She bent, their lips touching. Mei stretched. Those delicate fingers clung to the back of Dahlia's neck in a way they never would again. That moment of respite had been short. Another promise Dahlia hadn't been able to keep. Over and over, she'd sworn she'd take care of Mei, and she'd always failed.
No! Dahlia screamed in her mind as Mei once again began to dissolve. The shards of her were too painful, cutting Dahlia with grief. Desperately, she tried to gather them back together, but her memory of having arms was useless. They weren't real. None of this was real!
She was gone. Mei had been everything, and now even her memories were trying to vanish. Dahlia could recall every scar on her lover's body. Every hair on her head. She knew Mei like she'd never known anyone. In all the years they'd walked the Earth together, Mei had been what made it worthwhile to keep going, keep fighting, and keep running from the Inquisition.
And now Dahlia had nothing but dust for memories and the persistent awareness of her failure. She was supposed to be the strong one. She called herself a warrior, yet she hadn't been able to save the one person who mattered most. Maybe the Abyss was the best thing. If she stopped thinking, stopped trying, and just let it take her, would that count as death? Would it finally end the pain? Would it let her be with Mei?
She tried, not wanting to suffer the torture of losing Mei again. Unfortunately, not thinking was easier said than done. As Dahlia let her mind relax, another moment in time rushed in to fill the void.
The New World. The Wild West. Civilization had jumped backwards even as technology rushed forward. Gold was all the rage, and the towns were cropping up so fast that the buildings felt temporary. With a handful of jewelry stolen from the meals who'd never need it again, the pair had bought a trip across the ocean.
In America, Dahlia had been welcomed easily. Mei had been spit on. Before the first day was over, a man had tried to beat her to death. Mei had devoured him, refueling herself, and Dahlia had stolen his guns. Laws were few and far between in this wild land, and women were thought to be there for the taking.
So the pair found a place to make sure it was on their terms. The saloon was ramshackle at best. Mei served drinks to the filthy men who came in. Dahlia spent her days on her back as a prostitute. Together, they'd lived their lives in a tiny box of a room, two stories above the main street in what would become a California town.
Six years, they'd lived there. When men began to grab at Mei, wanting to see what the "coolie" looked like naked, Mei was finally allowed to sell herself as well. The allure of an hour with both women made them famous in their speck-on-the-map town, and the coins began to pile up.
Life had been hard back then, but she'd had Mei. The hours they'd spent brushing out each other's hair, sharing a bath, or simply walking hand-in-hand through town. There had been no reason to hide how much they'd loved each other, because it simply drew the men to their room. Men who fed them - and died if they tried to take more than they'd paid for.
Together, they'd been able to make it work. When Dahlia died, Mei encouraged someone to call her back. When Mei was lost, Dahlia would do the same. Sure, they'd died often in that harsh world, but returning had been quick and easy. There were no records of crimes, no pictures, videos, or witnesses to verify what had happened. No forensics to call them liars. All of the deaths had been to their temporary bodies, so none of it had mattered.
They'd just lived, taking it one day at a time, building their wealth until they could afford their own place. It hadn't happened, though. That was another way Dahlia had failed Mei. The saloon had burned. The pair had been accused of doing it, so they had run, leaving all their money behind.
For over six hundred years, Dahlia had tried to protect Mei, but the truth was that Mei had been the one doing all the saving. She always knew the right answer. She'd been the one to figure out what to do next. Dahlia was a warrior, good for starting trouble but little else. Mei was the one who'd keep her alive.
That sweet, gentle, terrifying woman had been so strong. No matter how bad things got, Mei always pushed Dahlia to keep going. Mei had been the one to do the saving. Dahlia had tried, but she was worthless without Mei. That beautiful little minx who'd smiled far too easily. Her beautiful black hair and matching eyes. Every good thing in Dahlia's life came back to her.
Which left nothing. She'd never hear Mei's voice again. She'd never feel those fingers or kiss those lips. They wouldn't have the chance to do anything stupid or hang pictures. All of their dreams were pointless. The simple ones or Mei's biggest obsession, it didn't matter. Mei had always asked about the sun, wondering when it would run out of oil, wax, or whatever made it burn. She'd hoped to see the day that it began to dim.
Instead, she'd ended up staked to a wall in a hotel! She'd become dust. Not ashes. Not reborn. Mei was now just dust, and she'd taken all of Dahlia's hopes and dreams with her. It hurt. Even without a body to feel, it was more pain than Dahlia could comprehend. What was the point in all of this without Mei? Dahlia might as well let the inquisitors have her now. Then maybe she'd end up in Hell like they claimed. Maybe Mei would be waiting for her. Maybe there they could finally find peace.
But no, the gods were all lies! The afterlife was torture. There was no happy ending, so why keep trying? What point was there without Mei? Who would hold her at night? What would she work for, if not to find their peace? History had erased the pair of them from the timeline, and now all that was left of Mei were Dahlia's memories, and even they refused to cooperate.
Because all she could remember was Mei dissolving.
The sun.
The dream.
Promise...
What was there to promise now? What kind of dream could Dahlia have on her own? Who wanted to survive in isolation? Everyone died. They lived, they loved, and then they were always gone! Yes, Dahlia would keep the promise, but only because the Inquisition had to pay for what they'd done. They'd just destroyed the last bright star in the world.
Hope was dead. Love had been shattered. All Dahlia had left was vengeance, and she'd made a reputation for herself with that. She would be the chooser of the slain. Killing was all she had left. All those years, she'd tried to just live, to be as normal as possible, but the priests hadn't been willing to let her.
Why bother living if it was always going to be a struggle? Why try to be peaceful if she was going to suffer anyway? Why care if her heart had been shattered with that stake in Mei's chest? What was the point of it all? What was she supposed to do now?
Kill. That was what. Dahlia had made a promise. She's said that fighting would make sense when she had nothing left to lose, and now Mei was dead. There was nothing else. No reason to live meant every reason to stop caring. Risking death was no longer a foolish decision.
It was the only one Dahlia had left.
So between the shattered memories of her lost love, Dahlia thought about every fight she'd been in, every weapon she'd learned, and every strategy she'd mastered. She mourned, crying out with her mind into an abyss that didn't care at all. She wailed for Mei, foolishly hoping for some kind of a response, and when it didn't come, she channeled all of that grief into a need for revenge.
Dahlia would never love again. She wouldn't risk this kind of pain. Instead, she'd make the whole world suffer, because nothing else mattered. Without Mei, there was nothing left to protect. Alone, there was no room for anything but agony. Everything Dahlia had ever cared about had been broken by time. One way or another, it was all pointless. It only hurt, and this agony was more than she could ignore.
She just wanted to see Mei one more time.
Chapter Twenty-Nine