Chapter Text
The funny thing about saving the world was: your personal world could still be fractured.
Exhibit A: Maelle – Alicia, really – firmly believed what she had told Verso: “Actually, I prefer Maelle.”
That was about all she was sure of.
“I can’t do it.”
A massive weight rested on her shoulders. She was a girl who had recently learned the truths of her origins, of the form and function of her very universe. And now, back in the island town that raised her this second time around, and accompanied by the two women who had survived the Expedition with her…
…she was preparing herself to restore life to Gustave.
The valiant and vulnerable souls of the 33rd Expedition had completed their mission of taking down the Paintress, who hadn’t really been the true enemy after all. Then they had vanquished the veritable threats and put a stop to the terrors plaguing their existence.
But their fight had only begun.
Returning home saw them with a monumental list of efforts to rebuild a city and its people. Making sense of who they were and in her case, what they were.
The stage was set, and this act could play out any number of ways.
Maelle had always felt like an outsider here.
But for the first time, she felt fear.
The streets of Lumière had never seemed so ruthless.
So when Maelle admitted “I can’t do it,” she meant it with every fiber of her being.
Lune placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not the Maelle I know.” For she would always be ‘Maelle.’ To Lune, to Sciel, to the beloved man that she was about to attempt to resurrect.
Predictably, Sciel’s comforting voice sounded as she placed her hand on Maelle’s other shoulder. “You don’t need to do this now if you’re not ready.”
Maelle rapidly shook her head, white braids swaying with the motions. “I’m ready. I’m just…”
“Scared?” Lune filled in for her.
Hesitant but determined blue eyes met Lune’s sharp ebonies and Sciel’s sturdy greens.
“Imagine him in your happiest memories,” Sciel invited. “Picture him as you best know him. In his most honest and true iteration. Think of how he smells, how he carries himself. When you think of Gustave, what do you think of?”
Easy: home. The one home that had never left her.
Until he had.
And now the prospect of him coming back was quite literally at her fingertips.
What if she did it wrong?
But oh, what if she did it right?
“Focus,” Lune added, soft and precise. “You can do this. You will do this. Do the best job that your mind knows how to do.”
“And your heart,” Sciel complemented.
Her mind and her heart. Okay.
Maelle could do that.
Her mind held so many memories, at her happiest and lowest, Gustave always there to pick up the pieces.
Her heart tugged with an ache and a hope.
She lifted two fingers. Eddies of dark gray mist began to rise from her palm. A swirl of smoke and golden petals billowed in the air.
“Do the best job that your mind knows how to do.”
“And your heart.”
Mind focusing, heart somewhere between a plea and a prayer.
She bowed her head deeply, reverently.
The golden blossoms whirled in circular motions until they gradually began to glide to the earth, evaporating into fragrant dust.
The haze cleared away.
And there stood a silhouette – tall, lanky, familiar.
Maelle lifted her head and before she could even fully process his image, her eyes rolled back and her small frame — depleted of all energy — collapsed toward the unforgiving ground.