The next few days went by slowly. Theora was painfully aware of whatever might be hidden in Dema’s apartment, but her schedule was packed and while she could have made time for whatever was there, she didn’t think she’d have the stomach. Other things were waiting anyway. Theora supported shelters, carried gravestones, helped Serim and her roommates move to a new place. Everything not to think about those raging flames inside her.

Until, on the fifth day, as she lay alone in her bed next to the open window letting in freezing cold air, her phone buzzed. Her fingers were a little numb as she patted around herself to find it. The covers wrapped only her legs in warmth, and even that mostly by accident — she didn’t have the energy to move the blanket around, and the chill felt comforting because she could pretend it reminded her of Dema’s cold and soft touch.

She half imagined it might be a text from Serim; perhaps from Isobel, even. Theora’s mind was too hazy to even remember if she’d shared the news with her daughter yet.

As she turned on the screen, prickles danced down her spine.

The text was from Dema.

Theora furtively checked her insides — yes, the burning ruins were still there, wide ablaze, threatening to unwind her at her seams if she focused on them too long. [Retain] was not made for this. But the Skill had to endure for now.

Theora felt a little déja-vu, and as expected, found the text to be ‘scheduled’. The message contained no words; it was just a file.

‘Some_Things_Never_End.mp3’.

Theora held her phone between her fingers as if it was alive and the most precious thing to exist. She hesitantly pressed play.

A piano started playing. A slow and careful melody, like waves, like pulses — an underlying pattern, a fading heartbeat. Then, Dema started singing, and it was going to be the end of Theora. Such a precious and delicate voice, methodically undoing every knot drawn taught in her stomach and chest, one by one.

The first verse rang by; Theora had never heard Dema make such music before. Not the usual everburning passion and loud cheer inside heaps of (un-)structured noise — just a raw and simple sound, almost frail.

grey eyes stare up at me from above ♫

took me from the darkest place

let’s make the best of what is to come

still eight petals left on our flower

As the rest of the song trickled by, Theora stared at the display, hoping it would jump to life again with another scheduled text, but for a while nothing happened. Just soft words from the tinny phone speaker.

She’d heard the song five times by the time a new message finally appeared.

‘Sorry! If I, like, forgot to reschedule this and am lying right next to you in bed right now all peacefully or something, please just wake me up and forget about the message. All in due time!

Otherwise, sorry I died.’

Theora braced herself as the next one came in.

‘Promised you I was gonna take care of things, but my time was running out big time so I had to hurry. Anyway, I’ve got something for you, at my home.’

Theora ended up just crying for an hour. She couldn’t get up and leave her apartment like this; even if she could, the idea of leaving her phone out of view and potentially missing another scheduled text even for just a minute terrified her.

She stayed in bed, a mess, but not a cold mess anymore, because all the sobbing had heated her up and gotten her blood circulating. The freezing cold from the window was now a grace upon her, leading away at least some of the heat.

She wondered if people could hear her outside. But even if they could, she didn’t have enough control left over her body to stop the meltdown or move further into her apartment or do anything about that window standing wide open right beside her.

But she didn’t receive another text. Dema stayed silent.

As the tears dried from exhaustion and her thoughts came to a standstill, she ran out of ways to put this off. So she got up, washed her face, put on some clothing, and stumbled out of her tower.

She made it to Dema’s apartment within an hour. It was empty, mostly. Dema had carried all her things to Theora’s place over the weeks. On a little table was a letter.

Hey there!

Kinda sucks when you have someone you really like and they spend all their time at work or asleep. Right? Especially if you feel like you’re running out of time yourself. You said to me ‘what if we enter a world where immortality doesn’t exist?’ and I guess we found out. Turns out, I die!

It’s fine though, for two reasons:

First, we had a lot of fun we’d have difficulty having in our old home world. Second, you didn’t have to kill me. Third — I guess there’s a third, maybe I should write down the whole letter first before writing it down… Wait, I can’t!

Either way: Third is…

I forgot the third reason…

Anyhow, I put something for you into the cupboard.

Theora’s fingers slid over Dema’s wavy writing; it was messy, with some words scratched through and the page crumpled a little, but in its entirety, the page was surprisingly beautiful. Theora realised she was crying onto the note, so she placed it back on the table to stop ruining it.

She was still listening to Dema’s song on endless repeat through the earbuds they used to share. The second verse was playing right as her gaze fell across one of Dema’s amps in the corner.

laughed as we formed a band overnight ♫

a new song for me to sing

wrote as you dug the graves in the woods

see, five petals left on our flower

Theora tore her gaze off it and went to the cupboard. There was a row of drawers inside, with another note placed on the highest.

So, as I was saying, when you’ve got a lover and she’s gone all day and you sit around at home alone, or at dialysis alone, or stroll through town alone, as your life’s running out around you, you tend to get lots of thoughts.

And my thought was; wouldn’t it be nice if we could spend that time together anyways? Somehow? But like, we can’t, I’m not supposed to bother you at work. Maybe you’d throw all your obligations away if I told you I was sick and asked you to, and I guess that would be fine, but also, I’d given you some promises and I thought I could combine it all, maybe.

Cause even if you had spent all that time with me, I’d soon be gone, and you’d be alone, and that kinda sucks big time, right? It started as a letter — remember? The one I was writing that one time at your workplace. Well, it ended up being more than just a letter, more like a journal, just didn’t know what to leave out or cut! It’s got all the stuff I didn’t have the time to tell you. And then you could read it again and again when I’m gone. That way, we could spend the time ‘together’ anyway. Right? Just not, like, at the SAME time, if that makes sense.

But then I thought, why stop at a journal? I wrote songs too, put them on cassettes. I drew pictures. Wrote little bedtime stories. And there’s some more surprises in there. Though you probably know one of them since I’ll sing it in our big concert. Top drawer!

Theora took a deep breath. They never ended up having that big concert. They couldn’t help Invent One, they couldn’t perform their final song, they couldn’t give the band the send-off it deserved. Theora could never decide on the fate of its future.

The storm had robbed them of their ending.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

you keep glancing at me blank with dread ♫

we won’t hear the words we leave unsaid

but I wanna make sure you to know

that some things never end

‘Some Things Never End.’

Dema had been right with that, hadn’t she? Some things never got a proper ending, were left frayed and confusing and all wrong.

Theora steeled herself for the contents of the drawer. Then, she pulled. Another note was lying on top of a locked coffer.

So, everything’s inside of this. And… well, I should say. Also contains the answers to the questions you never asked, the things about the past I never shared. Doesn’t really have a key, gotta have to break it open. All the things so we can spend time together even when apart. Right?

Just gotta break it.

Theora took two steps back.

Oh, so that’s what this was. Shivers made their way all through her body.

Just gotta break it.

This couldn’t possibly be what Dema was intending, could it? Theora must be misunderstanding something. Right?

keep seeing flashes of our shared past ♫

a neverending life all gone

can’t help but miss the vibes of it now

just two petals left on our flower

Theora took out her phone, trying to dial up Serim with shaky fingers. Serim answered within a heartbeat.

“You okay?”

“I found what Dema left for me,” Theora let out right before her voice broke.

“What is it?”

“A locked box. Containing things she made for me while I was away. So I could spend time with her while she’s gone.”

“Oh, wow. What’s inside?”

“No.” Theora kept stepping backwards, as if to run away from it. “No.”

Serim gave one of her signature pauses. Then, a little alarmed, she asked, “Why not? Something wrong with it?”

Theora nodded frantically, even though Serim couldn’t see. “I think it’s a scheme.”

There was an awkward pause. “A scheme?”

“Dema wants me to make a choice.”

Another pause. Then: “She did say something like that, didn’t she? Still, I think you’ll have to be clearer with me if you want me to follow.”

Theora’s thoughts were jumbled up and jumping all over another, filling her brain with frizzle and noise. “Well, she’s making good on her promise.”

Theora could practically feel Serim frowning on the other end. She took a deep breath, trying to sort through it all. Trying to put it into words.

“She,” Theora started, but paused. “In our home world, she can only die by my hands. I am her end. Or, at least, I’m supposed to be.”

“But now she’s gone and you didn’t even kill her,” Serim summarised, and Theora nodded.

“Yes. I didn’t have to kill her. If I—” She looked at the coffer. “If I open the coffer the way— the way she intends for it to be opened, that’ll be it. I can give it all up. My main quest, my side quest. Live out the rest of my life here. I wouldn’t even have to kill anyone.”

“But you’re not going to do that,” Serim already knew, and yet, hearing her say it was heartbreaking.

Theora’s mind was quickly becoming clearer, memories pouring back. If they’d gone to a world where she and Dema could be happy, why did it have to be one that made Dema sick?

It was the wrong question.

The correct question to ask was: why was the world where Theora and Dema could be happy one where Dema had to die? And the answer was obvious: because Theora could never be happy if she eventually had to kill Dema herself.

But — “Dema says that even at home, it’s going to work out. She’s written this song about how ‘Some Things Never End’ to show me that.”

“Right, that song makes me cry every time,” Serim let out.

In her home world, Theora had never fully let herself be with Dema. How could she? Being with someone you’d murder eventually was impossible. Any kiss would have felt like committing violence onto Dema. Any acknowledgment of Theora’s own feelings was vile.

But ‘some things never end’, do they? Like their band. In an abstract way, it never ended, it could never end, because Dema had died before Theora could make that choice.

“She wants me to choose,” Theora concluded. “Between not living, or living together with her forever.”

“I think Dema and IO said something similar, but—” Serim hesitated. “She’s… well, she died, right?”

Ah. “I’m so sorry, Serim. Yes, she’s gone. Here. But in our world, she’ll always be alive. That’s why I retained the entire house; I figured it would be easier for her to come back if I got all of her, instead of just what I could scrape up of her ashes and charred remains.”

“I… are you serious?”

Theora nodded. “And she made this coffer to prepare for our return, in a way. She filled it with — with a little bit of her time. So we could share it. In other words, she filled it with what you could call a—a Fragment of Time.”

There was a Fragment of Time in that coffer, Theora was sure of it; she only had to open it in a way nothing was ever supposed to be opened, to reveal what is hidden underneath its real contents.

Theora swallowed. She’d need to destroy all of the things Dema had spent dozens of hours cultivating. Instead of Amanda’s grave.

“Dema gave me an alternative. And, doubly so. Because— I think she really wants me to open this. The right way. She really wants me to see those things she made for me. She’s asking me if I want to cherish the time we had here, the best time we ever had, or if I want to go back and try out eternity together with her.”

“This girl is fucking scary,” Serim sighed.

“I somehow— I thought you’d say I made this all up. That she probably didn’t mean it that way. I’m— I’m worried I’m having… uh. What do people call it?”

Theora didn’t remember ever having talked so much, but this once, she couldn’t stop herself.

“Brain worms,” Serim offered. “But I don’t like the term, it’s crude. And, no, it kind of checks out with the things she’s been saying. She asked you to choose if we keep going with the band or stop, after all, back when you said you just wanted to keep going forever.”

Theora’s back hit a wall.

So it was real, then. Which filled her with relief and dread at the same time. How could she possibly make that choice?

one petal left ♫

on our flower

Theora slid down to the ground, pulling her legs close to her chest. She was still half holding the phone against her ear.

“Serim, I’m sorry. I think I’m going to leave.”

Another silence. For a few moments, Theora heard nothing but elevated breathing. Then, Serim said, “Just to make sure I understand you. You’re saying you will return to your old world. And that Dema will be— will be fine there?”

For now. “Yes.”

“But I won’t be able to meet her.”

Theora considered the thought for a moment, but her heart already sank. “I’m not sure. I think it would be difficult. She’s dead here, so she is unlikely to be able to return. And… if we got you out of this world…” Theora tried to collect all the things Invent One had told them. This world had high defences against intrusion. Theora was probably only fine because she was Theora. Dema and Invent One, despite their unreasonably vast selves, were severely diminished upon entry. “I’m uncertain whether you would be able to return to this world after entering a magical one.”

“Fuck. I don’t think I can leave my people behind,” Serim murmured, defeated. “Will you… like, go right now?”

Theora shook her head. She still had to bury the ones she couldn’t save. “I’ll stay for a few more days, at least.”

She heard a breath of relief from the other side. “Please let us meet once, properly, before you leave.”

“Of course,” Theora said.

Eventually, they ended the call, leaving Theora a messy heap sitting in a small corner. Of course, she could wait. In theory, she didn’t have to return now. Not this year. Not this decade. She had Dema’s body in retention, aflame, but safe. She could leave the coffer closed. It was so clearly inspired by the one that contained the first Fragment, Theora slowly realised.

Hiding it in Dema’s apartment. In a cupboard. In a drawer. In a box. Dema had made sure to give Theora many barriers, enough time, plenty chances for consideration, to realise what was happening, and to not open the box of memories without the proper intention.

‘I will read it’, Theora had said back then, about the letter, and Dema had said: ‘Begging you not to make that promise right now. Decide when the time comes, will you?’

Of course she had; she’d known at the time. That Theora might not read it, that it might end up as a sacrifice, an alternative to opening Lostina’s grave.

But the notes were written with so much love. She meant all of it. She’d written every word with the intention of giving Theora the chance to live a life in peace without her, without the dreadful cloud over their heads.

And… as difficult as it was to admit, the idea was almost tempting.

It was still never a real choice. Maybe Dema had known, or maybe she hadn’t, but there was no way Theora would leave things this way. And she couldn’t procrastinate either, because Bell, Iso, and Treeka were waiting. And eventually, the Frame of the Lost would open too. The people who gave their old lives to see Theora return.

You can return home, if you want to, Bell had said. And as difficult as things were, Theora realised that, yes, she did want to. She wanted to return home. To the voice singing that song.

There was something heartrending about it. It was so different compared to Dema’s other music — it, for a lack of a better word, sounded good.

Another sacrifice.

Dema had never adhered much to rules, had never cared to meet others on their terms. And she was beautiful for it. But Theora… she had always been confined to what was established, even if she liked to pretend otherwise. She’d followed the rules, even rules made by herself. She had been made this way. Moulded into a form that seamlessly slotted into what the world demanded of her.

Dema wasn’t like that, and faced consequences for it. Being imprisoned, exiled, ostracised, or just dying because her body wasn’t permitted to exist somewhere.

Theora would have loved for this piece to be written in a Dema-like way, but in the end, Dema had written it for Theora. And that was the way it sounded. A bridge. A compromise. A lifeline. Theora’s favourite instrument, neat-sounding, calm. Something to hold on to as the world collapsed around her. Dema had sacrificed a bit of herself to write this song, to communicate these thoughts.

drop by drop the blood is running out ♫

can’t wait for the choice you’ll make for us

but for now I need you to know

that some things

ahh

that some things

never end ♫

Theora would not let this end.