Work Text:
Chapter 1 :
Veronica dropped the pen. Her diary was open, but the words felt empty. The smell of window cleaner and remorse still clung to her sheets.
—Writing about your feelings isn't going to restore your reputation, Veronica. Nor is it going to get rid of the taste of hospital corridor pills in my mouth.
Veronica didn't jump. Not anymore. She simply closed her eyes and sighed as she swiveled in her desk chair. There, perched on the edge of the bed in perfect pose, the red ribbon still pristine in her hair, was Heather Chandler. She was a little paler than usual—which was saying something—and her silhouette flickered with a bluish static, but she was still, undeniably, the legend.
—You're still here, — Veronica whispered. — Don't you have an afterlife to terrorize? —
— I tried. But red doesn't match the clouds, and fire is too dry for my complexion. — Heather examined her nonexistent fingernails. — Besides, I owe you one for the 'suicide.' A suicide note with a 'charity' donation, to sound nice? Really? You could have given me a little more... strength. —
Veronica stood up and walked toward her. She knew she couldn't touch her; her hands would simply pierce the cold air where Heather's shoulder should be. She stopped just inches away.
— I'm sorry, Heather. I really am. J.D. is a...
—"J.D. is an idiot with an Oedipus complex, — the blonde interrupted, standing up to face him. — But I'm not here for him. I'm here because, even in death, I'm still the center of your universe. Admit it. —
Veronica looked down, but Heather used her willpower to project a blast of cold air under the brunette's chin, forcing her to look up.
— You said that if I were a zombie, you'd want my brain because of how smart I am, — Veronica muttered, recalling a cruel joke from months ago in the cafeteria.
Heather let out a dry laugh, a sound reminiscent of shattering glass. She moved closer, until Veronica could feel the chill of her presence invading her lungs.
— Honey, if I were a zombie, the last thing I'd want is your brain. You have too many unnecessary thoughts in there. Too much guilt. Too much boring morality. —
Heather extended a transparent hand, tracing the outline of Veronica's chest, right where her heart beat strongly, wildly.
—If I were a zombie, I'd want your heart, not your brain, baby. —Heather smiled, and for a second, it wasn't the predatory smile of the queen bee, but something more human, something hungry in a different way. — Because your heart is the only thing in this shitty town that still feels real. And because it's mine. I claimed it first. —
Veronica felt a tear run down her cheek. Heather Chandler's ghost leaned in, mimicking the gesture of a kiss that would never physically materialize, but which left a trail of frost on her lips.
— Don't leave me alone with J.D., — Veronica pleaded.
— Oh, don't worry, Ronnie —Heather slowly faded away, becoming specks of red and silver light—I'll be right behind you when you try to burn this place down. Make sure my funeral is fabulous, okay?
And with a wink, the room fell silent, leaving Veronica with a racing heart and the taste of winter in her mouth.