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Celine had refused. Had hesitated, first, and then refused to rectify her failure.
Rumi, however, did not hesitate.
Vermillion mist heralded her arrival into the penthouse she had once considered home, and she stalled only long enough to ink the words she’d neglected to say at every other opportunity, and— she did not stay after the pen fell. Her steps carried her as close to the stars as they could, selfishly seeking a comfort she did not feel she deserved.
Her hastily scrawled black letters had not yet dried, when the first drops began to paint the rooftop.
It was difficult to tell which landed first: the ichor, or the tears that had fallen with too much finality for one so young. Each diluted the other as they mingled in the leaking puddle that surrounded the body. And truly, what did it matter? The girl that they belonged to was gone, and the bonds that she severed already reeling from the sudden absence.
They felt it at the same time— the heaving, stabbing, burning, pain that ripped into their chests. It was not unlike a candle flame winking out. It ached, breathed its loss; some light now strangely dimmed and some hole now where their heart should be.
Too late.
If they screamed, neither could hear— their throats too suddenly squeezed, their heads underwater.
Mira found the note first, chipped nail polish a stark contrast on the whites of the parchment. She called for Zoey a moment later, and together they shattered against the tight script.
’I don’t know when I fell in love with you.
I think it was sometime between my name falling from your lips and the breaths that followed after.
Somewhere in the middle of casual touches and whispered affirmations.
If I could cut the shame out of my skin I would. I never wanted this weight— this sin.
I should not exist. I am the product of a cosmic joke; some universal mistake, and I am the root of so much pain.
I wish you could love me the way I love you.
I can’t fix my failures. I cannot mend the trust I’ve broken.
I’ll kill one last demon.
My dear hearts, you’re both so beautiful. I wish I had said it sooner. I hope I find you in the next life. One where my pieces aren’t so jagged.
I love you, Mira. I love you, Zoey.
—Rumi’
Her body was cold by the time they found it, and the tile beneath stained in crimson. The honmoon practically screamed its lament when the two hunters kneeled next to it.
Her eyes were still open, one a dull brown and the other a faded amber— both staring up, unseeing. The slightest hint of a smile played frozen on her lips, dried tear tracks above it.
The braid that had always been so neatly plaited now fanned under her in disarray, multiple locks pulled free.
Her marks had spread, covering every hint of bare skin with a deep and angry violet.
And—
Her chest.
A hole so damningly clean it could only have been made by her blade.
The fucking weapon was never meant for her. It was for those who fed on souls— not her Rumi.
Mira shut her eyes. Choked sobs sounded next to her, and she felt Zoey pull the corpse onto her lap.
If only she hadn’t backed away; raised her woldo. If only she’d given her a chance.
It didn’t matter. It was too late anyways and she’d already fucked up. Part of her was missing, crying out into nothing.
She thinks she died a little too.
She had always been so warm.
She was cold now to the skin of Zoey’s cheek. The girl had buried her face in Rumi’s neck, uncaring of the wetness seeping into her clothes. Copper tinged the air that should’ve smelled like her; should’ve smelled like jasmine and sweat and something distinctly Rumi.
It was all wrong. Her world was collapsing, bleeding her, wringing cry after cry out of her damaged throat.
The light that she always found next to her two partners in this life had dimmed. Shrunk to the point that whatever flame clung was beginning to sputter and choke.
Her hand landed on the side of her face, brushing purple fly aways back behind her ear.
The movement left a shaky smear of crimson on Rumi’s cheek.
Zoey felt something break inside her, and she gently closed sightless eyes.
If she was still there she would hug them back when they fell apart.
She wasn’t there.
If she could hold their gaze and tell them it was alright she would.
She couldn’t.
But mostly, if she’d known they would have wanted her to stay, she would’ve.
They never got the chance to say it in time.