Takes place just before the final battle.
January 9th, 2015

Word Count: 903


He no longer bothered struggling, for there was no point. He no longer watched the door with hope that someone would come to save them. Azurite did what she could, and Amethyst and Benitoite had done their best, but when people visited him now he wouldn’t be surprised if they were just checking to see if he was still breathing. A couple times he’d been woken up by a foot prodding him, but nothing else.

He shook with chills from a fever that burned from his side, from his hands, his head, and in his blood. People kept away from him, whether it was from fear of being the one to find him dead and having to deal with the consequences, or just the smell. But what did they expect when they left their prisoners to rot?

He drifted in and out of consciousness, semi-consciousness, and dreams. He no longer knew what was real or what he was imagining. When people did have the stomach to sit with him, usually Azurite, there wasn’t much he could say and there wasn’t much she could do. He didn’t want their tears. He had chosen his fate and he didn’t regret it. If it kept even one other person out of the Negaverse’s hands, he would have done it again, given the chance. But something was telling him he wasn’t going to get it.

Ganymede came to him each time he drifted out of conscious thought. A bright smile on her face, her blue-green eyes sparkling with mirth and love. She wore her gown she’d bought for New Years, and it brought a light so warm and pure that for a few moments his pain disappeared.

"How do I look?" she laughed as she spun and twirled, up on her toes as she showed off her talent for dance. All he wanted was for her to stay with him, but she kept moving away when he would reach out to her. "Dance with me?" she would ask him, but he always shook his head.

We need to get the others out… I’ll dance with you then.

She would pout and go to him, her arms like wings as they surrounded him, holding him to her.

She was warm and smelled of something sweet, but not like flowers or fruit. He could never remember what her perfume was called, but he breathed it in, his face against her long golden hair as her touch washed away everything that caused him pain.

Wolframite was right. She was his light. How foolish he had been to push her away for so long. She had always been so kind to him, even when he didn’t understand. She had never treated him poorly, had never made him feel worthless or pathetic. He felt pathetic now, but she just shushed him softly and ran her hands through his hair.

He rested heavily against her, absorbing her warmth and love, listening to her voice as she hummed softly to him, telling him all her hopes and dreams and desires. Every time she came to him, it always happened the same, and each time he would see her for the first time, unable to understand what was coming next, but still knowing it would happen and he was unable to stop it.

Dark shadows would approach them, indiscernible forms whose faces he couldn’t see. They would grab hold of Ganymede and tear her away from him. She screamed, her white dress suddenly covered red. He cried out for her, but his arms were bound. All he could do was watch while they took her from him, pulled into the darkness.

But he would see her again. Pale and ghostly, laid in a bed of flowers. Her eyes were shut peacefully, face erased of any pain. A stone effigy was placed over top of her, coming to mark the place of her eternal sleep. He stood over her, looking down at her in the catacombs. Oh, if only he had taken her up on her offer to dance. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe they wouldn’t be bound to this fate.

This was not the first time their paths had crossed, not the first time their souls were bound. Deep underneath the fortress of Valhalla they rested together, or at least it had been intended for them to remain there. Whether they lied beside each other under stone likenesses he didn’t know, and would never know. Serge did what he wanted, whether or not Liesel approved, and yet somehow they ended up bound, the cut marking Liesel’s decision on his right hand crossed to the next life.

He awoke as a scream echoed through the building, his eyes fluttering for a moment before drifting shut once more. He was tired of this place, of its darkness and pain. He had no understanding of the difference between the screams of agony he was used to and the shouts of conviction, of hope, of determination. He no longer wished to be able to feel anything, for the pain was too great.

All he wished was to be with Ganymede, to be in her arms once more. And so he kept his eyes closed, waiting for her to appear as she always did, to have her come to him and say, “Dance with me?”

This time… this time he would.