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It was heavy.
Like the time itself had stopped and she could no longer breathe; her lungs made of lead, and she was threading the dark.
She didn’t remember; was it a single shot that ended her life, or was it her own recklessness that got her into predicament? She had thought once that she couldn’t feel any pain anymore, not when she must steel herself and be strong.
It was heavy.
Did she die? Or has she been reborn, to once again witness her family broken, her sisters dying?
“Don’t move.”
It was a command, yet her eyes opened against the dark of the room. She was in the suitcase once more, on the familiar long couch, inside the familiar darkness. Her body ached all over, which had been quite a norm over many tasks that the Foundation had bequeathed them to ‘test’ the Timekeeper.
The same eyes sought for her once again in the dark, and they were alone, in the nothingness of the room, beyond the trickles that showered away from the window. Her eyes gray, pale, yet it was like a beacon for her through the dark.
“Vaffanculo,” she coughed, and the orange-haired woman before her wasn’t amused. “What’s—what’s happening?”
“You’re shielding others again,” Sonetto replied, her tone clipped. “I heard about it, I rushed, brought you to Miss Druvis for healing, and—”
“Mia donna.” Schneider interrupted her. Her chest ached with scars and searing pain, she couldn’t get up but her limp hand was strong enough to at least grasp on her face, marveling in the dark. “Breathe. I’m alive.”
Sonetto let out a long sigh— who would have known how long she had kept it? She then bent herself forward, taking Schneider’s hand in hers.
“... Yes. Yes you are.” Sonetto said, part trying to believe in herself, part trying to reassure both of them. Schneider swallowed.
Suddenly, the sound of rain outside was louder than even her own heartbeat, and Sonetto’s gloved hand was a warmth burning through her senses.
“Don’t make that face, you know I will recover.”
Sonetto blinked. She would never cry, never once. But her eyes always told Schneider enough stories, enough to make her heart ache for Sonetto and she wanted to curse her own stupidity. “Mm.”
It was quiet, save from their breaths now - hers that slowed as she was weary, and Sonetto’s calmer, steadier breath. She didn’t once let go of her hand cradling her cheek, and Schneider felt she could no longer live without that warmth.
“Mia donna, it hurts.”
Sonetto’s eyes flickered in the dark, “I know.”
“Make the pain disappear, then.” Schneider’s smile curled, inviting. Her hand glided down, touching Sonetto’s wrist, ghosting between the exposed skin just between the cuff and the end of the pristine gloves.
“I’m not a healer.”
“You never are.” Schneider chuckled in mirth. “But your poems shall soothe me.”
Schneider was too weak to drag her down, but this time Sonetto leaned first, and the poet was the one who ignited every lead in her lungs free.
A kiss, as sweet as life itself, was so tender, yet so fierce, and Schneider didn’t want to break away.