"you came." dorcas whispered, as they lay in the cold streets of birmingham. they were going to die; it was in the blood spilling out of them, a large gash on their stomach, and it invaded their head, a chant, becoming feverish, death, death, death.
"that's what she said." the woman chuckled, and dorcas scoffed. "i told you i'd be here whenever you want me." marlene smiled from one corner of the ear. "and when have i ever let you down?"
when they had joined the order, eighteen and willing to fight, to die, for the future of their fathers, of their mothers, of their children, dumbledore had told them that they shall not be afraid of death. they shall greet it as a friend, only then will they go in peace, and death shall be less painful than when they'd fight to stay alive.
now, twenty-one, dorcas finally understood what that old bastard meant. death would only be a temporary state in which they'd bask, maybe, or take a moment to finally grieve themselves, and not all of the other fallen soldiers. and then they'd be reunited, marlene and dorcas, marlene and dorcas, the two separated lovers.
"i missed you." their voice was hoarse and merely above a whisper as they coughed, and, when they looked at their hand, it was stained with crimson red blood.
"we'll meet again. soon." she smiled, holding out her hand for them to grab. they lifted theirs, and it went through marlene's. that would be the separation between the dead and the living. those who are solid and those who are liquid smooth, and, in the end, they'd all become the latter and melt into each other, into one, one entity, one being.
dorcas' hand fell limp, two dead lovers in the late of the night.
