He draws a bath, though the water is far from as warm as Marcella likes it. The entire villa is cold; there wasn’t much of a point in keeping the fires burning after she left. He never minded the cold the way she had.
She’s pale and quiet and all of her tears have seemed to dry by the time everything is ready and the child is sleeping. He doesn’t want to put the boy. His son. He is awestruck through everything -that God would let him have such a thing, even after he had ripped out his own grace and plummeted to earth.
But perhaps. . . God was not involved at all.
He lifts her from an ornately carved chair and wonders if the blood stains will ever come out. Disrobing her is challenging, despite what little clothing she has on, as he is doing his best not to injure her further. She’s barely alive and what fight is left in her, in the demon or the human host, is quickly fading.
Marcella is dying and they both know it.
“Easy now,” he murmurs softly, slipping her into the tub and resting her head on the ledge. Her dark eyes close, If she’s still conscious she doesn’t indicate it and he bathes her in silence. He crushes a few wilted roses in his hand before running the petals through her black hair before rinsing it. ‘She always smelled so nice,’ he muses.
Remiel sighs, heavy and long, from the depths of his soul. He loves her. He will always love her. What she is does not change anything. He can’t lose her.
“You’re going to hate me for this,” he whispers to her softly, “but I’ll hate myself if I don’t. . . You’ll forgive me. We’ll meet again and one day maybe he’ll need you and you’ll understand then. But I need you to know. . . who I was before. . . I’m not the same. I wasn’t a person then. I am myself now.”
He leaves her in the tub for a moment, water pink with her own blood and cooling to room temperature.
Beneath a massive evergreen tree behind there villa, Remiel begins digging. His hands shovel away earth until he finds a glass bottle. Careful not to un-stopper it, he spends a moment watching the lightning storm trapped inside as it rages. He grips it tightly, every possibility of what he could do running through his mind, but he’s already decided. He knows what he must do.
When he returns Marcella has sunken into the water. he can’t be ure but he wonders if she made herself slip into the water. He had been so careful with her, even as her head lulled, half dead in the tub.
Maybe she won’t forgive him.
Maybe he will lose her for good.
He tugs her face back up from the water, mud smearing on the skin he just cleaned. He places her back on the edge of the tub with her head above the water again. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs again. The sound of waves roaring and mountains crumbling, of stars exploding and thousands of voices all screaming at once, all sound when he opens the bottle.
He tilts the bottle over the water and slowly pours the liquid lightning out. I few bubbles drop out, plopping into the water and sinking like mercury.
Remiel holds his breath, resealing the bottle and waiting. He watches as his grace dissolves in the water and her face flushes. Marcella’s body twitches, softly at first and then it begins writhing. He moves and holds her head making sure it stays above the water. Her body seizes one more time before she collapses. He lifts her from the tub and brings her to the bed they once shared.
He drapes a blanket over her, tucking her in next to their son for one night of rest -it may be the only time she has the chance. Restless and acutely aware of what needs to happen, Remiel rinses his hands and begins packing several trunks. He and the child are both gone before dawn breaks.
https://concentratedbitterness.tumblr.com/post/184833961517?fbclid=IwAR1ZLFcB6BWacqol7ntwZ16ONaV3HsEFGUIDBBJEGuLBNffxtavCRE48j34 (in response to this)
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