She looks into the faerie’s expectant eyes. “Do it.”
“Done.” The faerie latches onto her arm, her grip so fierce Beatrix fears her bones are breaking.
And then she gives her to the river.
The faerie pulls the tangled thread of Beatrix’s life. Unspools her, a moment at a time.
She sinks through darkness.
No goodbyes?
Through whispers.
I love you, too, Bea. Always.
Through memories.
I will do everything I can to get back to you.
They dance around her like shadows cast by firelight.
Happy birthday, Bea.
Flickering and fading.
Memories are real. The love that made them is real.
She can’t keep them, can’t hold on to them.
We still have now, Bea.
Until there is no more sinking.
I don’t want to go. You know that, right?
No more falling.
Don’t change a thing.
No more shadows.
I think I’m lucky I found you.
Until the whispers fade.
I’m Oliver, by the way.
And there is only
An echo.
A voice that sounds like hers, even though it isn’t.
A promise, etched into gold and stone and her heart.
What to do with Beatrix?
Not a question.
