Indeed, it was all over just like that.

But it was only the end of the constant battles, that is, a new beginning. The only true end was death.

All the stories were heading towards the same end. What made them meaningful is what happened before.

What each person did with their life and death. They didn't have to be great people, to change anything more than the piece of ground they were buried in. It was enough to touch other people's lives in any way.

That was meaningful enough.

So what was the real end of the group?

Before we start, it's worth clarifying that Charlotte didn't die then. They couldn't help her, but they were able to keep her alive until they found help for her. She survived that and came back to run what was left of her kingdom. To rebuild and strengthen its foundations.

Years later, she married and had descendants to spare, unlike her parents. Charlotte told Desmond that it wasn't a marriage like her parents', that she truly loved this man and his children.

Desmond had doubts about it. But the truth was only in the girl's heart.

An epidemic ravaged Albion. Many people died, including Charlotte, who did not even reach her fiftieth birthday. Answers died with her, and not just about how real her marriage was. Millions mourned for her, swearing there would never be a queen like her.

Millions more began ranting about her even before her body froze.

Was she the good ruler that Abigail believed she would be, that Charlotte strived to become throughout her life? Did she really lay a good foundation for Albion, or was it a fragile one? The answers were known only to the future, and had nothing to do with the brilliant, if also cruelly short, life she lived.

Desmond didn't attend the funeral. When night fell, he snuck into the cemetery to leave a single red rose on her grave.

And wept bitterly for the second sister he had lost.

With that out of the way, this was what the four did with their lives...and with their deaths. Not even the gods can give a definitive answer as to the meaning.

The answer to that question is in your hands.

——

He went down the stairs.

He passed through the hallway and into the familiar living room, or what should be familiar, at any rate. Although nothing had changed, everything was in its place, to his eyes it was suddenly very different.

Suddenly everything had changed.

He approached the table in the center. Solid marble, bathed in the light that filtered through the stained glass window in the ceiling and through the vegetation surrounding the house, a light as if sent from heaven itself.

With a finger, he traced a line on the table. Removing some dust.

Maybe it would be the last time he would do something like that. Maybe he would leave without looking back, letting the dust accumulate in layers. Because there was nothing here for him anymore.

The living room, like any room, was full of stuff. Furniture, plants.

Traces of memories. Of everything lived within these walls.

But in reality, the house was empty.

He sighed.

In reality, Desmond was now truly alone.

——

Abigail opened the door and they crossed the threshold of the house, with Abigail leading the way. She had already seen it. She had been in charge of the plans, of making sure everything was to her liking, even if she hadn't built it with her own hands.

Desmond was seeing it for the first time, but he didn't care. He was excited. But any house would do as long as he was by her side.

That feeling of his, however, changed when Abigail led him into the living room.

It had a nice rustic style. Serene and soothing, like the nature that surrounded them. The living room was especially lovely, decorated as it was, and with those plants on the furniture and walls.

But the living room itself wasn't what struck him.

Not even the stained glass window in the ceiling, letting in the sunlight. What struck him, what, in fact, took his breath away, was seeing mom turn to look at him.

"Well? What do you think?"

That twirl like a ballet dancer, stretching her arms out to the sides as if to embrace everything around her, the light framing her like a celestial spotlight. All of it. Everything.

She had always seemed to him beyond human. A beauty without equal.

But now she was so... dazzling that yes, he was breathless.

He realized the most important detail of all. He realized that he had never seen her smile like that, not once.

"Isn't it wonderful?"

She was excited, clearly. So was he. Suddenly he saw the house in a different way. Suddenly he didn't even know

She was excited, clearly. So was he. Suddenly he saw the house in a different way. Suddenly even Charlotte's palace hadn't been remotely as splendid.

He should have fought harder to make her happy. He had done his best, or so he had thought, but regardless of whether it was true it clearly hadn't been enough.

He had failed at that. He had let himself down.

Fortunately, the war was over. Now he had all the time in the world to rectify his mistakes.

Desmond smiled.

"It's perfect."

Yes, the beginning of their new lives.

——

The rain was coming down so hard that you couldn't see much beyond ten meters, not without using physical reinforcement magic, anyway. Because of the rain, the world beyond the window was an unreal blur.

Meanwhile, Desmond simply watched it fall, sitting on the edge of the window.

Not that he minded getting wet, evidently. He just didn't feel like going out there and doing anything. Playing in the rain, in the mud, allowing himself to be the little boy he'd never been didn't seem like a bad idea. But not today, at least. Today he just wasn't in the mood.

Staying quietly in his warm home sounded better.

In these weeks, he had discovered that, if he allowed himself to, he couldn't just be still and quiet. Instead of moving forward, of finding a mission that would make him function properly.

More to the point, he liked it. He could live like a normal person.

Absentmindedly, he placed a palm against the fogged glass. Until now, he hadn't paid much attention to his own reflection. He had cut his hair. Apparently his body didn't see that as harm, so it hadn't simply grown back immediately.

The time would come when he would have to choose how long he wanted to keep his hair for eternity.

In these weeks, Desmond had thought that maybe he'd keep it long. Like her. He hadn't seen any man with hair that long, but he thought it wouldn't look bad on him, really.

Well, they were just thoughts that popped into his head when he had nothing else to think about. Nonsense.

Staying in his quiet, warm home sounded great. Indeed it did. The problem was that today he couldn't get any peace and quiet.

"What's on your mind?" Mom asked, approaching him from behind.

He smiled simply because she had appeared. She must have been asleep until now.

"Things I shouldn't waste time thinking about. As usual."

It was a bad habit he'd had forever, and he couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard he tried. Maybe he should try doing like Christina.

Empty his mind with a good book. He'd never been much for that, hadn't had the time or inclination, but.... Well, now he had all the time in the world. He could experiment.

"Share them with me, anyway."

He was going to do it all the same.

It was as good a topic of conversation as any, on a rainy day like this. Desmond supposed it mattered less what they talked about and more the act of talking, simply. He had to assume a lot of things still, because of the kind of mess he was. But he was learning little by little. Step by step.

"I'm sure you get the idea by now, but.... Well. I feel a little guilty," he admitted at last. It had been hard to get those words out of his throat, even though he had intended to speak from the beginning.

"For not being there, fighting." And she got the idea. Indeed. "Helping to finish off the surviving Imperials, though they can no longer put up a real fight, nor do they have a place to return to."

Anyone could take care of the remaining Imperials, now that the Azure Empire had been wiped off the map, the outcome had been decided. It was only a matter of time.

"You said it. It's silly, I know. But I can't help it."

Bad habits.

Habits in general, good or bad, he wanted to hold on to them with all his might.

Abigail came up behind him, hugging him. Sometimes, even when his few loved ones did things like that, Desmond tensed, surprised. As if expecting a fight, a blow at least.

He didn't now. Not one bit. It was one of the many things he was getting used to.

Mom rested her chin on one of his shoulders, closed her eyes. She thought she would be quiet, but after a while she continued, still with her eyes closed. He could see the reflection of both of them in the window, though it was quite foggy from the humidity, the constant rain.

"Some things never change. I can make you happy, I make you happy..." Her voice trembled. It was less than a second, but Desmond noticed it instantly. And he jumped on it. He had to do it immediately.

"Yes. Don't doubt it."

"But I'll never be able to release you from that. Survivor's guilt. You're never gonna feel like you've done enough."

Enough?

Enough to prove that it was worth it that he had survived when everyone had died, that he deserved it and it meant something.

Yes. She wasn't wrong, as usual.

"Nothing is going to happen because you enjoy your well-deserved rest. The war is over, truly, even if some are still alive. Your war is over, my son."

It always filled him with pleasure to hear her say my son, even though he knew for a fact that he was, even though she'd told him a thousand times. It was like an I love you.

After that, she kissed him on the cheek.

The cheek on the side of the shoulder she was leaning on, of course, the closest one. Desmond's smile widened. He was probably making a silly face.

He reached up, grabbing Abigail's wrists. It was like hugging her back, he supposed. As close as he could get to that without standing up and turning around, abandoning his post at the window, anyway.

He wouldn't do that because his gaze was still fixed on the world beyond the fogged window. As if he was looking for something.

He came to a conclusion. He supposed he should have come to it long ago, but since they had all the time in the world now, such things were easier.

He had never been interested in that topic. What's more, he'd almost never wanted to talk about it. Out of jealousy.

But he should ask her about it. They should talk about it at least once. That was what he thought.

"I want you to tell me about the others."

"I'm sorry?" Did she not understand what he meant, or maybe she was pretending not to? Hoping he'd drop the subject, back off.

"Those who came before me. Those who failed."

"There were many. And my memory isn't eternal."

That's true. True. But he wasn't asking for that either.

"Whatever you remember, or whatever you think is most worth telling, it's all the same."

Silence fell. Had this line of conversation bothered her? Did she not want to think too much about the many candidates before him, the hundreds or so who had formed a contract with her over two hundred years, only to end up disappointing her sooner or later?

Possibly. But in the end she spoke. She started up again.

"Okay," Abigail replied simply. Desmond nodded.

——

The empty man crossed the house, which was just as empty, towards the bathroom with a single purpose. He was looking for a place to look at himself and the bathroom mirror was the first one that had come to his mind, when he could have stopped to look in front of any of the windows he had passed.

It hadn't occurred to him because he was still hurting and confused. Trying to process everything.

But also because he simply didn't want to look.

He looked in the mirror and there he found what he had expected, no, what he had known he would see since he had looked at his hands. The same face that had looked back at him decades ago, in the most tumultuous, desperate but also most exciting times of his life. The times that had given him life, that had changed everything.

As if his life since the end of the war had been just a dream.

——

The three of them were gathered in a café, catching up. Abigail would have been welcome, but she had preferred to leave them alone and in the end had convinced him to do so, or at least made him give in.

In any case, here they were. Together again.

It couldn't be said that they had separated or anything like that, over the years. But they no longer saw each other day after day. That wasn't because something in their relationship had broken down, as he had feared so much years ago, but simply because people had to grow up. Mature.

Their lives had been expanding beyond the closed circle they had formed as a team. As a family. Well, actually their lives hadn't expanded in the same direction. More inward. He couldn't say he had more friends than they did. But he was that kind of person, first and foremost.

In any case, that was it. And it was good for them. There was nothing to be sorry about.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

It was kind of bittersweet, though, he had to admit.

Amy had dropped some surprising news on them in the middle of the pleasant conversation. The news itself was also pleasant, but well. It had been rather sudden.

"You're getting married? To whom?" Desmond asked.

"You'll meet her." There wasn't much time before the wedding, really. Amy had taken her time telling them about it. Or she'd been rather hasty, one of two things. "But, well, does it matter?"

Not really. All that mattered was that she was happy. What came out of his mouth was a less kind answer.

"No. If she hurts you, I'll kill her. That does matter."It was a joke, but perhaps his tone sounded harsher than he had intended. For that or whatever reason, Christina nudged him slyly, under the table.

Desmond's expression didn't change.

"Not if I kill her first," Christina said, joining in. Good. He guessed it hadn't turned out so bad after all.

"We can split it." Desmond forced himself to smile. The all-too-real possibility that this unknown woman would break his friend's heart, especially if Amy had rushed into marriage, intoxicated with love, made him sick.

She deserved to be loved. She deserved a good wife and more.

"Guys, come on. "Amy laughed, holding a hand in front of her mouth almost as if she was embarrassed. Sometimes she did that kind of thing, which reminded him of the status she had been born with and the kind of upbringing she had received. Imprisoned in the cage created by that monster". "She's... She's a good woman.

Amy lowered her head, her cheeks lighting up, and her smile was almost shy. She was smitten. Desmond hoped the other one was at least as smitten.

Desmond reached out a hand, grabbing one of Amy's and squeezing. Amy lifted her head quickly, as if surprised. Looking into his eyes.

"I hope she's good enough to deserve you."

That was what mattered in the end.

——

He stretched out his hands toward that young face, still unable to look away from what was now his reflection. It was as if he was desperately hoping that he couldn't do it. That his fingers would feel the wrinkles, and it would be revealed as an illusion. Like he was simply losing his mind after what he'd had to do. Which wouldn't be surprising at all.

But that wasn't what happened, of course.

He just checked what had been obvious and undeniable since he had looked in the mirror.

"I could have had more years with her." Desmond pressed his fingers to his cheek and temples, harder and harder as he spoke, as if he wanted to tear that mask of skin off his face.

It hurt. But it hurt more inside, since what he had just said was true.

Even his voice had returned to that of the young man he had been in those days.

——

Mom was lying on the bed. They had already prepared for what was about to happen, in fact, they had been planning it for years. This specific date.

The deadline.

He couldn't believe it had come so quickly. Years vanished in the blink of an eye. Before anyone noticed. Desmond felt nauseous, which was nothing unusual at his age. But now it only had to do with the stress that was choking him, not his body's problems.

The time had come to keep his promises. He wasn't going to back out.

All the happiness he had experienced so far had been in exchange for this from the very first moment. Since long before he knew anything about Abigail's immortality and what he truly desired, even.

Desmond held his mother's hand one last time.

"I'm sorry." Words weren't enough, and that was too old-fashioned, especially for him, as a young man he'd done nothing but apologize.

But it was the only thing on his mind. His mind was blank. He couldn't think. He didn't want to think.

The end began quickly.

He could feel life finally leaving his mother's body, after two thousand long years and a few more decades, a second chance, a second life, after the one others had taken from them. Yes, he spoke for both of them. Had it been worth it? Of course.

Of course, but...

He could also feel it flowing inside him. Abigail's curse.

Mama opened her mouth to say something. She supposed she wanted to say anything, no matter what, it was a no-brainer. Because this was her last chance to talk to him. After this, there would be only silence.

Words weren't enough. Maybe that's why she chose silence, at the end she fell silent, swallowing saliva, as if she was going to burst into tears. It was difficult. Of course, though this was what she wanted, what she needed.

Mom stroked one cheek. Gently. Like so many times before.

It was as if she was telling him: I know it hurts. It has to. Desmond had matured over the years, though sometimes people got worse instead of better as time wore them down. He didn't try at all to suppress his tears, he hadn't gone backwards in that respect.

Still, he wasn't crying.

Perhaps he had run out of tears in the preceding weeks. Especially when she wasn't looking at him.

His mother was wasting away before his eyes, slowly. Experiencing the death she had been deprived of for so many years. And he had to accept that. Rejoice, even, because now she would be at peace.

It was agony for him. But at least she would be at peace at last. And she would suffer no more in the process. Her face was serene, as was her smile.

The tears finally came, thinking about it.

The tears finally came.

——

Desmond didn't know this. He couldn't and wouldn't ever know. Which was just as well because he wouldn't have been able to keep his sanity, he would have lost everything before he even walked a mile in Abigail's boots and saw what it was like, when the real test of his character was supposed to begin.

The last thought of Abigail, who had chased the peace of death for over two thousand years, watching her son's tear"stained face sink into darkness as her consciousness faded (and yet her heart ached as if she had a dagger stuck in it) was the following:

I don't want to leave.

——

At last he was close. It was not the first time he had traveled this road, not even alone, but after Abigail's death everything was different.

If walking through his own home had been desolate, then the outside world was like being underwater.

He was drowning. He kept drowning.

The outside world had no color. Everything that gave it life had vanished, replaced by a caricature, and Desmond felt like he was trying to swim to a surface he didn't even know really existed. He could only hope that seeing her would be enough to get his head above water.

Otherwise, he was in for a very tortuous eternity.

Especially when they would be gone as well. Desmond broke through the bushes and the next thing he heard wasn't the rustling of leaves or the chirping of birds, but a choked gasp.

Amy.

"Desmond? No way. I must be going crazy at my age."

Her age.

She had aged, like everyone else. Much was different about her. Time wore anyone down. But the important things remained because people made an effort to hold on to them.

Amy's smile was as warm and kind as he remembered it. It felt like he hadn't seen her in decades, even though it had only been a few years.

"Don't worry. You're not delusional yet." Stupid words. This was no joke.

"But... What? Ah. Ah... I'm sorry."

Amy had realized enough. In response, Desmond shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now. It was too fresh.

Besides, it wasn't something he should regret. Or her. Abigail was at peace now.

And, at the same time, she wasn't gone. She was still inside him. Two hearts beating as one. That would remain true until the end. He wondered what his end would be. If there would be someone to hold his hand as he had held hers. And weep sincerely for him. He wondered...

Nothing, he was getting distracted, period.

"I didn't think it would make you younger."Neither did he. Nor Abigail herself. Otherwise, they would have had more time. "Look at you. You look great. But you're not quite what you used to be. There's something about you that... reminds me of looking at Abigail, actually. A... beauty that..."

Desmond decided to interrupt her. She wouldn't find the right words for it, just an approximation, just like he did back then.

"Yes. I know what you mean."

A beauty that surpassed the human. That it was more like a painting or a sculpture. Carved. Artificial.

But incredible, incredibly beautiful, all the same.

He wasn't himself.

He couldn't be himself, after all that.

"Trimming the bushes?"

"Someone has to tend my garden."

"How's your wife?"

"How formal." Amy laughed. That laugh also reminded her of better times. "You could call her by her first name. I know you two never got along too well, but...."

She was exaggerating a bit, but yes. They hadn't exactly had the best relationship. Although he hadn't felt the need to kill her either. That was something.

"It's just that Lisa is a little... eccentric."

"Just the way I like it."

Well, that had to be true. Otherwise he wouldn't have gotten together with someone like her. Desmond smiled slightly. A little color had returned to the world. And he could breathe, again.

Amy went over to give him a tight hug.

Well, as tight as she could. She couldn't be called old yet, at least he wouldn't do that. But she wasn't young either, that was for sure.

"This is..." Wonderful or something. It wouldn't be very appropriate to say so under the circumstances, but Desmond wouldn't have been upset. He understood. Sometimes Amy treated him like he was his old self. Although, of course, he hadn't completely changed. One example of his changes was that he had stopped thinking that people were incapable of change in the first place. "Come in. Come in, please. Let me buy you a drink. And let's chat."

It sounded tempting. His world would be full of color again, even with Lisa there.

Too tempting, really.

"No. I... Maybe next time, but I wasn't planning on staying long from the start. Before I go, I want to ask you a question."

Next time, huh?

"What is it?"

Desmond simply extended a hand toward her. He thought she would understand without his having to say anything.

"Desmond?" That confirmed his thoughts, even though she'd asked. He saw it in her eyes.

"If you want it, it's yours. Immortality. You have the contract. Not with me, but before you say anything, that seems to be enough."

He didn't want to pass the immortality on to Amy. Deep down, no, because he knew better than anyone alive that it only led to a path of suffering. But he felt he had to ask the question.

She felt she needed to know... Well, if she needed it.

He was already dead inside. Or at least he thought he was. He didn't need anything and he'd had enough with his one chance. Lots of mistakes, but he was satisfied.

Amy looked at his hand silently, for a while. He thought she would shake it, after all. She was dead wrong. The woman shook her head.

"I love that bimbo. I want to grow old and die with her. So... I'm sorry."

"I understand. Don't worry about it."

Boy, did he understand. That's why he thought: I wish I could do the same.

But the person he loved had to die alone from the beginning. There had never been the possibility of dying at the same time. Or of being immortal together, and Abigail wouldn't have wanted that, anyway.

"What do you plan to do now?"

"Visit Christina, of course." She was the only one left.

"Oh. Wish her well for me."

"What?"

"She didn't tell you? She's sick."

Desmond's heart jumped into her throat. Now that he was immortal, he had nothing to fear, literally. But he'd never been much given to worrying about himself in the first place.

Besides, they'd already lost Charlotte to an illness. Without them being able to do anything. Without anyone being able to do anything.

It would be crushing if the same thing happened again. But he wouldn't be surprised.

Life was cruel. And circular.

"Nothing serious?" Desmond felt the need to ask that question, even though he was already convinced that it was, in fact.

"Desmond, don't you know me? If it was something serious, you wouldn't have caught me here quietly in my garden, but on my way to see her. Things haven't changed that much."

Oh, of course.

Of course, she was right. Besides, if Christina had something serious, Amy wouldn't have said it like it wasn't a big deal. They were still great friends. Family.

He'd been stupid. He was immortal now, but he didn't have a third of Abigail's experience.

I miss you already, mom. So much.

"That's true. I'm sorry."

"All the best. Silly boy."

Desmond smiled to himself.

"Same to you."

Now, off to see Christina. Again to dive into that colorless world, that inclement sea, searching for the surface. This time the road would be even longer.

——

After surfacing, what he found was more inclement than any sea. In short, Amy had been wrong. It had been nothing serious, indeed.

But things had changed.

Christina was lying in bed, covered with the sheets up to her neck. She could move unaided still, though not too well. Desmond had sat down next to her. Not right on the bed, but on a chair he dragged there.

"I had intended to call you and Abigail, but I guess that's no longer necessary." It was the first comment she'd made about his appearance since she'd welcomed him. "I'm sorry."

Desmond nodded his head.

Of course she felt the need to express that she was sorry for his loss, even if she had never liked Abigail very much. But Desmond didn't want to talk about it.

It wasn't why he had come here. Not today.

"It's what she wanted."

He should have known that kind of answer would be like inviting her to stick to the topic.

"And what does it matter? I can't even imagine what it was like... to have to kill her. It happened to her when she was young, so she had no way of knowing you'd get younger. How cruel."

Very cruel indeed.

That's why he didn't want to talk about it. It was hard enough for him to breathe. Just walking to get here had been a great effort. The parts of the way where he hadn't been walking, but sitting in a carriage, just waiting, had been even worse.

His thoughts were full of sharp edges.

"That's true. Never mind." Desmond shook his head. If he wanted the topic to change, he'd have to do it. "Why didn't you tell us anything?"

"I was going to, man. "Christina smiled, shrugging her shoulders, as if to say mea culpa. Something about that move was what drew his attention to the fact that he hadn't seen the book yet, precisely that. "I've been trying to write you guys some letters for about a week now, but it never came out right. It's hard to talk about something like that. That my time is coming."

Especially from a distance.

It's not like talking face-to-face was any easier, though. When he asked her what the hell was wrong and why the healers couldn't help her, all she said was, "Does it matter? I'm dying anyway." Desmond was at a loss for words because, of course, she was absolutely right.

Desmond took another look at her.

Charlotte had certainly aged. But she was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, eclipsed only by Abigail. In some ways, she was no longer the same, but in others it even seemed that the passing years had enhanced that beauty.

In no way did she look like she was in her sixties.

Too bad her youthful appearance was only on the outside. Her violet eyes, her most characteristic feature, so unique, which had fascinated him from the beginning, no longer shone as before. Her light was dulled, dimmed, as if something was missing.

He would say that the years had not been kind to her. But this was a recent thing.

What was wrong with her, really? What was wrong with her?

"You said you were going to call us. Me and Mom, alone. Why not Amy?" He decided to ask this first, though.

Christina smiled bitterly. For a moment, she thought she wouldn't say anything.

"I think you already know," Christina said, simply. She did open her mouth, but he hadn't really been wrong. That couldn't be called an answer.

Desmond was silent.

Maybe he did know. But he wanted to hear it from her lips anyway.

"I don't want to die, Desmond. "She wasn't looking at his eyes, but at his nose, he realized. She was embarrassed. But she still plucked up the courage to tell him, "My time is coming and, looking back, I realize that I haven't made the most of my life."

There were few things more horrible than that, when you didn't have all the time in the world for regrets and to try to make amends. When death approached day after day, everything had greater meaning, greater weight.

So the only thing worse than realizing that was immortality, really.

"Amy has a wife, friends, she has everything she wanted. Same goes for you. But I've wasted my time. And I don't want to... I don't want to leave like this."

Desmond swallowed.

"Christina..." He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know if it was a good idea. It was just what he had expected, though.

"Please, Desmond. I know what I'm asking you, but..." Die for her. He was already dead, really, but.... "I don't want to die like this. Tormented by my curse until I go mad, and do what Adam did. Lately, I think about hanging myself almost every day."

She lowered her head. Her shame got the better of her.

She wanted to escape.

What was wrong with that? Everyone wanted to escape from painful things. And everyone was missing something, holes that wouldn't stop hurting. Still, Desmond wished he'd never lived to see her like this.

A shadow of herself.

Like him.

He would walk the earth, reduced to a shadow of himself, searching for the one who would set him free. Just like Abigail before him. And the person who had passed the curse on to Abigail herself, and who knows how many others before that.

A circle that would never end, that could not be cut, unlike the war, which had come to an end when he had wiped half the map.

Desmond grimaced.

"You don't have a contract."

Not with Abigail and not with him. Amy could have received immortality immediately, but the same didn't apply to Christina. She had been too powerful to feel compelled to form a contract with Abigail to receive any power. She hadn't needed to, and had made it to the end under her own power alone.

"We can do it now, can't we?"

"It takes a long time to get used to it. I spent months before I was ready to receive it. And you said you don't have much time left."

That's all she'd told him.

"I'm... I'm special. I can probably handle it. Besides, it's not like I'm going to die today. We've got... We still have a little time left."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Desmond had offered this curse to Amy without complaint, but now he felt the need to ask so many questions. It was a complicated matter, this whole mess was.

There was no right answer. Maybe there was no right answer to anything in life, only the personal one.

"Losing my affinity," Christina continued, staring at the wall with those dull, dead eyes. Eyes like his own. "I will be free for the first time in my life. Please, I don't want to die a slave to something I was born with."

For the first time in her life.

For the first time. Yes, Abigail had not been born with the ability to control all the elements, when all other people could only use a single affinity. It wasn't natural.

So she was right. Passing the curse of immortality to her would rid Christina of shadow magic.

Desmond was an exception to the rule because he had never been special in the first place. The magic he had depended on all his life was a simple affinity independent spell. He had tested it along the way, and he could still do it. It was harder to maintain the necessary balance, though. Christina, it seemed, had been right all along, and his affinity had all along been the control that allowed him to take such a basic spell this far.

In any case...

Desmond slowly stood up, not taking his eyes off Christina. He couldn't take his eyes off her. And when he noticed her move, Christina couldn't either. She moved her head so fast that her neck cracked.

The terror in her eyes. He didn't want to see that either.

It reminded him of when she'd briefly lost her mind from the side effects of shadow magic, believing herself an enemy, forgetting who she was, who they were, and what the three of them shared.

It had been so long ago. Even before the invasion of the capital, when the golden masks had still been a problem.

"Desmond, don't go." He was practically shouting. Practically just because she didn't have that much strength. "You love me, don't you? Don't let me die like this."

She grabbed his shirt sleeve, thinking he would run away. But Desmond hadn't moved an inch. His gaze wasn't the only thing that had remained still.

"I'm not leaving. I'm just thinking."

Hearing that, Charlotte didn't quite relax, but at least enough to let go. She reached out to him, hoping he would take her hand in his.

Let the process begin.

It was all complicated for so many reasons. There was no right answer. Desmond was suffering like never before, but he couldn't say he was in a hurry to die. If he was alive, at least he could remember his mother for as long as possible. It was cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

He also wanted to save Christina from herself. Of course he did. He had already given almost everything, even his life, for her once.

But on the other hand... He wasn't sure it was a good idea. His reasons were hard to put into words, but they were on his mind.

Desmond, deep in thought, kept looking at the hand she held out to him with hope.

Chasing an answer.

THE END