Chapter Text
Maelle.
Maelle, Maelle.
I have to protect -
"Run."
Her.
He could feel so little - what sort of damage had his body undergone to deprive him of nigh all sensation? - could only think in fleeting, frightening flashes. He was afraid, so, so afraid; terrified not only for her but for himself, of the thought that the pitiful, miniature life, though taller than anyone younger could hope to see, of a length he ought to be grateful for, would be all he would ever know - the love, the loss, the pain, the grief, the suffering would be for nothing at all, no light at the end of any tunnel, no heroic happy ending.
No. No, no, no, please - don't take me from them - not now -
"Why… Why are you doing this? We've done nothing to you."
He hadn't done enough. Could he have ever done enough? He should have been braver, wiser, better.
Not now - not yet - please, not yet -
He became aware of his heart, and how it raced within him.
Maelle -
For her, he could stomach it. A thousand times over. A much more satisfying end than the flowers of the Gommage, the Paintress’s cold victory.
But what will become of her?
She had lost so much already. This would destroy her.
"We should be on the same side."
She would be alive. He could stomach it. He would never falter.
Lungs? Air. He panted; he tasted metal in his mouth, Lumiere’s coast on the breeze - home. Never again would he see it.
"Let her go."
He wished, more than anything, that she’d stayed there. That she was safe and terribly bored. That she wouldn’t have to see this - he knew she couldn’t bear but to watch. He wished that she would look away, shut her eyes, anything.
Sound, soft against the roaring in his ears. Her voice, accompanied by Lune’s . . . Sciel’s? They would look after her, of course; look after each other. She would be safe. They would all be safe. That was all he needed.
Blood churned his veins. Bitter. Biting. His heart would burst from his chest, would not slow.
The man. The man. Who was the man? How - For what purpose? For what purpose?
Maelle.
Sister? Daughter? The line between had never been clear.
An act of love . . .
No use, rage. No use, terror.
. . . For he did love her. Words carved across the core of the world he knew.
His life, however brief, had been good, he thought. Imperfect. Good. He had known so many people, seen so many things - there was so much to come that he would never get the chance to. But that was always true, wasn’t it?
"For those who come after . . . right?"
A strange feeling enveloped him, something like an embrace; the arms of eternity, perhaps.
One day, the Paintress would fall, or Lumiere would. Peace would find them all. The world would keep spinning.
Did Sophie await him in the next?
Sophie.
The rest of his Expedition? Alan, Lucien, Margot, Catherine, Tristan? He had lost so many . . .
Maelle.
She would be safe. Acceptance settled through him, washed over his skin, warmer than the rain. Satisfaction. A rest could hardly hurt now, right? Certainly not one so well earned?
An act of love . . . for he did love her. Words atop which all he had ever know had been raised and razed; words that had fractured what once was, as they would fracture him now.
He could stomach such a fate, for her. Welcome it, even. Suffer it gladly.
Someone was calling . . .
And so he would.
“Gustave?”
Maelle.
His name on the wind . . .
Until the next life.
He opened his eyes to greet it.