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THEY BOTH DIE IN THE END.
There is no peace in death - Maisie learns this as she lays dying on the cold floor, staring up into now unfamiliar eyes of the boy she once loved.
Maisie had always imagined that her death would happen in a blaze of glory, a heroic battle, a monster slain, an epic sacrifice that would land her in Elysium. Not once, even after having learned of Luke's indiscretions, had she imagined that the hand that killed her would belong to him. Always had she hoped that the last face she saw would be his - she hadn't meant it this way, with him looking down at her like she was nothing, like they were nothing.
Her death is not peaceful. It is purely painful, the act of bleeding out, the feeling of her lungs expanding and contracting slower and slower and slower, the taste of the metallic crimson blood that overtook her tongue and dripped from her lips. Her knees bruise as they crash against the marble floors, her fingernails bleed as she claws at the ground and her armor and him. It is agonizingly painful, watching the way he wipes the bloody dagger on his pant leg, the way the hand that cupped the back of her neck so fondly drops to her back to slow her crash to the ground, the disappointed frown on his face as he taunts her with how it all could have ended differently.
