"One of us had to," Yelena says, and she squeezes the hands holding hers, as tight as she can, though her fingers feel weak, half-numb. Her words sound faintly slurred to her ears, tongue thick. "This place doesn't get to take all of us. You are going to survive it."
She looks at each of the three of them in turn, though her vision is tunneling, and the centre that isn't blacked out is hazy, like she's peering up through cloudy water. The whites of her eyes have gone scarlet, just one more link in the cascade failure.
"You're gonna survive," she repeats, and it's half faith and half an order. There's something else she needs to say - but she's so tired, she gropes for a moment for the words, as the shadows nibble away at the edges of her vision, as the haze thickens, until all she can see is silhouettes. She closes her eyes, blocking out the shadows, holding fast to the last moments of clarity, like she can take the memory of her people down with her into the dark.
She remembers, now, those last, crucial words. "I love you."
Her grip slackens, breathing slowing, hitching, ragged - continuing for a minute, two, as the blood spreads out in a pool around her, thin as water. And then it stops.
The table remains. The broken vial remains. And the door remains, the way forward standing clear.
cw: poison, suicide, massive bleeding, character death
She looks at each of the three of them in turn, though her vision is tunneling, and the centre that isn't blacked out is hazy, like she's peering up through cloudy water. The whites of her eyes have gone scarlet, just one more link in the cascade failure.
"You're gonna survive," she repeats, and it's half faith and half an order. There's something else she needs to say - but she's so tired, she gropes for a moment for the words, as the shadows nibble away at the edges of her vision, as the haze thickens, until all she can see is silhouettes. She closes her eyes, blocking out the shadows, holding fast to the last moments of clarity, like she can take the memory of her people down with her into the dark.
She remembers, now, those last, crucial words. "I love you."
Her grip slackens, breathing slowing, hitching, ragged - continuing for a minute, two, as the blood spreads out in a pool around her, thin as water. And then it stops.
The table remains. The broken vial remains. And the door remains, the way forward standing clear.