𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏; alike nemesis delivering justice onto mortals, she stands on the edge between life and death, teetering towards one or the other. the closer she gets to her goal / mission from below, the closer she gets to a new life, a new beginning — and, she thinks, hopefully one she gets to enjoy with him. how strange, this glimmer of hope piercing through the fog surrounding her mind. curiosity fills placid blue eyes as they follow along his motions, survey along his skin, his scarless appearance — free of blemishes, despite seeing him die shortly before suffering the same fate at the hands of the very one that should have protected her. her free hand twitches, she wants to reach out and touch, she realizes, to comfort, yet feels too far away to do it, too foreign still, almost as though she still wasn't real.
his hand remains an anchor — warm, warm, so warm. a contrast so sharp to her skin of ice yet she can feel the warmth spreading from her fingers down her arm into her entire body, tendrils of silk wrapped around her exposed heart. she feels his hand squeeze around hers and it spreads — like wildfire. to her he is aflame, and soon she thinks, soon she will share warmth with him the way he does with her.
it is the shift in expression that breaks through to her; he'd pledged to help her, yet something haunting glimmered in the depth of his brown eyes, one that made her realize — sharply despite her numbness — just what she is asking of him. she doesn't falter, finds herself purely incapable of it. yet hesitance is soon replaced by resolve, rendering her nothing but bemused by his devotion.
pale hand finally touches — skims over his skin, watching as it leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake; it moves — feather - like up his arm, tenderly to his neck, like a cold but gentle winter breeze. “you don't have to get your hands dirty, daniel, i would never ask this of you. i only need the doors to be blocked, like they did with me.” a game of hide and seek of their own, a taste of their own medicine — wasn't that the epitome of poetic justice? “are you sure you want to get through with this?” it comes almost as a subconscious call - back to his own words as her monotonous voice utters: “it's not too late to flee, you know?”
𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙄𝙀𝙇 𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙎 𝙏𝙊 𝙇𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃 . he wants to cry ; to fall apart , let the broken pieces only barely holding him together collapse at their feet and scatter across the room . he would if they didn’t have a curse to break - if he were alone and he could just give up like he had planned to do before she visited him / ghost of christmas past .
it’s not too late to flee . the words are his own , yet the sound is foreign — it’s a harsh reminder of what grace has become . the memory of the glowing bride on her wedding day now clashes terribly with the reality of her ; broken and cold and thirsty for blood . 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙧 ? she deserves that . they deserve that .
grace’s touch burns him , like frostbite , and daniel finds himself wishing - if for a fleeble moment - that she’d tear his neck back open . wouldn’t that be so easy ? to bleed out , while the rest of the le domas kin meets their demise ? he would never be so lucky . it’s come daniel’s time to take a side . again , he chooses grace ; again , it’s the right thing to do . his fingers twine with hers as a clammy , unsteady hand covers her own and holds it in place .
he wonders if she can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against her digits — if this version of grace can feel anything at all . she seems conflicted in her request , or maybe it’s a trick of the mind . something in her eye , a glimmer of pity instead of ire . he dares waver after everything his family has done to her yet she remains patient with him , offering an out . even as a vengeful wraith , grace is better than the lot of them . daniel thinks he could throw up if his mouth wasn’t filled with cotton , his throat so dry . he needs a drink , 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 .
“my hands have been dirty for a long time , grace . turns out , when you stand by and watch atrocities happen , you’re just as guilty as who strikes the final blow .” or when you sic the wolves on a desperate man , injured and begging on his knees for your help . daniel doesn’t deserve mercy , maybe she’ll finally understand it now ; he’s about to sacrifice what is left of his family to an eldritch horror — or satan himself , the very one who brought her back for this .
“i’ll do it . the security system’s still out of commission , but i can cook something up . not literally , they don’t let me near their edibles since the botched ritual .” he huffs a humorless laugh , slipping away from her to fetch grace’s dirty gown , barely recognizable as the once white , elegant lace-wedding dress it used to be . “they’re going to shit bricks when they see you .”
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