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Saint Trina wanted to dream. The cave, dark and purple, was in complete silence. Not even her knight, who had embibed from her nectar and risen as a powerful force, remained. It had been bittersweet to hear the grotesque tones of the putrescence, how it drank desperately from her essence, and then slowly approached her. How her embrace and gentleness made the putrescence stand tall, with pride and power, as a true knight.
It reminded her of Malenia, her sweet sister. Also another, touched by a putrescence, that had risen, with pride and power, and fought for her. For him.
Now, Saint Trina was alone. Her lilies were getting darker. How long would she spend there, abandoned, wounded, embracing everything that Miquella had torn from his heart? Memories mingled in her drowsiness, but they couldn't hurt her. They were only beautiful memories, only a sweet current that came and went, that came and went, like waves at sea.
She barely let out a gasp when she felt it.
It was a wound as deep as it was distant. It was light torn from the deepest part of her, but also a gentle embrace that kissed her. A pain that was like no other, but that it was barely there. A cry that she cried, even when she was silent.
Miquella...
Her wish had come true. Tears mixed with the water beneath her, and a smile was hinted on her lips. They had made it. Those troubled souls, those fighting souls, those driven souls that barely knew her, had done it. Had done the imposible, had done what she failed to do.
Miquella... come back to me...
The separation had been cruel, painful, it had invaded her lilies with that dark and deathly tone, had enveloped her in dreams of poison and eternal rest. Her lilies were not usually like this. They were soft and delicate, they were gentle, like him. Like her. They were a comfort to those who needed it.
Let's... go together...
A very pale light was barely noticeable in her eyes. A pale light, clinging to the purple with infinite weakness. A pale light she would recognize anywhere.
“Miquella...” she whispered, barely a thread of words in her voice. “You have returned... at last…”
The light barely distinguished his shape, the shape of the same child who had left. He was kneeling in front of her and she put her hands on his hair, golden and soft as always.
“I failed... again... Everything was... in vain... Infinite suffering... infinite sacrifice... completely... in vain...”
Saint Trina couldn't really move. Small petals began to fall into the waters, disintegrating upon touching the ground. Those petals were also bitter tears, tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of sorrow. Tears for the years of exhaustion and effort, years of failures and attempts, years of a love that embraced all creatures and only asked for mercy for those discarded. Tears for those who had cruelly fallen before Miquella, in his desperate misguided attempt to find the path to peace. Tears for those, who should have been protected and who were betrayed.
“Mohg... Malenia... Radahn... All... forsaken... by me...”
St. Trina’s heart broke at his words. She whispered a prayer for them. She prayed that her sister would someday find the comfort, the rest, the peace. That the tree, now slowly dying, would embrace her and give her soul the solace she deserved. She prayed that they could see her again, beyond time, under gentle rays of sun, smiling and victorious. She prayed for the Lord of Blood and his sweet words, that his soul would find the shelter that had been denied in life, even by them. She prayed for the Red Lion and his roar, that his strength would find glory in the triumphant fields he always sought.
They both prayed together for a second, joined once more. Both halves reunited in death, as they had been all their lives.
“I'm sorry... I'm sorry…”
“We have received forgiveness,” she whispered. She noticed Miquella's light was fading. and with it, her petals too. “Let us wish... that the world finds that gentle path we longed for. That others... learn from our sin...”
Miquella suddenly seemed as real as ever. The bright golden eyes, the long pale hair, the tears on his face, the mournful look. The same child he had always been, broken by his own heart, shattered by his own soul, who longed for mercy and compassion, who had fallen prey to an unquenchable thirst to try to heal the world, who had committed unforgivable sins and had granted immeasurable blessings.
“Let's go... It's time to sleep,” she said.
Saint Trina took the hand of her other half, who hugged her desperately. Saint Trina smiled and hugged him back, giving back the love he had left with her. Her smile seemed to light up the whole place, and Miquella's body, small and fragile as she remembered it, slowly absorbed that sweet serenity, healing, maybe, their soul.
Together again, by my side.
Saint Trina felt her body wither and fall into the waters of the cave. She was alone, and only the small flowers danced around her. Before closing her eyes, she saw a final lily emerge from her body. A beautiful lily, of a deep and intense purple color. The last one.
But, unlike the others that adorned the cave, born of separation, of loss, and despair, this one was beautiful and harmless, delicate and nurturing. It was everything they once were. Simply growing in the quietude. Giving rest and solace to whoever needed it.
Saint Trina and Miquella held onto each other one last time.
The lily remained there, alone and beautiful, shining in the darkness.
lluminating the hope that out there, someday, someone would dare to dream.