The Lover's Cost

Farewell, Queen

Vivian barely looked better even when wrapped in a blanket and with a cup of tea. Her cloudy hair was messier than Amber had seen in all her nine thousand years, and smudges of dirt and blood covered her bruised body. Mother and daughter sat in silence, both their minds surely fixed on their departed family member.

Denial haunted Amber as she sat with her elbows in her knees and her chin in her palms. Violet was finally dead, but it didn't feel real somehow. The reaper had clutched the universe in her curse for nine thousand years, and finally Amber grew used to such an existence. But the universe could breathe again, albeit in critical condition. In the usurper's wake was confusion, blood, and ashes. Who would clean it all up?

"Mom, I..." Amber began, shifting her eyes to the lamp. The room was small and cozy, but its comfort offered no help to Amber. "I know you don't believe me, but I miss her."

"I believe you," Vivian replied softly.

"How did she get like that? What changed? It's like there's something missing in my memory – I remember when she was sweet and I remember when she was...that monster. It's like I never saw the middle."

"Some people...they just..." Vivian sighed, her perse eyes searching the ceiling as if upon it was a script.

Amber lowered her head. That phrasing – thinking of Violet as a person proved difficult after all her curses and hate.

Vivian huffed. "She was an evil person, I suppose..."

"No," Amber shook her head. "You only saw her wicked. I saw her when she was young, she was kind and sweet."

"Don't blame yourself."

"I'm not, I just..." Amber sniffled, but bit back her tears.

Mother and daughter sat in silence a moment more. Finally, Vivian muttered, "How is...Celeste?"

"That's another thing," Amber grumbled. She flopped back in her chair. "I don't know how to explain this. I'll just get her." The assassin rose and dragged herself into Celeste's tiny room. She still shook, but Amber firmly led her to Vivian.

Vivian forced a smile at her granddaughter. "Hey, don't be afraid. Everything is okay now," she soothed.

Amber winced. Vivian was about to find out.

The tiny Mystearlian trembled and her wide, blue eyes darted between her aunt and grandmother. "Who...who are you?" She asked Vivian.

The therapist's smile dropped. "What?" she muttered.

"She doesn't remember me, either," Amber sighed. Perhaps that was for the best, though. She surely forgot all the trauma Amber put her through as well. "I thought you might know what's going on...being a therapist, and all."

"I'm no psychiatrist, but...amnesia can result from trauma," Vivian whispered. Amber thought she saw tears in her eyes. "What did she see?"

Amber flinched. Celeste's screams, her struggles against the rebels, and her wide eyes watching her mother's demise – they all blitzed the assassin's mind. She rasped, "a lot."

The two put Celeste back to bed and hoped for the following days that her memory would return but it remained stubbornly blank. Through questioning, they determined that Celeste remembered her name, her species, how to feed herself, and how to use magic. She also retained her personality and basic understandings, such as speech, writing, and reading. But everything else, including her memory of her parents, had been lost to pain. When the names Violet, Cassius, and Heather were mentioned, she bore no reaction.

While Vivian recovered and the two pondered what to do with Celeste, Amber took it upon herself to truly put her sister to rest. A surviving rebel took her back to Mystearlia via ship, where she salvaged Violet's body and removed every sword.

In an inner pocket of the sorceress's cloak were a pair of round-rimmed glasses, which miraculously hadn't broken during the final battle. Amber took them to Celeste, who didn't recognize them but did pick up a faint scent of magic. When traced, Amber was led to a quiet world called Hukspario. Among the peace of night, the lone sister walked along the grass of the world, pure of any civilization.

Except for a cozy cottage sleeping in the lush woods.

Amber sighed, blinking out her tears as she carried her little sister's body into the small home. Her steps creaked up the wooden porch and she opened the door.

Shelves full of memories, a scratchy rug, and a small, humble bed greeted the assassin. The body didn't greet her, however – it only rested in the sheets. Regret choked Amber, squeezing her neck so hard that tears spurted out of her eyes. Slowly, she walked to the bed and lay her sister beside Heather.

Her lips didn't move and her eyes were shut, but somehow Violet already looked happier. Amber sniffled, the only noise to grace the moment, and set the glasses on the nightstand. Then, she put Heather's hand in Violet's. Forever, it seemed, Amber searched for words to bid her sister farewell or goodnight. But silence would do. Crying, she smiled at Violet, then left the cottage and closed the door behind her forever.