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It felt like days had passed, but it was hard to tell the time in the endless void Soviet wandered. He tried to stay awake, scared of where he would go if he closed his eyes again, but his exhaustion was finally catching up to him. He stumbled, and paused to think about his choices.
There were only two he could think of. He could continue walking until he collapsed, or he could sit down and likely fall asleep.
He decided to sit, if just for a moment. Slowly, he crouched on the floor. He used his hands to feel for solid ground, and when he felt that it was completely solid, he sat down.
Soviet closed his eyes, wondering if he would wake up somewhere else, or if he would be stuck in this limbo for the rest of eternity. Insanity would be his punishment, then. Maybe it wasn’t too bad, compared to what he wished on those he despised, and compared to what he imagined what the universe could do to him while he wandered.
Soviet opened his eyes, his exhaustion still fogging his mind, but less so now that he had gotten some form of rest. He was standing in a too-familiar hallway. It was Nazi’s house, but something was different. Something was more homey; warm and comforting. Then Soviet saw the key difference.
On the walls were framed pictures of Weimar’s family. The closest one was of her, Hungary, and Austria. They were all standing together, with a smile nearly curving Weimar’s lips as it always tended to.
Then he noticed something else. Someone was singing downstairs. He recognized that voice. The soft, angelic voice that Soviet loved. The one that would go on and on until she ran out of breath. The faintest of her ramblings stuck to the back of his mind. Soviet was never so eager to follow something.
And there she was. Mumbling an old song Soviet forgot the name of, Weimar spun around the main room, dancing carefully. She was hesitant. Even so, her wings were loose and relaxed in a way he never thought they could be.
“Weimar…” he murmured. He could hardly hear himself, but somehow that small word caught all of her attention.
She paused, then turned to face him. “Hello, Soviet. It’s been a long time since I last saw you.” She smiled and took a step closer. Before she could take another, Soviet bridged the gap and held her tight. Tears slowly fell out of his eyes. She stood in shock.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve done something,” he muttered. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you? I didn’t want to believe you were dead. But Nazi said you were.” he cursed himself but continued anyway. “I hated finding our old letters. They reminded me that I lost you and I-”
Soviet was cut off when her arms wrapped around him. Her wings fluttered. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for anything. I’m not sure you could’ve stopped him, even if you knew. Even if you tried.” She stepped back, and was let go without resistance. She held the sides of Soviet’s face and wiped away his tears. “We won’t be here for very long. They said it would be too merciful of them to keep you here with me.”
He ignored her last sentence, not wanting to focus on it. His tears wouldn’t stop falling. “I almost forgot how beautiful you are,” he mumbled, gently holding her wrist. “I almost forgot your voice. Your love. The feeling of your wings. All of it.” He choked up. “I almost lost you a second time, Weimar.”
Weimar stood on her toes and brought Soviet down to softly kiss him. “I can’t promise you won’t forget me again. There is something waiting for you beyond that door that not even I know of,” she mumbled. “But, if they let you remember, it will not be for you. They will do it to hurt you, like you have hurt so many others.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m ready for that. I will never forget who you are, even if they show me someone in your image.”
She laughed, although it was plagued with worry. “You know so little. But I have hope.”
Weimar turned away to go to her record player. As she sifted through the different records, Soviet remembered being scolded (although gently) for putting one in the wrong place. He recalled being scolded for putting a lot of things out of order.
“Do you remember this one? I was sure it was your favorite,” Weimar stood and held a record out to him. He had forgotten it over the years, but the title was strangely familiar.
“I can’t say I do,” he answered. “But play it anyway. Who knows. I might.”
She smiled and put it on the player, her wings once again fluttering.