracked castle floors once more.
This time, Sasha doesn’t hesitate to reach her. “Marcy…” she starts, voice cracked, high with fright, undertones thick with worry as she desperately tries clambering to her feet, “Marcy, wake up.” Suddenly the room tunnels. Shadows edge her vision, everything spins, spins, and spins. Colours blur, shapes shifting as they combine into a blurred, iridescent amalgamated blob and her body shakes with tremendous effort. Barely, she manages to catch herself from collapsing back to the floor.
Get up Waybright. No time for this. Marcy needs you and you’re not leaving her behind. You can’t.
It hurts: everything. At every movement, orange fire spits, sizzling along the gaping gorge cascading her back, where scorching lava continues to drip, drip, and drip. Fire-red blood drenches her, splaying patterns along skin. It soaks deep into shattered armour, bathing the fabrics in between, seeping into battle-born pores and cracks. A metallic tang floods her mouth and nostrils, iron lingering at the back of her tongue, and despite how much Sasha swallows airlessly, trying to rid the taste, it never disappears; not completely. A sick reminder that she’d been this close to meeting deaths door and leaving them both behind. There’s still chance of that, given her injuries, but she can hold on. Just a bit longer. For them at least.
There’s another sharp orange pulsating ache: the back of her heel, right where The Core had thrown that sun-fire dagger with sharp precision, slicing through flesh, tendon, and muscle. The throbbing pain grows even now, spiking along the inside of her leg, trailing upwards, all the way until it meets into a blazing, painful communion with her gored back, doubling in intensity. They burn upon every heartbeat and the shadows within her vision continue to linger, never fading. She can’t move – not much anyway. Any weight on her legs brings that pillar of utmost strength, the tower that is Sasha Waybright, crumbling down, brick by laser-shot brick. Reduced to nothing but rubble, left crawling mangled in the aftermath, sliding bloodied and broken along tiled floors.
But Marcy needs her, the same way Sasha needs her – and she’d be damned if she gave up now.
Come on Commander. You got this, just keep going. For her. Remember, you’re fierce, you’re brave. You never give up – not on them.
Something determinedly pink resonates within her chest, a star burning bright once more, holding off that deathly ache just a little bit longer. Gritting her teeth, Sasha pushes on sluggishly. Her hands grapple to the floor, trying to find purchase, arms burning as she drags her sore, aching body forward, inch by measly inch. Her fingers slip every so often, covered, slicked red, and if she were to look back, she’d find a smeared bloody track behind her. She doesn’t; what’s the use in looking back at past events and regrets when what matters most – what she loves and would give anything to protect – lies fallen before her? So, she moves onwards, pushing, pulling, eyes locking onto Marcy, her friend, her goal, her promise; and she’s so, so close, almost within her grasp after letting slip all those days, weeks, months and years ago. Sasha can’t give up – she won’t. Not now, not ever. Not on them. Especially not on her.
Though her vision whites out for a split second, finally, finally, Marcy’s within her reach.
Exhausted, Sasha wearily drags herself back to her knees, resting in an awkward sitting position, angled enough that it doesn’t immediately irritate her wounds. Ever so carefully, she reaches forward instinctively, clutching a hand onto one of Marcy’s. It’s cold.
“Marcy?” Please wake up, sweetheart, I need you to be okay.
She doesn’t: wake, or respond, and that only sends Sasha’s heart falling, plummeting deep into the pits of her stomach which tosses and turns in despair. Looking at her now, Sasha finds she looks just as she had fallen – lying on her back, open-armed. Cruel really; if they’d been anywhere else, it’d be as though Marcy were welcoming her home, greeting her once more after months apart, a wide beaming smile to her face, eyes alive with sparked joy as she laughs and holds her close. A wishful, hopeless thought. Now, Marcy’s face remains slack, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. It’s unnerving, but with trembling fingers, Sasha reaches forward, fumbling gently to her neck. There, a fading but steady pulse thrums under her fingertips, and Sasha only breathes a sigh of relief.
Alive. For now.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Sealed her fate perhaps. Trapped her to a never-ending eternity of shadows where she’s lost behind illusionary clouds. A world where a pseud orange sun shines, the grass remains ever-greener, hollow fingers tangle within harrowed fingers. Or maybe, struck the hammer all too soon. Nails to a coffin, a closed casket where there’s a tragic requiem for a life taken twice. A lost ghost, one that can never return home. A forsaken friend. Star-crossed lovers. Doomed.
Cut that out right now. She’s here now, and so are you.
“Hey Mars,” Sasha hums, her voice deathly quiet, fading but as steady as she can possibly manage right now. Gently, she caresses her face, ghost-fingers moving fallen strands away from her face, and she ignores the way her heart pit-falls when Marcy doesn’t even so much as react to the touch. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” – listen to me one last time, alright? Follow my voice and follow your heart back to me, please – “don’t you worry, alright darling? I’ve got you.”
With the remaining strength that still blazes pink within her, Sasha delicately tucks an arm under Marcy’s back. Sucking in a deep breath, she carefully pulls her up, enough that she rests atop her lap. What was meant to be comforting isn’t. Though her arms ache from the movement, Sasha’s eyes only focus on how Marcy’s head lolls awkwardly, weightless, lifeless. No, she’s fine, she’ll be okay – one of us has to be. So, Sasha shifts their weight slightly, enough that Marcy’s head rolls, resting against her, as though she were only sleeping off a long, terrible night.
She does look tired too. Dark lines edge around Marcy’s eyes, and despite being trapped within that strange, heavy armour, Marcy’s chest shudders upon every inhale and exhale. Breath laboured, it wheezes and whistles, and every time there’s a short pause of silence, Sasha’s heart races worriedly. There’s a bit of blood on her hands – on both of their hands – but thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be her own, but on Marcy’s cheek, there’s a small trickle of green that trails away. For now, Sasha doesn't question the colour.
“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Sasha laughs, hollowed, empty, and with a thumb, she softly wipes away the blood, revealing a shallow cut on Marcy’s jaw, “frog, look at you. I didn’t mean to hurt you… not now, or back then.”
I wish you’d talked to us. I wish I’d let you.
Sasha’s not even sure if that’d have changed anything. She’d fallen into her place for too long, stuck in old ways. Assigned the protector, their guardian, their friend – when had the lines blurred together, melding into a muddied mess? How did she forget what she’d been fighting to protect this whole time? How did she come to hurt the ones she loved more than life itself?
“You know, I was so angry with you before,” Sasha sighs half-heartedly, shaking her head frustratedly, and the motion is directed at nobody but herself, “saying it now feels so stupid, but I was. I just didn’t get it; I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t have just told us.”
Maybe then you wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep us. You’d have known we would've followed you until the end.
“I think I get it though. I hurt you, didn’t I?” Sasha says, and her voice wobbles as she chokes back a sob at the cold, hard truth, “it’s the same with Anne, I just… I wasn’t listening to you, was I? I didn’t see you for who you are” – an amazing, incredible person. Someone I love with all my damned heart – “I didn’t let you speak, or help you feel like you could.”
The world blurs around Sasha once more, tears falling as a cold wave rolls over her numbing limbs. That lingering darkness from earlier creeps ever closer, a reapers scythe hovering over her – arched, ready – tearing her grip away from the world. Her borrowed time’s almost up, yet Sasha clings tightly to her world, to Marcy, refusing to let go just yet.
I wish I could hear your voice one last time. Please wake up.
Still, Marcy doesn’t wake, or respond, and Sasha does the only thing she has left to do. Slowly, she lowers herself down, lying on her side, body dulled, the ache and pain earlier just a small reminder that she’s still here. Pulling Marcy as close as she can, she tucks her into her chest, embracing her arms around her and keeping her in place. Sasha’s last stand, one final act to protect her – and perhaps, selfishly, just one lasting comfort before Sasha leaves.
“I love you, and I forgive you. I just hope you can forgive me too.”
Her eyelids start to droop, tears still rolling away freely. Her eyes begin to glaze over as her remaining strength rapidly wanes darkness creeping further and further, until finally, here it is. Their final night alive.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you Marcy.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t save us Anne.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t–
The world still turns. Held upon its lofty throne amongst the stars, the world doesn’t cave in. The world is bright, warm, welcoming, and most importantly: alive.
And then, unexpectedly, Sasha wakes.
It’s a slow awakening. Like coming out from a daydream, and her mind still feels like it’s there – held back by death’s grip, alluring her back to the shadows, but the more she wakes, the more it steadily loses all control over her.
First, feeling starts to return to her leaden body, and with it, she registers something warm and soft resting over her, keeping her safe – a blanket, her still-drifting mind helpfully provides. There’s a weight that presses above it, right on her stomach and it’s grounding, comforting. Next, her other senses gradually come back too. She hears a soft snoring that fills the quiet, there’s the smell of lavender that wafts through the air, replacing that lasting awful taste of iron she’d had from… before? Earlier? She’s not entirely sure. What she is sure of though is that there’s tender hands that tangles within her own, two anchors holding her in place, keeping her ashore.
Eventually, Sasha Waybright returns to the world, rising where she’d once fallen, eyes peeling open as light seeps through the gaps.
“Oh! You’re awake!”
And just like that, her world rises from the ashes too, and blinking, Sasha looks to her side. Her world is kind, comforting, here, alive. Marcy watches her, a beaming smile to her face, eyes so full of life and brimming with joyful tears as she runs a thumb along Sasha’s knuckles.
“It’s alright, you’re okay,” Marcy sobs, rushing to reassure her, and though she’s dressed in loose clothes, bandages peeking out, her face still sunken, she's recovering and alive – leaving Sasha’s heart swelling with utmost relief, “don’t worry, I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I thought you were– I thought I was–” Sasha croaks, her voice breaking, quiet from lack of use. Blearily, she looks around, trying to take stock of their surroundings: makeshift beds, a tent cover, worn-down fabrics. Marcy sits to her side on an old, crooked chair, and beside her… the weight that rests over her: Anne. She’s on an equally rough chair, curled over and asleep, leaning atop Sasha’s stomach, holding her in place, a hand wrapped within hers.
“We’re safe. Anne came back for us. She’s always been good to us,” Marcy says, and her eyes linger on Anne before deciding to pat at her curls and leaving a kiss to her sleeping forehead, “I’m just glad you’re both okay. I’m sorry for everything – I never meant for any of this, I just–”
“It’s okay,” Sasha cuts in, and it is, it will be, “we can talk about all that with Anne later, alright? Right now, all that matters to me is that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay, I promise. But… I heard you,” Marcy whispers, both hands turning to grasp to Sasha’s like a lifeline, and she presses a gentle kiss to Sasha’s knuckles. Something warm, burning pink jostles within her chest, blazing with pride, hope, and love. “I heard what you said earlier, when you saved me, I mean.”
“I meant every word,” Sasha says truthfully, and with that, she moves their joined hands towards herself, planting a kiss atop Marcy’s interlocked hands, “I’m sorry for everything. I love you and I forgive you. I love both of you with all my heart and I’m never letting you question that ever again, I swear.”
There’s a faint red hum to Marcy’s cheeks as she stares back, astounded, but a smile tugs to her lips, eyes watery and glittering with a distant hint of green. And then she laughs, and the world still turns, never caving in, never falling, full and alive. Marcy leans over, arms wrapping around her neck, delicately hugging Sasha and avoiding causing any pains to their recovering injuries, burying herself into Sasha.
“I love you, and I forgive you too.”
Their world doesn't fall: it's alive, healing, loved, and forgiven.