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Ivy opened her eyes. She was in Carmilla’s lab again, lying down on one of her hard cots. Immediately, she thought of the first memory she could.
March 15th. It was Ivy’s eighteenth birthday, and Selene had taken her to a patch of flowers on a hill that overlooked the harbor. She could remember the way the air smelled like sea salt and how it felt to rest her head on Selene’s lap. At Selene’s request, Ivy launched into an entire synopsis of Kindred. She spoke fervently, adding the occasional hand gestures for emphasis. For her part, Sel listened as she braided violets into Ivy’s red hair. Minutes went by, then an hour, before Ivy realized how hoarse her voice was.
I’m sorry, Ivy said. I talked too much again.
Don’t apologize, Selene said. I asked you to explain it.
Ivy’s face broke into a smile. None of the men in the library ever liked it when she spoke for too long. Even Pyrrhus and Asmodel grew tired of her rants. Selene was the only one that seemed to genuinely love listening to her. The next words left Ivy’s mouth without a second thought. I love you.
I love you too, Ives.
But as Ivy stared up at the lab ceiling, she could remember nothing of what that love felt like.
She pushed herself up and found Carmilla sitting on a stool next to her, wiping down all the medical equipment she had on the bedside tray. “It didn’t work,” Ivy said. “When can we try again?”
“We don’t,” Carmilla said. She inspected the scalpel in her hand before setting it down. “I’m done trying.”
“You’re giving up?” Ivy asked. “I thought you said you could fix me.”
“I thought I could, Ivy,” Carmilla said. “But we’ve been doing this for months, and it’s time we conclude that I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Carmilla sounded exhausted, and Ivy almost felt guilty. Between the daily surgeries and hours spent researching for possible solutions, neither of them have been getting much sleep. Not that Ivy minded because her nightmares were growing more intense, but Carmilla never expected Ivy's mechanisms to take up so much of her time. It shouldn’t even have surprised Ivy that Carmilla was finally calling quits.
The doctor reached out in an attempt to touch Ivy’s shoulder in comfort, and Ivy jerked away. Carmilla sighed.
Ivy’s hands found the metal panel on the back of her head. Her red hair was starting to grow around it again. Carmilla recommended she still keep it short so that the panel was accessible, but Ivy wanted her hair at least long enough to where the metal was hidden from view.
They couldn’t give up. There was an answer that neither of them was seeing. Her past was there in the wiring that buzzed around her new mind. She could still feel and express her emotions in the present, and, right now, she was fighting hard not to cry. “I don’t want to be broken like this.”
“No,” Carmilla said firmly. “Ivy, your brain might not work like others do, and that’s my fault, but you’re not broken. You have all your memories and more stored in you. Maybe, you might not be able to feel anything when you look back at the past, but you know how important those memories are, and you know what emotions are missing.”
Carmilla got up and picked up a sleek silver laptop from her desk. She brought it over to Ivy and turned it on. The screen opened to an image of a woman that looked almost exactly like Ivy. She was older and standing next to a man with blond hair and the barest trace of a beard. Both people in the picture were looking directly at her with warm smiles on their faces as they handed her a set of papyrus scrolls. Ivy reached for the laptop, and Carmilla gave it to her.
“I couldn’t bring back the emotional connection,” Carmilla explained. “But I was able to make copies of your memories, and I downloaded them onto this laptop. You can keep it. I didn’t look through all of them, so let me know if there are any missing.”
“Why… Why did you do this?” Ivy asked.
“I thought having them on a laptop might make it easier to print out photos or watch certain moments. You deserve to have something physical to look at whenever you’d like. It might be better than only viewing them in your head all the time.”
Ivy gently touched the screen. She should feel sadness, grief, longing, anything, but she could only stare at the picture and register that the people in it were her parents. They loved her, and she loved them, and that was a fact.
The day she found out they weren’t coming home, Pyrrhus had found her curled up in a shelf full of moral philosophy books.
Ivy, Pyrrhus said.
They’re not coming back, Ivy sniffled. Did I do something wrong?
No, Pyrrhus said. No, they didn’t leave you on purpose. They’re… gone.
But they always come back. Ivy argued.
Not this time. Pyrrhus said gently. Your parents are no longer here. They went to the place where people go after their stories have reached an end. No one can stay in this world forever.
So you’ll leave me too? Ivy asked.
Someday, Pyrrhus answered honestly. Hopefully, not anytime soon. You still have a home here, Ivy, and we’ll be here for you as long as we can.
Ivy wished she could tell Pyrrhus that he was wrong. There are people that can live forever and, now, she was one of them. She could spend more time in this lab and keep trying to bring back her past in its fullness, but then what? It wouldn’t change the fact that the people she loved were gone. She’d probably still feel broken, just in a different way. Carmilla was right. Ivy didn’t quite forgive her yet, but it was time to let go and move forward.
Taking a deep breath, Ivy set the laptop to the side and wrapped Carmilla in the first hug they’ve ever had together since Ivy first joined the crew. “Thank you.”