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Not even servants approach this room. They had only done so earlier in your absence, to tidy up and to air the smell of impending death out the window, but have not returned since. If you call, they might come with a visibly uncomfortable expression, hoping for a quick release from that duty – or they may claim to not have heard (the man of the house is away and cannot punish them for their impudence, and by the time he returns, none would tell or be able to tell him of that sin) and pointedly avoid being caught anywhere nearby.
That’s fine. You have long stopped calling for them. They serve Roman, and you by extension – but with Roman gone and you too weak to walk much further than to the window in your room, if that, everyone knows what good it would do to complain in the long run.
Goldia, bless her heart, is your only company. She does what the servants do not without prompting and fills you a glass of water, returning to you as she warms it in her still-too-small hands. What a conscientious daughter. You only wish she had the good fortune to be born to a less wicked mother.
The gesture is sweet, but you doubt you’ll be able to keep the water in and wave it off. She sets it aside, kneels by your side and takes your trembling hand. It’s hard to get a read on her, though you thought she would be the type to wear her heart on her sleeve – she looks upset to see you in this condition, but also relieved that she won’t have to see you that way for much longer. She loved you unconditionally for the first few years of her life, as children do with their innocence intact, but growing up may have made her numb to you.
You weren’t a good mother to her, were you? Neither were you to Henri, although he has told you as much with the looks of pity and contempt, and with the fact that he did not heed your call to come to you for what might as well have been the last time he would have had to look at your face. He’s a smart boy – he doesn’t bother with anything not worth his time, and you suppose you’re part of that, too.
You press what you hope is your daughter’s salvation into her hands.
Keep your memories close to your heart.
There is not enough time for you to apologize to her for your many mistakes – only enough to impart what’s most important for her to move on without as many of them.
Your eyes flutter shut, intending to rest and knowing you won’t be granted this mercy.
…
Instead of His poisonous presence in your afterlife, you find yourself swept in light. It’s tempered so it doesn’t blind you, but even so, it’s hard to see anything – even and especially yourself. It more resembles the traditional heaven promised in books than it does the servitude that you were contracted into.
Where is He? He should have been there to claim your soul with his greedy little hands, as he promised you over and over. You found no respite in your dreams – He always found a way to slither in and ruin any good that might have come out of them. He should have been here , even more vainglorious, to gloat in your face and pluck you from your realm into his.
Someone sits down next to you. She – and you know it’s a She, somehow – does not gloat, only joins you. Her features are obscured over the veil of light, but you, wanting to put a face to her, imagine her as your daughter. (Who else? She was the last thing you saw. You were tormented with your lover’s demise many times, but your memory of her face had withered to nothing. You could not possibly ask for her to be your company.)
As if hearing your request, this is exactly the way she appears to you as she lifts her veil. Her eyes are kind. She looks older than you remember – or maybe you’re misremembering. Your little girl grew up too quickly, after all.
“Are you comfortable?” Her voice is Goldia’s, but foreign-sounding and so ethereal, a shining crystalline song. Soothed, you nod. “Your fated ending would have been something else… but lucky for you, someone loves you enough to spare you from that.”
Who? Lebkuchen held you in some regard (you have forgotten her, too, and she did not see fit to remind you of how she once looked, hiding her disdainful features under her habit), but she only handed you enough to spare your daughter, not yourself. Roman – loved you, yes, but he was puppeteered just as much, if not more. There is nothing he could have done for you.
Your beloved is dead and in His service. Even now, after so many years, your chest tightens when you think of her. You wished to be numb to her as you were with everyone else, but that wasn’t granted to you, either.
Your companion smiles warmly at you. “Come. You can’t stay here too long. I was as careful as can be, but He might still find you, even here.”
Alarmed by that notion, you stand and trail after Her. There are no visible landmarks – no furniture, nothing to make this space into something - until She stops walking and you find yourself facing several gilded gates. Each seems to be embossed with something golden, their meanings lost to you.
You look into the gate in the middle. It draws you closer, but you halt, nervously looking to your daughter-apparition, who stands by your side. “I… have to go through, right?”
“You don’t have to, but it would be a gift wasted. This was supposed to be mine, but… it was a selfish wish. You and I can’t co-exist and both be happy.”
Your eyes widen. “Who are you?”
Her smile does not falter, but you glimpse the sadness in it. “Someone you’ll never get to know. I’ve made my peace with that, and I hope you will, too. Go, now.”
You don’t waste too much of Her time, stepping forward towards the gate. You risk a glimpse back at your savior, and a knowledge enters your mind – you know exactly who this is.
The memory slips. The knowledge is taken from you as the price you pay for the gates as one of your feet steps over the threshold – and into the unknown.
…
Wait! Please…!
You were in the middle of something. No – you were in the middle of nothing, laid upon that which would become your final resting place, with –
There was someone there with you, wasn’t there? Your mind draws a blank. It draws many blanks as you struggle to understand why you’re standing upright and your arms are heavy. How are you standing?! Your legs could hardly support your weight on your final days.
Please forgive me…!
A cry, which should have been yours. But it isn’t. This isn’t your voice at all. Noticing you’re armed, you lower your weapon – and drop it onto the hay, startled out of your mind.
The creases of your hands have been leveled out. You turn them to look into your palms, which are calloused but otherwise unscarred. Beneath you sits a silhouette, trying to make itself – no, herself as small as possible, to shrink from a wrath yet unknown.
The wrath is you, you realize dumbly. A palm comes up to your gaunt – no, your cheek is not gaunt anymore, either, rather smoothed and more plump than it has been in many years . You are upright, the motion does not make you dizzy, and you can feel the length of the hair you eventually had to cut short for maintenance, cascading down your back.
What in the Lord’s name…?!
The little pitiful shadow cries out again, drawing your attention back to her. Your eyes soften – when were they hard in the first place? – and shimmer, knowing exactly what they’re looking upon.
“You…!”
You drop down and wrap her in your arms. She has a certain weight to her. Real. Real. Real. Real . You take her cries into your heart and expel them in your sobs and whines, drawing her as close as physically possible. She is stiff, not fighting you, but not leaning into your embrace, either.
“Um…?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. ”
Misunderstanding, she speaks out softly, cautiously. “It’s – it’s okay, really! You didn’t really hurt me –”
“Forgive me, Rozenmarine.”
If a human was capable of being any more stiff, she would be a statue in your arms. You were used to begging for forgiveness – days, years spent in a room and calling for her to come to you and grant you penance – it’s the very first time you have your intended audience. How? How?
“How do you know my name…?”
It’s like a pin drop in a silent room. She sounds scared, and – no, if you’re exactly where you think you are, she couldn’t have any way of knowing you. You pull back, keenly aware that you’re looking like a lunatic in the face of the girl you love, and caring very little about it. It won’t be the first time she would’ve seen lunacy, and you’re incapable yet of pretending to be normal.
Rozenmarine is wide-eyed, trembling, but confused most of all. She doesn’t get an answer out of you as to the issue with her name, seems to come to the conclusion that she will not for the time being, and so tries something else.
“I didn’t steal anything! I-I’m sorry I broke your–”
“I don’t care!” You don’t mean to shout. You had treated her so cruelly over that, once upon a time – you would let her and her wretched goat wreck your house twice over if it meant she could have stayed intact. Nothing, nothing, nothing in there has any importance. “It doesn’t matter! Come on. Quickly.”
You don’t wait for her to take your hand – you take it and drag her out of the granary. She yelps at the sudden motion, but does not pull back, letting you tug her into the backyard.
“Get inside and get the fireplace started.”
“But–”
“Now, Rozenmarine, please! ”
She nods quickly and scurries off through the back of your house. You don’t follow her. No – you step over your doomed crops, trying to find the exact spot you need in the soil. It has been many years; you’ve forgotten where you first dug and found them.
Then you remember. You don’t bother to grab a shovel, immediately digging in with your thin fingernails and ignoring the aches in them. Your movements are wild, desperate, dog-like; you’re dirty all over by the time you finally unearth them.
I got you, you wretched things.
Dazzling, brilliant red, only a few shades lighter than blood. You grab them haphazardly and enter through the back, finding your way into the living room. Rozenmarine has dutifully started a fire, just as you asked her to do. Good girl.
She turns to you, startled by your state. “I, um – I don’t think there is enough kindling –”
“Oh, I’ve got kindling, alright,” You snarl, flinging the horrible shoes into the fireplace with reckless abandon.
The flame, weak at first, swells to dangerous levels. Rozenmarine makes another little noise out of shock and backs up. The fire explodes in every direction, almost as if trying to reach you, singe you, devour you as it does with your gleaming red downfall, but it doesn’t get close enough to do so. You drop to your knees and scream at this unnatural inferno, your eyes stinging with tears.
Misunderstanding for a second time, Rozenmarine tries to approach, reaching foolishly in the direction of the fireplace. “We can still rescue them–”
“DON’T TOUCH THEM! DON’T YOU DARE!”
She doesn’t need to be told twice.
You cry until well after the blaze quietens, shrinks back into the tiny flame that Rozenmarine tended carefully for you. All your beloved can do is stare and wring her hands, unsure of how to comfort you – the reservoir empties eventually and you continue to sit and quietly watch the burnt ashes, as if scared something worse will take shape from them.
Nothing does.
“Ma’am…?”
You shake your head. “No. Elise. Just Elise. And you may not feel that way right now, but I love you, Rozenmarine.”
She pauses, and you haven’t turned your head yet to gauge her reaction to that. It seems like you pile surprises onto her by shovelfuls; it’s a shock they haven’t buried her alive. “You don’t know me.”
“Of course I know you.”
“You did… know my name,” She concedes, eventually, sitting next to you. Her next question is hushed, tinged with excitement. “Wait – do you have dreams, too? Is this how you know me?”
“...Something like that. Well, no.”
“You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?”
“No, Rosmarine.”
You look at her then, and she’s frowning in confusion. You think you can gauge the question forming in her head, the cogs whirring. If she doesn’t have prophetic dreams, if she hasn’t seen me before today, how does she know me? How does she love me?
“Then…?” She starts, and does not finish, knowing this is enough of a question of its own.
“I can’t tell you everything right now, just – please, stay? Stay the night. I’ll tell you everything in due time, just, ugh…”
Seeing an incoming headache on you, Rozenmarine takes your hands. She is considerate enough not to make a mess of it all and to keep calm where you cannot, even with the no doubt harrowing events to happen to her in only the last… 20 minutes? “You don’t have to say anything, m– Elise. Are you sure you want me to stay…? I made a mess…”
“Stop apologizing for that.”
Still not comfortable enough with you to snip back, she stops. “I can sleep in your granary…”
“No, you won’t. Don’t speak nonsense.” You know exactly where you want her – and it’s not in the granary, or the haystack in the attic where you prepared her a makeshift bed. She was beyond grateful for such a basic kindness.
After putting the fire out, you take her upstairs. The exhaustion claims you with each stair. You fear that if you did fall asleep, you would wake up somewhere you would rather not be, but you’re getting more unhinged with every moment of wakefulness – you’ll have to risk one thing or the other.
Rozenmarine stands at the doorstep of your bedroom, looking in reluctantly. “So…”
“We’re sharing.”
She flushes up a bright red. “W-what?”
“Would you prefer the floor?”
“Well, no, but–”
“When was the last time you slept in a bed?”
You know this question would stump her. She hasn’t slept in a bed in a long time, making use of the outdoors or whatever four-walled kindness a stranger could offer her without actually letting her use a bedroom. Her lips part to speak, to insist that she’s fine literally anywhere else, but you don’t allow her to protest.
She eventually joins you. You don’t miss the relief on her face when she lays on the other side, sinking into the mattress. You fall into a contemplative silence for a time, just studying each-other; her, trying to get a read on you, and you memorizing every part of her face and burning it into your mind so that you will never forget it again.
“You were planning on leaving later on, right?”
The smallest nod. You know it’s not the full truth; you would have found her in the granary in the morning, and she would have seized your heart and made herself a permanent fixture in your life (though you didn’t know it then).
“I don’t stay in one place for too long.”
You shift a little under your blanket. “Why don’t I come with you?”
Rozenmarine is a trooper as she handles yet another plot twist. She doesn’t say anything for a time, but you can read her, you’ve known me for less than a day and you’ve told me not only that you love me, but that you wish to abandon your home and roots and join me, too. Who are you, really?
Be that as it may, Rozenmarine isn’t like most people. She believes in destiny and the stars in the night sky. It was the sweetest thing about her, and her downfall, in the end. She accepted a fate that she should not have been burdened with, and that hurt you more that she tried to soothe you in the end than it would have if she screamed at you for your betrayal.
“That’s a little sudden, don’t you think…?” She’s still flustered. You would have thought you just proposed marriage to her with the way she reacts, but she doesn’t ask you if you’re certain or anything of that sort. She could read you like an open book some days, and this is one of them. She has clearly flipped to a page that said ‘will not take no for an answer’ in bold capitals and is acting accordingly. “I… wouldn’t mind the company. I haven’t had anyone traveling with me since…”
“Your grandmother?”
Clearly already adjusted to you knowing more about her than you should, she nods again. “Yes.” She seems to consider whether she should ask, and comes to a decision. “I just… don’t understand why… all of this. I’m no one special. And it’s not an easy life. You hunger a lot. The winters are cold.”
You’re special to me, you almost say, but decide against it. “I hunger a lot here, too. If I’m going to do that, I might as well be somewhere else. And what am I, five? I know winters are cold.”
“Colder when you have nowhere to stay,” Rozenmarine says, plainly. Touche.
“Maybe. But I’ll deal with it.”
You had forgotten that you had some spunk in you. It aged out from you with the years. You had become a Countess, prim and proper, a deserving bride in spite of your common birth that your noble husband had been so kind to overlook. You’re common once again and your noble upbringing is shrinking. Good. More people liked you as a hot-headed young maid than they did as a mature married woman, and considering how Kieferberg treated you over your last week there before everything changed, that says something.
“It’s strange…” Your love says, in the beginnings of something that is not strange at all. “I just met you, but it feels like I’ve known you all my life.”
You smile thinly.
…
No matter how tempting it is to wake her and slip out in the middle of the night, you have goodbyes to say.
You awaken on time in the morning. It’s a surprise that you awoke at all and that He did not bother you in your dreams, even more so. Rozenmarine agrees to wait another day and takes up tidying your home. It won’t need to be tidy anymore, but you let her do it anyway, if just to occupy her time in your absence.
You slip into the square, finding the whole walk to the village strangely soothing. You had only returned one time to seek help, and it ashamed you to no end to walk the same streets as the woman you had become. Politely disentangling yourself from a conversation at the door of the church, you enter for Mass.
You used to hate those pews, but as you take up your usual place, you don’t find the same discomfort. Next to you, a familiar, welcome face calls for your attention.
“Good morning, Elise!”
You’ve missed this one more than you know.
You don’t question her optimism this time. Your smile is warmer than ever as you turn to look at her. “Morning, Freya.”
Uncharacteristically, instead of distracting you with chatter this time, she flushes a little, her lips slightly parted, and looks away from you and forward, towards the podium.
Oh.
Oh. You see what this is.
…What a shame.
(You had grown desperate a few years into your marriage. The opportunity presented itself when your babies grew old enough to need custom attire, and you refused every renowned tailor and seamstress, much to everyone’s dismay. So smitten with you, the Count did not question your judgment when you insisted that there is only one person you’ll allow to take care of their wardrobe, nor did he ask questions when you invited another common girl from your village into your estate.
Her company was a welcome reprieve. She continued to carry herself with a certain amount of joy, and listened carefully to your requirements as she measured your children in spite of being hesitant at first – she was not a real seamstress, after all, she wasn’t truly qualified, but she accepted the commissions all the same.
It wore down on you when she refused to speak to you the way she used to. She didn’t treat you with contempt like Leb would eventually do, remaining sweet and pleasant, but far too polite. It would not be right for a common village maid to speak to a noble lady as if they were old friends.
You stopped commissioning her after some time.)
Father Hans shoots you an interesting look before he gets into today’s speech, droning on about something you must have heard a thousand times already. Lebkuchen’s eyes meet your own for all of two seconds before you close them. You can’t bear to face her right now, even though she may be the most important person you would need to speak to about your departure.
For maybe the first time in your life (maybe you have done so before, when you were little and hung onto Granny Holle’s every word – you inherited her faith and lost it shortly after her death), you join your fellow townsfolk in prayer.
Your deity is a little different from theirs. You’re not sure if She’s even a deity at all, but She acted more like one than any of the ones you have had the displeasure of meeting.
Perhaps there is something for you in the whole faith business, after all.
…
You slip out of the church before Lebkuchen can speak to you.
Not right now.
Freya is the easier of the two. She’s waiting outside the building just for you, for reasons you only understand now – you had agreed to a meeting one time, but got swept into another and could not join her. She presses an ointment into your hands and asks you a second time, and you accept a second time, too, this time intending on making good on your promise.
You join her in picking flowers up in the mountains. She is jolly, prattling on and on about the upcoming festival as she weaves you a crown, makes you another gift offering, something you might have seen as disingenuous before.
You remember spending a lot of time wondering what the harm would have been if you two had been closer and you had let go of your misplaced envy. She was your friend, but there was a noticeable chasm between you, one she tried to cross over and over before it was ultimately too late and it grew far too wide.
As nice as it is to see her again, not acting as if you’re three steps above her, you have to interrupt her, blurting out, “I’m leaving.”
She freezes, holding your daisy crown in her hands. “What…?”
You feel bad, all of a sudden. You might not be able to repair this chasm, after all.
“I’m leaving Kieferberg tonight.”
“Oh.”
She sits on her knees on the grass. You join her. She radiates a sadness, unbecoming of her. “I’m not surprised. You always spoke of wanting better…”
You did, didn’t you? You never hid your disdain for Kieferberg, only held back your tongue on better days. Freya was one of the few who got to hear it in full, because she never judged you for your feelings outside of making a token effort of defense for the village – you think she might have even agreed with you. Kieferberg loved her, but made a doormat out of her, too.
“I’ve been thinking of it on and off, too.”
It doesn’t surprise you too much, more that she would admit it out loud than anything.
“I think you should, Freya.”
She smiles a thin, gentle smile that says, it’s not that easy, and you know it. “I suppose.”
She has what’s left of her family here, a father who adores her and a village that would bend to her will if she learned how to speak up and command. A part of you wants to invite her to come, but it’s a faint, tiny thought, impractical. Two is a company, three is a crowd, and there would be a displacement of feelings that you’d be hard-pressed to fix.
You stand up, and she does with you. “Whatever you decide, take care, alright?”
Her smile reminds you of Hers, unwavering, but knowing more than you and finding no joy in it. “Is this goodbye, then?”
“It is.”
As a final gesture, you press a kiss to her left cheek, leaving a part of your heart with her for safekeeping.
…
You don’t stay in the village for much longer before you return home. Predictably (and as a source of much relief), Rozenmarine is in the front yard, sweeping leaves into a pile. Her head bobs up as she sees you, looking similarly glad to see you. “Oh, Elise!”
She’s grown comfortable with you in such a short span of time. Granted, it had been no more than a week of knowing you before feelings were professed, so the only surprising thing there is that you hadn’t driven her away with your premature talks of love and travel.
She sets her rake aside. “Um… have you seen Flocke anywhere? I haven’t seen him since last night…”
You grimace. Ah. Right. You forgot about that.
“Forget about him.”
She eyes you doubtfully, lips pressed into a line, but evidently decides against asking further. You know the goat has been her faithful companion for some time, but she’ll have to make do without. Knowing what you do now… it’s for the best that you never see that wretched animal again.
“Are you hungry?” You have little to share with her, but it’ll be shared anyway. “I’m hungry. Come on.”
(You hadn’t set up the table for quite some time – after Granny Holle’s passing, visitors were scarce if they came at all, lingering in the yard if they needed to speak to you for any reason and never really coming in. You wouldn’t have been able to be a good host for them, anyhow.
This changed when Rozenmarine intruded on your life. Your evenings were suddenly warm, and you had company and reasons to bring out the dishes that were otherwise collecting so much dust in your cupboards. She took your house and made it a home again.)
She seems thoughtful as she nibbles on the crust of her half of the bread. You had even managed to procure a few thin cuts of meat, and you’ve eaten your share, but hers remain untouched. Knowing her, she might look at you and say she’s not hungry, after all – that you can help yourself. Knowing yourself, you’d have to decline.
“Are you… sure this is a good idea?” Against your expectations, she asks you of your certainty. “You were in town for quite some time, and I just thought, maybe… is there nothing here that you would stay for?”
“Nothing,” You lie, swiftly – then fall quiet, picking at the crumbs on your table. “I think I’ve outgrown Kieferberg. I always wished for something bigger for myself, and now’s as good a time as any to get to it, right?”
After a moment, you add, “Some wishes are not worth the price you pay for them.”
She meets your gaze with that soft, concerned look on her features. “Have you paid a price you regret?”
You don’t break eye contact. “Yes.”
She squirms a little under your gaze. Rozenmarine doesn’t understand your implications, not yet, and you’re starting to doubt you’ll ever tell her of the context.
“I didn’t have any dreams last night,” She changes the subject with a tone as if she’s uncovered something impossible. “Nothing.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Do you think so? They’ve always guided me. Without them, I feel… a little blind, if it makes sense.”
“Yeah. But you know what it means? You get to decide what happens next. Where’s the excitement in knowing where you’ll end up?”
Your love seems to think about it. Finding it a good enough reassurance for the time being, she smiles faintly at you and finally bites into her food.
…
This is the goodbye you dread the most.
You were friends with her and Freya both – but Leb had always been a little closer to your heart than most. You could not lie to Leb without her gleaning the truth from you and wearing you down with her disappointment in your dishonesty. You don’t believe in Rozenmarine’s idea of soulmates, but if the idea of it had been planted in your head before her arrival and you had to pinpoint someone who could fit that criteria, it would have been Lebkuchen, without question.
Even she would have laughed the idea off, but you feel that she wouldn’t disagree. Though she was stern and did not easily let you wiggle out of trouble under her watchful eye, she was always so soft with you. Your listening ear. Your reprieve. Your sole reason you didn’t go hungry some days. Always a busy woman, she set aside time from her busy schedule just for you and you alone. In turn, you saw through her frilly veil for the surprisingly faithless girl she was, and her many sacrifices for a town that did not always appreciate her - you put your best efforts forward to ensure she would rest and put herself above others sometimes.
You find her on the swing, as usual. Hearing your footsteps, her eyes drift to you. They’re unusually hard.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” She starts, in a lecture that you know will hurt you more than anything she has ever told you before. “You ran off as soon as Mass finished. You and Freya disappeared off somewhere and she came back sad. Even Father Hans thinks you’re acting strangely, and although he says that a lot, this feels like something he actually means. You’re hiding something from me. Why?”
It’s impossible to miss the hurt in her voice. Why wouldn’t she be hurt? You’ve only avoided her a handful of times in your life, when you were either fighting between each-other for one reason or another or when you had a secret or something that you sincerely did not want to speak of. You always speak after Mass and make plans for your limited leisure time together.
You stand in front of her like a scolded child. “Nothing gets past you, does it.”
“Tell me.”
“...I’m leaving.”
You have to force the words out. They feel like a death sentence. Why is this so difficult? Freya had not seemed surprised by your declaration – but Leb does, although she has known the depths of your desperation even more intimately than her. It seems to shock her so much she stops swinging, stretching her legs against the ground so that her motion comes to a screeching halt.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?”
“I mean I’m leaving, Leb.”
“Where? With what, exactly?” She gets off the swing. “With what money, and what means of earning it?! Have you even thought this through?!”
“YES,” You cut her off. It wasn’t your intention to be loud, but she flinches at that, and it makes you feel absolutely horrible.
Truthfully, no, you hadn’t thought about it. You had discussed it with Rozenmarine here and there as the evening fell, but your decision had been an impulse. You could not stand to stay in the place that doomed you, and you certainly could not subject her to the same thing by keeping her with you. Even if she left on her own, well –
– No. Losing her again is not an option.
Losing Lebkuchen, on the other hand, seems to be on the horizon. “Elise, I know you’ve wanted this for so long, but please don’t make stupid decisions. Where is this coming from? Why didn’t you tell me earlier about this? I could have helped, at least!”
It’s crystal clear – you can’t lie to Lebkuchen. You can only omit, and she catches that, too.
“There’s… so much I want to tell you.” ‘Want’ is a lie; you only want to tell her of the horrors you chose as a way of making her stop worrying that it has anything to do with her, not as a sincere desire for her to learn of the depths of your depravity. You poke into your pocket and pluck an item she should recognize –
– as she gave it to you. Lebkuchen’s face is pale in her reflection.
“What have you done, Elise?” Her voice is grave.
“...Far too much.”
“If you’re trying to run from the type of problem I think you have, it won’t work.”
“I’m not!” You’re mostly sincere about that, at least. There is little left to run from. “I’ve made my decision, Leb. I’m sorry.” And you’re not joining me , is the implication.
She catches it like a translucent dandelion seed. Your best friend huffs, falling back onto the swing. “I would have liked to be told in advance. When are you leaving?”
“In... well, now.”
A person can only deflate so much. She beckons you forward so that she may give her final present to you. Two loaves of bread, as per usual– they would have both been for you, once upon a time. You think it would hurt her to know that they will now be shared with someone who isn’t her.
“I’ll write…”
Lebkuchen grimaces. You have the feeling it’s not a welcome idea right now, but you’ll write anyway. You know she’ll be mad at you if you don’t. “Please be safe.”
“I will.”
You lean in to kiss her right cheek, and impart to her a little more of yourself to keep. She has a shimmering look in her eye as you pull back. Perhaps, no matter how absurd the idea, she may be thinking of soulmates right now, and how she’s losing hers and may not get it back. You don’t intend on returning to Kieferberg to settle down – that may change in the future, but she would have moved on by then.
You leave with the chipped pieces of your heart in your hands.
…
Rozenmarine has packed for you; very little, as most in the house is fixtures or decoration. It’s your prediction that people will notice your absence and one or the other will ransack your house – if not for valuables, just because. You’ll find the key and lock the front door for once, for good measure, even if you don’t necessarily intend to return.
She looks at you as you re-enter.
“Are you–?” Done? Finished? Complete with your goodbyes and the wounds they’ve imparted?
“Yes.”
“You… don’t want to sleep until the morning first? Talk to anyone else?”
“No. I might be tempted to stay.”
She nods.
“I’m ready when you are, Elise.”
It’s such a sweet sentiment, it actually manages to soothe the storm in your heart by a margin. You’re not quite done yet, you think, as you walk up the stairs for the last time – lock your door, and stand by the one beside it. It used to belong to someone, once upon a time. Someone who loved you more than life itself, and whose love did not save her, in the end. You trace a finger over the door handle, collecting dust.
You say your third and final goodbye as you lean your forehead into the door. Whatever sins she has carried will remain here, and not with you.
“I’m ready,” You call, on your final descent. Rozenmarine joins your side, but pauses at the door. You tilt your head at her, wondering what the hold up is for.
“I don’t usually like traveling at night…” Oh, Lord. Is she about to make another excuse?
“If you don’t want me to come or don’t want to leave yet, just say so, Rosmarine!”
“That’s not what I was going to say!” She’s quick to assure you – with a little shy smile, of all things. “I meant to say… I think I can manage. You’re making me feel a little less afraid.”
Oh.
Rozenmarine may not love you right now, but this is about as good as a confession, as far as you’re concerned. Maybe she’ll come to love you back just the same, in time. She’ll never feel the same intensity, and she’ll never have to, because much of it comes from you having loved and lost in the most horrible way possible – and that’s just fine by you.
You’ll never know if leaving is the right thing; if He will find you again and torment you, angry at the sheer audacity of your rejection. It may be that your dreamless sleep will be dreamless no longer, and you’ll suffer in moments of respite – but as long as you wake next to your dream guide, you’ll bear it.
You’ll find no meaning in them as you did once before, as a fragmented, broken shell of a woman who brought two more doomed lives into the world. They won’t come to existence – perhaps this is why you no longer remember their names – but you’ll love them all the same, just as you love Kieferberg, in the way that you love something you have to leave behind for good.
You open the gates and cross the threshold into the unknown.