𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲

⊳ 𝐢𝐯. end of an hour

         The sun had long since went down, and the lamp dimly lit the room. Her old eyes could barely make anything out, through the darkness or the light, like she might have been able to in her younger days. Yet, she as she thought of it, rarely anything of her body functioned as it did before, leaving her feeling like a useless body strapped down onto a bed.

Though she hated this feeling, of uselessness and trapped, her limbs shook violently when she tried to move to sit up. Age had not been kind to her, and it left her with a strong resentment towards it. As she pondered it further, she was sure that she had been resenting the process of aging for some years now, ever since the green hand that held hers went limp while hers was still strong.

That was when her grip was strong, though. She wasn't sure if now she could produce that same strength, not that she ever had much to begin with.

As her eyes trailed the room again, they found the youthful figure sitting in the chair next to her bed, flipping pages in a book as her mouth moved, reading aloud the words. Just like the hand that used to hold her own, the figure was green, and her heart ached for a moment as her mind flashed with his sharp grin before reality set in again – this figure's hair was white, not black.

"Could you repeat that?" she asked him, watching as his eyes snapped up to her own. "I didn't catch that last page."

She was sure that she hadn't caught a lot more than that one page, but she wasn't about to let Altair know that. He gave her a smile, and it was so similar to the one who held her hand before, yet so different. His eyes were a different color, and his hair was a stark contrast, but that smile – that twinkle in his eyes – it was his; it was Nico's.

"Of course," Altair said without hesitation, flipping back one page before reciting the words again. She tried to concentrate on them again, but her mind wandered away.

Never did she think it could be so painful to breathe, to concentrate, to stay in place. Her grasp on reality seemed to be slipping as her eyes began to disassociate. Was this what Nico went through? When she tried to hold his attention, did it flutter away as much as her own? And Lorelei...Lorelei who was never very well in her last days, in and out, and out again.

Mortimer had looked terrible during those days, Isla not much better. She was sure she was quite a mess when time took Nico as well, but now she wondered if he felt this flutter as she did.

She wanted to focus on Altair, and Hyperion earlier when she came by, but her mind simply did not.

It wouldn't be so bad, would it? When she eventually went limp, she would see them again, wouldn't she? That was what Lorelei said, something about a better place, where everything would be bright and shining for them, but she herself had never known anything like that. For her, nothing was ever truly bright and shining forever.

She wasn't sure if she believed that there was something like that, but she did hope for something beautiful, because she needed that now. If she had to leave, she needed something beautiful to be waiting for her ahead.

"Mom?" she blinked, turning her head slowly to see Altair standing now, the book clasped in his hands, and Bianca standing near the edge of the bed. Her hair was just like Nico's, but everything else was a carbon copy. Yet, the gentleness that surrounded her, that was Nico.

It had come with age, but it was like fine wine, and the gentleness that Nico always exuded with ease, that she struggled with, was natural with Bianca as well.

She managed a smile, her trembling hand coming out from under the covers. Bianca didn't hesitate before grasping it and sitting down where Altair once was, and it was only then in the doorway could she see Hyperion peering in.

"I won't bite," she tried to joke, though she was sure it was weak and terribly unfunny. She had never been the comedian, that was always Nico. Still, Hyperion took a step forward, light purple skin and dark hair as well.

"Are you cold?" Bianca asked when she saw just how bad the trembles had become.

"No, dear, I'm just nearing," the end of the thought was incomplete, but Bianca looked down was a sort of sadness and understanding. Though she could not see their reactions, she was sure Altair and Hyperion caught on to the meaning as well.

"I'll hold your hand until then," Bianca promised, and a memory echoed in her mind. I'll keep holding on until you can't anymore, her voice whispered, a flash of when in the bed it was him and not her, and she held on so lightly and tenderly until that same tenderness was gone from his end.

"Thank you," she managed to get out, though her throat felt like it was closing. Soon Bianca's other hand was taken in a green grasp, and a small smile etched onto her face.

Her mind fluttered away again, and her head rolled a little, and she dreamed of a wonderful garden with the brightest flowers, a fountain in the middle pouring so much water, and the sweetest smell. For a second, she could almost see Nico, young again, holding out his hand for hers, as if beckoning her to join him. Though one hand was grounded, she used the other to take his, and his smile brightened, in a sort of bitter understanding of what this meant for her but joy nonetheless. Her other hand stopped its tender hold, and a smile forever coated her features.