I don't want a heating confession, I don't want it to be a dramatic moment. I want it to be as natural as possible.
I want that during the course of the final season, during the discussions of how to defeat Vecna once and for all, to them to look at each other, to have those silent conversations that only they get.
I want Mike to develop the habit of holding Will's hand for emotional support each time he notices the other is afraid. And Will will do it for Mike, too.
I want that in the final battle -when they have to go on different teams- to hug, a tight hug promising each other to come back alive while they can't help but shed some tears.
I want them, when they win, to first search for the other gaze, smiling with tears in their eyes, knowing that this time everything is going to be alright.
And I want the final scene to show them sitting in the couch of the Wheeler's basement waiting for the rest of the party to arrive, shoulders and knees touching, talking about all and nothing at the same time. Will would be explaining something about a new comic he has been reading and when he turns to look at Mike they lock eyes. There'd be a seconds of silence. Comfortable silence. And then Mike would lean to Will, closing the gap between them. The kiss would no be much longer that a peck, and when they pull away, Mike'd hold Will's hand... and there's that look, that gaze they have always shared, that have always been there when is just the two of them.
Crazy together.
Then they would hear steps. It's the rest of the party that finally arrived. They may or may not witnessed the moment, either way they don't say anything. They have seen stranger things than two best friends falling in love -or just realizing they have been most of their lives- so they go straight to the table and set everything to start their new campaign for DnD. Mike would stand up first to help the rest while Will stay there for a few seconds longer, observing his best friends. When everything is set up, they all would turn around to look at Will, telling him to hurry up and with a smile, he would walk towards them.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Cora Hale, Laura Hale, Lydia Martin, Jordan Parrish, Danny Mahealani, Jackson Whittemore, Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Kira Yukimura
Additional Tags: Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Vet Tech!Stiles, lawyer!derek, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Past Derek Hale/Paige, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, No Kate Argent, Religious Imagery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship
Series: Part 3 of Lawyer Derek/Vet Tech Stiles AU
Summary:
Just because you're in a relationship, it doesn't mean that you can't have miscommunication crop up. It's what you do to handle the matter, that matters.
[tw – talk of murder, lil bit of gore, blood oaths]
BELLE:
They had won.
At least, they had won the battle. Belle had dealt with the Order enough at this point that she knew it would not be so simple. There would be more. The only way this felt at all like a victory was the look in those boys’ eyes. The regret and the horror of what they had done. Belle had seen that look before: in Merida. And even in Hades, himself, after Persephone had died. It was a hard thing to fake, the kind of remorse that brought you to your knees. Belle did not trust these men, but she believed them.
Mercy was a kindness she could afford to show them. That was how she knew that they could use the Princes. If they had not broken. If they had not crumbled beneath the weight of their crimes, perhaps Belle would have not touched Hades’ arm. She would have let them go up in flames. A cruel man was no use to them. A repentant man could be.
Belle watched silently as Hades and Merida bound them and brought them out of the garden, seating them on the floor in the living room. Toulouse stayed at her side, his hulking form warm against her trembling thigh. She stroked her hand over his head a few times, but otherwise didn’t move. She felt like she might faint if she did. Despite winning, Belle was still terrified. She didn’t even notice that her neck had been cut on Phil’s sword (probably from her own thrashing, because of course, she’d put up at least a bit of a fight), until Hades handed her a wet towel to put against it.
Having done her duty--calling Howl and telling him it was time--there was nothing left to do but wait. Toulouse stalked around the living room, unable to sit still. Merida had collapsed into a chair, holding her side. Lou had whined at her when she did this, probably worried about the upholstery. (Perhaps worried about Merida.) Hades stood at her side, his hand on her shoulder. She had leaned against him, but only for a moment. This wasn’t a time to seek comfort.
They still all had jobs to do.
When the knock sounded at the door, Belle moved out of the shelter of Hades’ shadow to open it.
“Hullo,” Belle murmured as she looked up at Howl. She gave him the best smile she could manage before stepping aside to let him in. Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. This needed to be a performance as much as a spell. Belle did not want to let the trio see what they had taken from her.
“Thank you for coming. I trust you have everything prepared?”
HOWL:
There was nothing like a little blood magic in the nighttime to really remind one what it felt like to be alive!
“Of course, darling,” said Howl, with a tip of his head.
Now, of course, Howl felt very terrible about everything that had happened. He slipped Belle a little calming tincture, with a note wrapped around it with instructions on how much to take before bedtime for a dreamless, restful sleep. But he was here to get to work, and he knew Belle would not like it if he fussed over her. So he unclipped his cloak and it drifted towards a nearby chair, and stepped inside the house.
“Now… where are these prisoners?”
In Howl’s time in Swynlake, he’d not really crossed paths with the Order of the Prince. Oh, sure, he knew about them — of course he did, because they seemed determined to destroy Belle and her family, but he’d never actually directly interacted with them (well, as far as he was aware).
He followed Belle up to where the three men were tied up. They were nothing remarkable — each handsome in their own very generic way, which he supposed was probably optimal for covert missions; good-looking enough to be charming, but not enough to stick out. He did recognize two of them, now, from the play, the one with the big blue eyes and the one who was somehow smirking through all of this.
“So how does this thing go?” asked the smirking one, who sounded awfully cheerful for someone tied up. “Slash our palms, say a few words, bound forever, etcetera, etcetera — say, what are our terms and conditions for this?”
“I’m sure that’s up to Belle and Hades,” said Howl, as his vials drifted out of his bag, along with a piece of chalk that started to scribble a circle around the three men, full of intricate runes. “I’m just here to run the show.”
HADES:
If it were up to Hades, they would be dead.
If it were up to Hades, he would take every weapon they had. He’d take their hands-- never able to hold a weapon again. He’d take their sight-- so they could never so much as look at his family. He’d take their hearing, their legs. He’d take everything and then some.
If it were up to Hades, at the very least, he’d banish them from Swynlake. Send them far far away, and every time they even thought of this place, they’d be struck with a headache. If they put his name in their mouth, their tongues would burn.
But it was not up to Hades.
It was up to Belle, and in the end, the punishment needed to serve the strategy, something they were cobbling together quickly. All three men seemed remorseful (Hades didn’t trust it), which meant that they could potentially be allies and spies in one way or another. The punishment had to be a collar that would control them like dogs, without choking them entirely. A very specific kind of punishment that would, at the very least, entail his family remained safe.
It wasn’t the satisfying revenge Hades wanted; he’d have to wait to get into the heart of the Order for that.
“I don’t want them to be able to attack my family. Or think about attacking my family, actually,” said Hades to Howl. It was up to the sorcerer to devise exactly how this could translate. “And-- they should never kill again. Not a mundus, not a magick. Take that away too.”
PHILLIP:
All of those requests seemed rather reasonable to Phillip. He was genuinely surprised that they weren’t being murdered, of course, but that did just reaffirm his decision.
Hades and Belle and Toulouse and Merida were not monsters. They were people. Whatever the Order had twisted about Magicks and Mundus all these years was a lie. Perhaps it was started with good intention — after all, Phillip’s family was known for killing dragons and certainly a thousand years ago, the devastation that dragons wreaked on small villages was enough for some to raise swords against them. But somewhere along the line, protecting people turned into hunting others.
Or maybe it had always been about hunting. Phillip didn’t know. Phillip didn’t want to know.
“Oh absolutely — no harming all of you and no killing. On the penalty of death,” said Howl. Vials were flying everywhere. Phillip wasn’t sure what it all was, but he followed one particularly shiny one as it uncorked and spilled something silver around them. The sorcerer must’ve noticed, because the next time Phillip caught his eye, he gave a little wink.
“While that all carries itself out,” Howl waved a hand at all the bottles and what not, “I’ll explain how this works. First of all, this is blood magic, just getting that out of the way, darling.” He looked at Belle when he said this. “I doubt you’ll have any qualms, but it is the disclaimer I make whenever I involve other people in that craft, because people can be so righteous about it. But the way I see it — if everyone’s down, why not have a little fun?”
He turned his brilliant blue gaze to Phil now, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
Phillip gulped.
“Anyway,” continued Howl, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get a little blood from all of them, mix it in a vial, and then after you write the terms of the contract — “ As he said that, a piece of parchment floated towards Belle and Hades. “ — they’ll sign it in their blood, then we burn it in the spell circle, and — well you’ll see, it’s very fun, that part.”
“Sounds sexy,” said Phillip, instinctively.
“I knew I liked you,” said Howl. “But yes, this only works if all parties are willing, so …” He pulled out a knife from his cloak and held it out. A new vial floated next to him. “Who’s first?”
“I’ll go,” said Phillip. He agreed with everything Hades had said. “I never wanted to even hurt them in the first place. And I’m fine if I never have to kill again — just — I can protect without killing.” He hadn’t been planning on saying that, but as he did, he jut his chin out a little more.
“Yes, yes,” said Howl lazily. He walked to Phillip, standing over him and using the blade of the knife to turn Phillip’s gaze towards him. The metal pressed into Phillip’s skin, and he let it, without flinching, and felt a trickle of blood down his neck. Howl pulled away the dagger, holding it over the vial, and watched as the blood dripped into it.
“The rest of you can use your palms,” he said, then flicked his gaze to Phillip. “An eye for an eye, darling.” And those bright blue eyes darted to Belle, to the thin line across her own throat, as his lips tightened. “Who’s next?”
THOMAS:
This whole scene played out like one of his nightmares.
The only difference was that Tom wasn’t scared. He was full of so much remorse, he felt heavy with it. As if the ropes that bound him were tied to an anchor and he’d been sent to the bottom of the ocean. That was how he heard the conversation above him: as if he was underwater. He heard words, but their meanings escaped him. All he knew was that whatever fate awaited him, he had condemned Phil and John to the same one.
That was the only part of him that regretted it. The one that would never forgive himself if something happened to John or Phil. His brothers--in arms or anything else. Otherwise, he couldn’t find it in himself. He realized, as soon as he had faced Merida, there was never a moment where he would have been able to go through with what he had been told to do. As always, he had simply followed orders. He had believed in the wrong thing. The wrong people.
Tom didn’t know what he believed in now. Except perhaps Mercy, who came to them in the form of a beautiful, gentle woman. He was aware enough to see the murderous glare in Hades’ eyes, in the reflection of the wolf’s eyes. Even the sorcerer, when he stepped close enough, had eyes as hard as diamonds, no matter how he smiled and moved like a ripple in the wind. Belle was the only one who looked at them with eyes like water. She was gentle. And Tom realized it had nothing to do with the fact she was a Mundus, or even a mother. She was just--a good person.
She was the only one Tom could look at without feeling like he wanted to throw up. Not that it mattered, because she was not looking at him. Instead, she stood stiffly, the parchment that the sorcerer had handed her crumpling in her hand. She was milk-pale in the moonlight, from her eyelids to her lips and her white-knuckle grip. He clung to her in his mind, like a child clinging to a mother’s skirts.
Until the sorcerer moved towards them. Tom flinched and then his boots scraped at the floor, his arms jerking, fighting against their binds as the sorcerer lifted the knife to Phil’s throat. “Don’t--”
The plea was choked off as the blade was drawn away again. Once more, Tom felt nauseated. As if he had suddenly become seasick on the solid land. (Nothing was solid for Tom.) He sucked in a sharp breath when the knife was held out towards him.
“I--I will.” Tom didn’t know if his voice had ever sounded so soft. He was looking at Belle still, desperately as if she could save him, though he did not know from what. He turned his palm over and held it out. The sorcerer sliced the sharp blade across it. This time, Tom stayed perfectly still. After all, he already felt like he was bleeding from every part of him. When the sorcerer got what he needed, Tom curled his hand in a fist.
“I-I’m sorry,” he said, still soft. He didn’t know why.
Finally, for just a moment, Belle’s eyes flickered towards him before they jumped away. She turned and moved toward the kitchen, falling clumsily onto the stool at the island, the first sign he had seen of any toll this night had taken on her. It was then Tom’s gaze fell to the hardwood beneath him, stomach churning with shame, before he turned to watch John, wondering if he should be apologizing to him instead.
JOHN:
John’s eyes were cold, an icy blue. He shut down and put on a brave face, but his eyes were also tired. He was exhausted, but despite being corralled into this room and bound he kept his posture, he kept himself strong. He was so close to breaking but he pulled the pieces together as hard as he could to get through the last of this.
As the sorcerer spoke, John’s brain wracked through the contract for loopholes, but he was too tired. He was done with this. As the blonde man stepped forward and held a knife to Phillip’s throat, John’s whole body tensed, pulling hard on the restraints that kept him on the ground, his fist clenching at how vulnerable his mate--his brother--was. He ground his teeth down, letting out a slight exhale of irritation and almost a warning though he knew he was no match for this sorcerer in his current state.
He let Tom go ahead of him, his eyes darting around the room to make sure that this wasn’t some kind of falsehood. That they were being bled for some ulterior purpose or something. But the rest of them just looked as tired and hurt as John felt.
The blonde was willing to end this, though he wasn’t particularly happy about it. For his mates, he did this. He didn’t want to watch them suffer. He sat tall, chest up as he strained as firmly as he could to make himself as big as possible, back absolutely aching as as he stared into the eyes of the all too charming and cool sorcerer who seemingly had a fleeting fancy in all of this. His eyes analyzed his face a moment before he turned out his palm, his arms already burning from the damage Hades had done to him during the first encounter. What was one more cut?
The knife pressed into his palm and sliced through, John’s eyes never left the sorcerer’s face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t grimace, just stared. And once that was over, he wished he was free, shielding Thomas and Phillip from whatever might come their way with this strange blood magic being tampered with, “What next, sorcerer?”
HADES:
As the blood was drawn, Hades and Belle set to work on the contract. It wouldn’t be long. As much as Hades wanted to take so much more from these men, it was unrealistic and would not fit into the broader plans of revenge against the Order-- of taking the Order down.
And so for now, he took his anger and he put it aside. There could be no emotions involved here. This was all strategy, all necessity, though as he murmured low to Belle, there were several things he knew that were non-negotiable and had to remain that way.
The first one was, as he’d previously said, the Order should not be able to kill anyone, any life, at all. That needed to be locked down in blood. He didn’t care for any unforeseen consequences of this rule; if it meant they all had to convert to veganism, then good. Better for the goddamn environment otherwise. Likewise when it came to their family-- just an added level of protection to ensure that they’d never wield any weapon against them, or plot against them either. The last thing they needed was the Order to contract their murderous plans out.
But the contract also needed to have some flexibility. “In case we need to...add anything, later. Is that possible? Could we leave a door open, somehow?” he murmured to her. If anyone could manage that, it would be Belle.
“Anything else?” he asked her, glancing back at the three men before he looked down at the sheet of paper. So far, the contract did not even fill one page, but that was because the script was tight, well-written. Howl was just drawing the last bit of blood, and so soon, it would be signed.
BELLE:
There was nothing Belle had learned in her Contracts class that would help her with this. There was nothing in her criminal justice or torts or wills and trusts classes that would help her write up a contract, signed in blood, sealing someone’s fate.
A part of her didn’t want to. It felt wrong. Belle had had her own fate messed with plenty of times and she knew that helpless feeling that came with it being out of your hands. After all, she remembered how difficult it had been to break Hades’ contract with Yubaba, once upon a time. What it had cost them. Blood magic was not something to take lightly. She supposed, at the least, she could give the Golden Trio that: she would take this seriously, carry it heavily in her own heart.
Of course, she didn’t owe them anything--not even this small kindness--but she felt as if she did not hold onto it, she would lose a part of herself to this contract.
She also knew that if she told any of this to Hades, he wouldn’t understand. Belle didn’t blame him for this. He was strong and sure. And he was right. This was what needed to be done. His murmurings made her feel stronger, more sure as she wrote the notes out on a separate piece of paper. They had shown the trio mercy twice now and they had not cared. This would ensure her family’s safety. And that would be all that mattered.
In the end, this is what the contract read:
By willingly giving blood to seal this contract, John Francis Fitzwilliam Smith, Phillip Julian Brenton Harris Hubert Knightley, and Thomas Richard Edward Harrington III, hitherto referred to as “the promisors” vow to obey the stipulations set out below by Belle Rose Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Henri Bonfamille, Merida Elinor DunBroch, and their dependents: Opal Grace Acheron, Aidan Alexander Acheron, and Bellamy Henri Acheron, hitherto referred to as the “the promisees.”
I. The promisors shall not raise a weapon against the promisees, nor any sentient creature, being, or entity, with the intent to kill. They shall not be indirectly involved in the death of the promisees nor any sentient creature, being, or entity, through nefarious means such as, but not limited to: hiring someone to kill them, giving information that may cause another to harm them, etc.
II. Punishment for killing those outlined in stipulation “I” will result in the death of the promisor who committed the act. Deaths caused by reasonable accident including, but not limited to: vehicular death, medical death, or elsewise, will not result in the promisor’s death.
III. Additionally, the promisors shall not plot or scheme against the promisees, nor their other family--blood or otherwise--whether with the intention of retribution, punishment, or other malicious intent. They will not give information to others that might insist in causing harm to the promisees.
IV. Attempts to achieve the stipulations outlined in “III” will result in the promisors becoming incapacited until which point they stop attempting to speak against the promisees.
V. The promisors swear to follow further instructions laid out by the promisees within reason. This is limited, but not limited to, requests for intelligence on the promisees’ enemies, protection, and other requests that would uphold the spirit of this contract.
VI. This contract may only be broken by statements made willingly and without coercion by the majority of independent promisees to the promisors.
Belle set down the pen gently on the counter. She curled her hand and tucked it under the table, into the folds of her skirt, to hide its trembling. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to Hades and then reached out for his arm as she got off the stool, to help steady herself.
“I think they will find this...satisfactory,” Belle told Howl, lifting her chin slightly to make up for the way her voice wavered.
HOWL:
“And now the fun part.” Howl winked, taking the contract from Belle. It floated in the air, soon joined by the vial of blood and a quill. “I’ll need all of you to sign this in turn — we can start with you, darling.” He smiled at Phillip, who took the quill without hesitation, the red mark on his neck still fresh, and dipped the nib of the feather in the blood and signed his name with a flourish. The other two followed.
Howl took the parchment back, holding it for a moment, before he let it drift towards the spell circle. It hovered for a moment and then burst into flame.
“Oh, I love that part,” sighed Howl. He could get into how it was a reaction of all the reagents that had already formed the binding rune on the floor (plus a little extra help from Calcifer, who’d lent him some demon flame for the occasion). The rune began to glow, also catching fire — except it did not emit heat. Not to Howl or Belle or Hades, at least, but for the three men, it would feel as if their hearts had caught aflame, burning brightly and fiercely and painfully to remind them of their promise and bind them fully to the words written on the page.
The flame burned orange, before it settled into a red — a deep crimson, like the blood spilled on the page, and then finally, after it reached its hottest, it snuffed out at once, leaving nothing but a whiff of smoke that soon dissipated.
And where the blood was drawn across the three men, there were now faint marks — scars that could be passed off as just a scar, but would mark them forever bound to the Blood Oath.
“There we go,” said Howl. “Oh — I have a copy here.” And a replica of the parchment popped out from his satchel. “Duplication paper! Marvelous. One of Mel’s little trinkets she left with me.”
i won the spelling bee 3 years in a row -alice
and i dont think you've gone 6 months without saying that -deb
okay so i dont know when my job became babysitting, but apparantly that's part of my job now -tom, watching lex and ethan
hannah is the only valid person -becky
*eating cheerios in the back of the class* dont listen to anything ethan says it's wrong! -lex
in summation, marijuana is the new kale -deb
can flamingos fly -hannah
yes. *pause* i don't know if its a fact, that's just my opinion -ethan
if you think about it, ive gotten significantly less weird over the past few years -ethan
you tried to eat my sister -lex
you tried to eat my cat -ethan
hey remember that time when it was your birthday and you ate a snot pretzel? -alice to deb
what the fuck alice? -bill
i may have done a lot of bad things in my life but at least ive never eaten my boogers -alice
WHAT THE FUCK ALICE -bill
i need you guys to be quiet so i can ridicule them for getting it wrong and then i can go back to ridiculing you -linda to gerald
what game should i play? -alice
play the game of finish your english essay -bill
The halls of Edelweiss Estate are silent. Eva has dismissed every one of her employees already, given them all hearty severances and as best as she could, arranged for their employment at other establishments across England, across Europe. Her act of passion and destruction should not be at their expense. Call her cruel, call her wicked, call her many things, but she is not illogical. No one should suffer besides this house in which she poured her memories and the lifetimes she cannot get back.
It is quiet.
The lights are dimmed, mostly for effect than anything else, mostly because there is something poetic about a doomed manor steeped in moonlight, and Eva decides that it is time now, but first she must visit each of her favourite places for the final time.
The kitchen
Ah, perhaps the room Eva has used the least, beyond telling her staff what to make for events or helping to taste the wines – but it is the room she encountered Snow for the first time this stint in Swynlake. It plays like an intro, the first stirring notes of the violin in “Scheherazade.” She lingers in the doorway. The lights are off here and the way the shadows cast upon the stark white marble conjure the image of Snow’s svelte figure draped across the counter.
Something catches in her throat. She turns to leave.
The upstairs library
The settee that Snow used to dramatically fold herself upon has been mostly untouched since her death. Mostly, because the day after, Eva sat silently on it and slowly leaned into the plush velvet, pressing her face into it as close as she could, inhaling the last bits of Snow’s scent.
The greenhouse
She will probably miss this one this most. She has cultivated the plants, tended to them herself. While she has many landscapers for the grounds, she personally took the time to care for her greenhouse plants. She strokes the leaf of a peace lily, the only goodbye to the greenhouse she makes. She wonders if the plants know.
The music room
A grand piano rests in the center. A gift to Snow some birthdays ago. It has gathered dust since her death. Eva glides over. She plays one note. Two notes. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear Snow sing.
Snow’s bedroom
Gowns are still strewn over the floor, as if Snow has just stepped out. The curtains on the canopy bed are half open. A memory preserved in time.
The ballroom
Eva recalls the grand parties – not just the ones in the summers of the 2010s, but the ones before, in decades prior, in centuries prior. She remembers the first ball they ever threw here – Snow’s debut into society – and when all the guests had left, they danced a waltz together and Eva held Snow in her arms. The moonlight spilled in through the windows and though no music played, the two women danced to their own melody.
They fought here too, Eva remembers. They snarled, they scratched. But for as bitterly as they fought, they loved with more passion.
The rose garden
Snow’s grave is amongst the roses. Eva does not bother to kneel, but she does look fondly upon it. She reaches a hand to touch the curve of the headstone. She made sure to specify that this spell would not harm the grave. In the paperwork she left to the town, leaving the property to Swynlake, she maintained that it should be cared for – the grass around it trimmed so it would not run over with weeds, the stone kept up. If Eva visited, perhaps some decades down the line, she would seek the grave out first.
The moon is high in the sky now. In sixteen days, it will be two years.
It is here it must happen. It is now. Any longer and she would doubt herself. And Eva does not like to doubt herself.
She reaches for the little bottle the witch entrusted to her and hesitates, not because she is wavering about her decision in this moment, but because she wants to take this final moment to mourn.
The moonlight – the roses – the grave –
With a single finger, she unstops the bottle.
What comes out of it, she cannot especially see, but it rushes out all at once, a sort of haze, and the moment it touches something that something bursts into flame. The roses catch quickly, their blooms going out like mini supernovas.
The fire sweeps into the ballroom, the floor to ceiling glass bursting and shattering.
The drapes of Snow’s canopy bed, the gowns upon the floor, they all go up in a brilliant blaze of scarlet fury, as burning and heated as the nights of passions.
The flames catch on the pages and pages of sheet music, onto the grand piano. They burn and crackle, drowning out all the other sounds.
Eva’s plants cannot scream as they burn. They are plants, they do not think, but perhaps if they were capable of some sentient thought they would ask her why. Perhaps they know.
The books in the library catch fire swiftly. The settee less so, but when the flames finally lick upon it, it happens all at once.
The flames burst through the kitchen, eviscerating all that was once there. No countertops, not slinking figures in the shadow, no memories of a reunion on a dark night. Fire, flame, ash –
As the fire rages on, Eva gives the flames – Edelweiss, her life in Swynlake – one last lingering look. And then she walks away.
