Chapter Text
Beatrice knew there were things she should've done differently.
Tonight's battle being one of them.
Facing a Tarask alone, in the wee hours of the morning, in the middle of the streets of Andalusia.
She couldn't help it, sensing a disturbing red trail leading her from the stoic, suffocating, grieving darkness of the night. It was strange. She hadn't been able to sense the Tarasks before, not like Ava had. But Ava was a piece of her now, buried and raw within her heart.
So she'd followed, hungry and desperate to never lose another. Which is why she had slipped out, without a sound to her sisters.
She wouldn't lose. She didn't, brandishing the sword like her lover once did, but more feral.
She hadn't even felt it at first. The deep ripping of flesh as the Tarask dug its claw down her side with its last feat.
But now she felt it. A deep pulsing radiating from her side, each beat running hot liquid down her side. Pressing her hand to the gashes, she stumbled shakily over the cobblestones back to Cat's Cradle, a slight glow to the sword dangling weakly from her fingers.
It was getting cold, despite the hot summer air, as she stumbled to the convent's back door. The pressure on her side was easing, despite her best efforts. A slight trip sent her slumping against the wall as her vision blurred while she begged her hands to cooperate for once.
The sword slipped from her slackening grip, and she jerked forward for it, losing her balance and collapsing face down.
It was glowing.
The blue was surreal, and it gave her a burst of feeble strength, just enough to pry open the door, and drag herself in.
It was glowing. Which meant Ava was near.
It wasn't an option really, infirmary or the Arc. She would choose Ava in every single scenario. Every single day. So she did, with soft stuttering breaths. Dark red staining the staircase.
Oh lord, how she loved Ava. In her brash sin, came her saving grace. One who had taught her her real sin. The love and laughter she had deprived herself of, convinced that she deserved it in the presence of a false sin. All the things she would give, to feel that love again.
The glow of the sword got brighter with each heavy step. It was all but a blur now, as her eyes threatened to close on their own accord. The crimson stream down her leg slowed as her knees gave out, sending her crashing to the stone floor.
But she could see the Arc now, wavering as she dragged herself along the ground. It didn't hurt anymore, the pain fading amongst her shivers. Maybe she should've called for Camila, she thought to herself, sinking deeper into the pool of her own blood. Maybe, she thought as her arms failed her, limp against the ground.
She'd just wanted to see Ava, one last time. With monumental effort, she cast her wavering eyes towards the Arc, face illuminated by the glow of the sword. How fitting, for lovers to both end on opposite sides of the same door. Amidst her ponderings, a familiar voice rang out--
"Bea?!"
And her eyes slid closed.