Jeanne rushed down the hall, making her way to the medical bay.
It had been days since the incident; weeks, even. Every day she came here, praying for things to be better.
And every day, not a single god answered.
"How is she?" She asked, stepping inside without hesitation.
Roman, Da Vinci, Mash, and Merry sat by an occupied bed. Merry's hand clung to the hand of the girl in the bed. None of them gave any response.
"...Well?" Jeanne repeated. "How is she?"
"Jeanne..." Mash whispered. Her voice quivered, as if she herself was on the verge of screaming.
"She can't still be stuck like this. She can't." Jeanne's voice maintained the same volume, but something was still rising deep within it; whether it was panic or fury, no one could tell. "We're Chaldea. There's no way we'd just let her—"
"Jeanne," Roman interjected, "you've known longer than anyone else that she's something beyond us. Whatever happened to her, if it was powerful enough to hurt her—"
"Then we'll hit back even harder as soon as she wakes up!"
The lights flickered and dimmed. The air grew warmer.
"You can't tell me there's nothing we can do, not after everything we've already accomplished! We've come so far, and I'm not about to let some—"
"Jeanne."
Merry's voice was the quietest, yet it cut through the air like nothing else could. Jeanne immediately stopped talking as Merry's eyes went from her lifelong partner to her partner's Servant.
"...Please. Let her rest."
"...Merry..." Jeanne stepped closer. "...you can't tell me... you can't tell me you're content to just sit here. You..."
"I'm not content." Merry's voice cracked. Her eyes flickered with flames, both burning blood red and a somber, dulled blue. "...But I... we don't have a choice."
"Like hell we don't—"
"Jeanne." Steam poured out from Merry's eyes, trailing up to the ceiling. Her tears were burning away before they could escape. "I'm asking you... as someone who loved her just as much as you did—"
"Stop." Jeanne's voice also broke. She got even closer. "Don't... say it like that. You still love her. I still love her. She isn't gone. She isn't gone! She..."
Her eyes gazed down at the girl in the bed.
Her fiery orange hair, pulled into a sidetail with a deep sapphire-blue scrunchie.
Her face, scarred in many places, yet still soft and unbetraying of any age.
Even her hands seemed as soft as they were the day Jeanne met her.
But there was hardly any color left in her skin.
No light left in the soul of her Master.
Deep down she knew.
She knew that Ritsuka Fujimaru was dead.
