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Remielle wakes in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands tremble uncontrollably, not feeling like her own. Her hands hurt, pained like they’re reliving the memories of that day. She presses a clammy hand against her forehead, letting out a shaky breath.
A nightmare.
A memory.
She swallows thickly.
The dust of debris and building, ducking under insane slashes that no normal human could’ve avoided. The way her lungs burned in her chest as a researcher on her intercom yelled at her to leave the Hollow, leave–
It’s not working–
The smell of blood tainting the air, the strained whisper that left Beliora’s lips as Remielle plunged her sword into her beloved’s chest, falling to the ground, eyes burning. The sobs that wracked her soul, an agonizing, burning pain in her lungs. The quiet, broken melody of the music box Beliora gifted her.
It’s far too difficult to breathe.
Remielle pulls herself out of the bed.
She needs to get out.
It was well past midnight now, she was sure of it. Roscaelifer’s streets, as far as she was concerned, should be relatively barren. Being a wanted fugitive wasn’t easy, it resigned her to only making moves in the night, but at the very least she could still move around.
Especially on nights like this when she needed something to do with herself.
Needed fresh air to breathe.
The streets of Booastrum are quiet, much different from how they were in the day. The lighting and atmosphere provides some sense of comfort, normalcy, things remained unchanged even under the veil of the night. The buildings stand, light shining through a couple of windows, street lamps illuminating the area as she walks along the paths.
This was the utopia Sunbringer made.
It makes her feel a little bittersweet.
She can see traces of her old friend in this city. In the streetlights and lighting because Sunbringer, despite being an Intelligent Construct, had a certain disdain for bright fluorescent lighting. Anything too harsh, the amount of times Remielle had caught her working in darkness was too many to count.
And the paving was to her liking, too. Remielle vaguely remembers murmurs of Sunbringer’s ideals once, something about stone brick and a city in the skies. Sunbringer had always been a dedicated soul, socially awkward much like the Swordmaster, but intensely endearing as well.
This city is full of her old friend.
She pauses, mind drifting.
She had so many questions for Sunbringer too.
A sigh escapes her lips before she keeps moving, making sure to avoid the Patrolboo routes that the En-Nah Gang had told her about once before.
The world is so entirely different as she knows it and Sunbringer has built her utopia in the skies in the hundred years Remielle has been in stasis. The effort shows and Remielle lingers by the street lamps for a mere moment because this too is part of the world she has missed.
A sign that the times were no longer what she had known.
It makes her sad.
To know that she missed out on the world, and it moved on without her.
That day, she thinks she lost a part of herself. Whatever cheer she had, whatever hope and trust, crushed without a single thought as she thrusted her blade right through Beliora’s chest before succumbing to Thaumiel’s Karma Core.
She thinks all of that died alongside Beliora.
Remielle pauses before the Mr. Roar stand.
Beliora would’ve found it funny.
Cute, maybe.
Beliora and her purple hair and blue eyes and gentle gaze. Her light teasing whenever Remielle pouted about something. The gentleness in her touch anytime they were near each other. Her patience despite her short-lived frustration. How Beliora would sit with her through their worst nights when taking the world back seemed like such a distant dream.
That it was.
Yet she still held Remielle the same, fingers carding through hair and quietly ruffling feathers; she misses Beliora with every fiber of her body and soul.
She misses everything.
Remielle shakes her head, takes in another breath to ease the ache in her chest and redirects her gaze towards Amber Hall. The lights were off, a clear testament to everyone having turned in for the night.
That’s where Belle resided in Roscaelifer, Remielle has entered the dormitory multiple times before. Finding her way discreetly through Belle’s window or that one time she used the Mr. Roar suit to sneak in through the front door. Something in her warms at the memories, Belle’s flustered expression at Remielle’s disguise or how she managed to sneak into the proxy’s room undetected.
She thinks of Belle and her blue hair, bright teal eyes, and smile, the entirely soft look she gives her. Her jasmine cedar scent and pout, honest words hardly hidden behind any facade; Remielle can’t help but find herself lost in the other woman.
Belle made her feel so wholly human.
Like…
Like Beliora did.
“Remie?”
Remielle blinks, stirring out of her thoughts to find Belle standing outside of Amber Hall. The front door closing behind her; Belle, still clad in pajamas, walked closer to the retired Void Hunter, face full of confusion and concern. She was so honest, even without words, Remielle would be lying if she said it didn’t do something to her heart.
“What’re you doing out here?” she asks, now standing in front of Remielle. She could see the way Belle’s eyebrows pinched together, worry clear in her expression, a small frown on her lips as she looked into Remielle’s eyes.
“I could be asking you the same, my dear partner-in-crime,” Remielle smiles, aloof. Belle makes a face at her, prompting Remielle to shut down the normal enigmatic facade for something a bit more genuine.
Raw, vulnerable.
Something more her.
“I needed some fresh air,” she says vaguely, not bothering to elaborate. Belle doesn’t seem to stir at the answer, taking it as her expression shifts into something more thoughtful than worried, “Care to join me?”
“Sure,” Belle says, without a hint of hesitation.
“No hesitation?” Remielle notes, a lilt to her voice. “Aren’t you eager?”
Belle’s face paints over with a characteristic shade of red and Remielle can’t help but giggle as the younger woman flusters at the remark. A feeling akin to pride swells in her chest as it always does when she manages to get Belle like this.
She makes it so easy.
“Wha–“ the proxy sputters, eyes widening. “No one said anything about that! Geez, I’m going back inside.”
“Are you really?” Remielle says serenely. Belle pauses and Remielle turns around towards the street, looking over her shoulder at the proxy, “Come along now.”
Belle, despite her protest, trails after Remielle as she starts walking along the pavement, away from Amber Hall. It takes her a couple of steps to catch up properly with Remielle, walking at a leisurely pace. A comfortable silence engulfs them as they walk the street side by side. Belle doesn’t seem to mind the silence either, her breathing soft as they round a corner. Her presence is warm and it soothes the lingering ache in Remielle’s heart.
Remielle didn’t think it was possible anymore.
To have small moments like this.
Hidden behind Karma Cores, Porcelloy, and blood, Remielle could hardly grasp the concept of even being ‘normal’ anymore. Nothing ever feels right; the trembling in her hands after using Thaumiel one too many times, the searing golden pain in her skin as her body fails her and threatens to force her into a monster.
Her whole world had collapsed that day, shrouded in dust and the wreckage of her heart. Then she woke up, a hundred years later, to a place familiar yet not at the same time. This wasn’t her world, the one that collapsed when she had killed Beliora and. A new, rebuilt world, that she hadn’t even been there for.
That she wasn’t supposed to be there for.
She doesn’t remember the last time she’s ever felt so at peace.
Other than when she was Belle.
And it’s inherently terrifying.
To be disarmed so softly.
When she looks at Belle she can’t help but see a future, hidden behind the dark remnants of her past and regrets. Belle makes her want to live longer than she originally willed. Belle makes her feel like she belongs in this new era, one that Remielle finds so completely foreign to her.
Belle makes her feel a semblance of how Beliora did back then and it’s frightening.
“Did something happen?” Belle asks, stilling in front of a phone booth. Remielle pauses too, looking at Belle. Her eyes are soft at the edges, but piercing enough to make Remielle pause—like they were looking, searching for her soul.
Not to pierce, but to hold.
“Worried about little ‘ol me?” Remielle tries to smile.
Belle rolls her eyes with a scoff, “Worried that you tried to kill another Bangboo and were going to rope me in. I’m not a fan of going to jail, y’know.”
“Aw,” Remielle wears a faux pout, “and here I thought we were intimate enough to be cell mates.”
“Don’t say that, you’re going to jinx us at this rate; I don’t think they have comfy beds in jail cells,” Belle frowns. She sighs, “It’s fine if you don’t wanna tell me. But y’know, I do actually worry about you, Remielle.”
Oh Belle and that kind tone of hers.
It makes Remielle want to fall apart in her hands.
Remielle makes a noise in the back of her throat, “Isn’t that a romantic thought? That you think about me even this late at night?”
“Yeah,” Belle doesn’t roll her eyes or quip back with a snarky remark. “I do.”
Remielle thinks she hears her carefully painted facade crack, heart and soul spilling out of her. And Belle is still here, choosing to stand in front of her, waiting for her response, like she’ll carefully let Remielle bleed all over her hands and stain her shoes just to cradle her heart.
And it’s the most devastating thing that ever could’ve happened to Remielle since her awakening.
Usually she’d brush it off. A tease and a chuckle, a wave of her wings and act like it’s nothing other than the musings of a woman who had lost everything. Shrug off the pain, the nightmares, the memories, because she can’t bear the thought of opening her heart up. She’s already lost so much and she’s already let herself get attached to Belle; she can’t do this anymore. She only has so much time left; she can’t get attached or else the idea of leaving would kill her from the inside out.
Belle has so much left for her in this place. She has the world waiting, an era that she belongs to. Remielle doesn’t belong to this place anymore, she doesn’t have anywhere to go back to. Belle still has a whole future ahead of her, years meant to be lived, memories meant to be made in New Eridu, everything that Remielle doesn’t have.
She can’t do this to Belle, she can’t.
But when Belle looks at her, completely patient and kind, Remielle wants to cry.
“I had a nightmare,” Remielle admits under the street lamps.
She looks away, staring at something other than the woman in front of her; something purple and it sickeningly reminds her of Beliora and her hair and how she’d carefully tie it up every morning.
Belle waits.
“A memory, really,” Remielle tries to be casual about it but the pain is back and it gnaws at her insides aggressively. The feeling of stabbing Beliora lingers in her hands, and she closes them into fists to pull herself out of it, “You’ve seen it before… heard it.”
Belle swallows, “Of Colonel Vike?”
“Mhm,” Remielle nods.
She understands.
The pain and weight of killing a loved one, blood staining your hands so deeply that when you close your eyes you can still feel the phantom sensations of the crimson liquid staining your finger tips. The immense grief that comes with it, restless nights of memories and nightmares that end up in incoherent sobs.
Remielle thinks she’s far past sobbing, but the grief sits in her ribcage heavily.
“Tell me about it,” Belle requests carefully.
Remielle raises her eyebrows and then laughs because that’s such a Belle-like response, “You already know. Do you like repeating stories or something?”
“As long as it’s you, yes,” Belle steps closer, passing through the invisible line between them that probably wasn’t even there in the first place, meant to be passed through as Belle takes a hand in her own, intertwining their fingers. Her palm is warm against Remielle’s and she tugs her forward, a smile dancing on her lips, “And we can keep walking too.”
Remielle lets herself be tugged forward.
“I miss her,” Remielle confesses, vulnerability in the back of her throat. Belle makes a noise to let her know she’s still listening, “And it’s awful that she’s not coming back, and that I’m the only one who’s still alive and lives with the memory.”
It’s a horrible reality.
To wake up from a nightmare and to find yourself in the present where your name was buried in stone, cemented with a grave, and everyone you’ve ever known was gone. The city you loved, the people, changed, different. No one ever tells you how to live again when a whole era passes by you in the blink of an eye. No one ever tells you how to do anything when your only shred of hope isn’t even there. When blood still stains your hands like yesterday but to the rest of the world, it was a mere undocumented hundred years ago.
Remielle is forced to live with the memory of the past in a present where she shouldn’t even be alive.
And she just has to take it.
“Not even the Sunbringers?” Belle inquires thoughtfully.
“Not even the Sunbringers,” Remielle confirms wistfully. “Eldreda shares her face yet… she isn’t her. It’s kind of terrible, isn’t it? Someone who looks so much like her but… isn’t.”
Belle seems to pause for a second, thinking about it. Remembering the image she retrieved from the faulty mech back a while ago. Fluffy ginger hair and a man about her age, and then she looks at Remielle’s face, a mix of grief and regret, Belle thinks she gets it. She gives Remielle’s hand a small squeeze, just to let her know that she’s listening and that she’s there.
“Everything has moved on from the world I knew,” Remielle breathes. “This world isn’t mine anymore.”
Belle frowns.
“This is just the consequences,” the pink haired woman shook her head, sorrow in her face, “for trusting so easily.”
“And…” Remielle’s breath hitches, and they stop walking, her grip on Belle’s hand tightens and her eyes burn, and she can’t and she wishes–
She hardly even registers Belle letting go of her hand, choosing to engulf her in a hug instead. Arms wrapping gingerly around Remielle’s neck, the pink haired woman can’t help but crumble in Belle’s arms. She sniffles, burying her face into the blue haired woman’s shoulder, letting her unshed tears stain Belle’s shirt. Her hands grip the back of Belle’s shirt tightly, holding onto her like a life line. Her wings instinctively wrap around Belle as well, the desire to feel something embedded deeply in her bones.
“I regret it all.”
Belle lets out a soft exhale.
“I know,” she says, pulling Remielle closer. “I know. But what else could you have done?”
“Maybe I was too naive,” Remielle whispers, voice so terribly fragile.
“You were hopeful,” Belle corrected. “What’s so wrong about that?”
Remielle stilled for a moment and Belle continued.
“Isn’t that what keeps us going?” she muses. “Hope is the thing with feathers that’ll sing its song even through the worst storms. There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful and trusting those around you, even if… it could lead to your downfall.”
“I think that’s just something that makes you human,” Belle says. “You say all this stuff like trusting people and being hopeful has only wronged you, but… didn’t it lead you to me—your partner-in-crime?”
Remielle thinks about that night on Sixth Street, hoping to find someone who could fix her Ethereal card, and then running into Belle instead. The same woman from before the Hollow Champion Competition who she had found murmuring about W-Engines.
Belle had caught her eye before everything, her intellect intrigued Remielle, and when she looked into the proxy’s eyes she couldn’t help but feel something stir in them. It was inevitable for their paths to cross, the strings of fate pulling them towards each other some way or another. The idea of hope, connecting their fates anyways.
She just didn’t expect them to intertwine so deeply.
“Smooth, aren’t you?” Remielle murmurs into Belle's shoulder, her hold tightening.
Belle is soft and warm, comforting and safe, and in her arms, Remielle feels so entirely human. Just for a moment, the Karma Cores are forgotten, the heavy title of Void Hunter, the loss of an era, blood and Hollows; Remielle lets herself feel.
“I’m just saying what comes to mind,” Belle chuckles. “You should let yourself be human.”
Remielle makes a noise, something soft and warm seeping into her ribcage, moving to cradle her faintly aching heart with a kindness she doesn't think she deserves.
“Even if you don’t feel like this world is yours anymore,” Belle says, “we can make it yours. I’ll make it yours. I’ll make sure you feel like you belong somewhere even if you don’t think it’s possible.”
Remielle’s heart hurts.
Belle is too earnest, too kind to someone like her.
She’s too good, truly.
Remielle is the ghost of the past, someone not meant to exist in today’s world. This life is so foreign to her, Remielle knows she wasn’t supposed to see this era, yet she still does. Even in the world she fought for, she’s simply an outside meant to return to the abyss once her questions are answered. Her clock is ticking and her finale is on the horizon.
But Belle refuses to let her.
She will continue to reach out like Remielle belongs somewhere in this time. Continue to pull Remielle out of her resignation and self-assigned abyss for no other reason than just because she could.
Because they were partners-in-crime and she refuses.
And it makes Remielle want to sob.
They stay like that for a good moment, just the two of them on the quiet streets of Booastrum where Remielle can just will herself to leave it be for a couple of moments. Belle is the one who pulls away first and Remielle can’t help but make a noise in the back of her throat that’s akin to a whine, already finding herself yearning for the warmth and touch of the proxy again.
“I guess it’s my turn to return the favor from a while ago,” Belle smiles. Remielle blinks and then she realizes what Belle means. The awful rainy night where they figured out what was going on with Dracaene. Secrets shared between guilty souls and the sound of rain pattering.
The proxy offers a hand, “If you don’t wanna sleep alone tonight, you could come over to mine.”
“Already inviting me to your bedroom?” Remielle can’t help the tease. “At least take me out first!”
Belle promptly flushes, face turning red and Remielle thinks her heart swells as her dear partner-in-crime sputters and stammers with denial and frustration. She takes Belle’s offered hand without much jest.
“I would like that,” Remielle smiles.
Belle sighs fondly.
—
Remielle finds herself entangled in Belle’s bed and entangled in her arms once they’re back in her room in Amber Hall.
She honestly doesn’t mind, not when Belle is impossibly warm and comfortable and she burrows her face into Belle’s collarbone, taking in the other woman’s jasmine cedar scent. Her arms are securely around Belle’s waist, wings having already laid themselves over the blue haired woman, searching for any and all contact. She presses herself flush against Belle’s front, seeking out her warmth like no other.
Just for tonight, Remielle will let her succumb to her worldly desires, let herself hold and be held.
Belle is so intensely comforting, it’s almost absurd. Especially since the last time Remielle had ever felt that way with anyone was…
With Beliora.
Belle mumbles about something, her voice quiet and low. It’s nice background noise that helps mute the screaming thoughts in Remielle’s brain for the night. Grief and regret linger in her heart, they prey on her soul and collapse in her lungs, but she finds that at the very least with Belle she can breathe a little better.
Breathe like she belongs in this timeline.
Breathe like she did with Beliora.
She doesn’t know if she’s strong enough for this anymore.
Strong enough for the way that Belle holds her heart and cradles it like it means something proper. For the way that Belle lets her bleed all over her and smiles like there’s nothing wrong with it.
For the way that Belle lets her hope so earnestly that she can stay.
Like time isn’t ticking incessantly in their ears.
A fate for Remielle lives behind closed doors, waiting to be pried open as the clock approaches its end; Belle still holds her like she means something so much more than the Karma Core infecting her veins.
Just for tonight.
Remielle thinks.
Just for tonight she can let herself fall.
“I don’t understand you,” Remielle murmurs, something faint and quiet, so intensely vulnerable and small. “You’re too good to me, Belle.”
“It’s nothing, Remie,” Belle says easily. “Even you deserve a soft epilogue.”