It was an evening like many before—at least, it tried to be.
The sun bled slowly into the horizon, smearing the sky with dying light and colour. The last customers filtered out.
Life was wrapped in that same light. But only for a moment longer.
Spring and Fall shared a glance across the room. A quiet, familiar signal: the place would need cleaning soon. But the look didn't hold. Something was missing in his eyes.
Fall had been strange for days—more silent than usual. He was still him, still warm in the way only he could be… but something hung behind his eyes and that unknown pressed on her.
Spring didn't ask. She told herself he would speak when the time was right. He always did.
So she busied herself, scrubbing dishes in the small kitchen, trying to drown the unease with soap and water. But it clung itself out of her chest.
Something was wrong.
Her hands dropped in the sink. Where is he?
It wasn't like Fall to vanish—not from her. Not for this long.
She just couldn't feel him the way she used too.
That scared her to death. Worse than anything they ever had to face.
Then she saw it through the window—a soft glow from the small guest house outside. It wasn't supposed to be occupied tonight.
But the light was on.
Spring's breath hitched.
It has to be him.
Her steps outside were careful, but her heart wasn't at all. It beat wild in her chest, each pace heavier than the last.
She reached the door.
Opened it.
Time stood still.
There he was.
And he wasn't alone.
A girl stood with him—unfamiliar to her.
She was too close. Her presence screamed intimacy.
And Fall—
He didn't stop her.
Lara's lungs locked. Her soul staggered backward.
The world tilted, blurred at the edges like a dream going sour. It was as if she stood outside herself, watching from somewhere else as everything she'd built came crashing down.
She saw his hand rise—fingers brushing the other girl's waist. Soft. Intentional. The way he used to touch her.
She saw his head lower.
His mouth graze someone else's lips.
And then she heard it—his voice, quiet.
"Stay here… please."
The world tilted sharply on its axis, and something inside her cracked open—raw, jagged, unstoppable.
A sound tore out of her throat.
Not a cry.
Not a scream.
Something between—a broken, strangled thing that ripped the silence apart and tasted like blood in her mouth.
It slipped out before she could swallow it back.
He heard it.
He looked at her but she couldn't see the rest of it.
She turned around in an instant and couldn't do anything other than… she ran.
Her heart—her future—everything they had built, everything she had dared to dream of—obliterated in a single breath. Shattered like glass.
The pain was too big for her body, too wide for her skin to contain. It swallowed her whole.
So she ran.
Stumbling past the courtyard where they used to steal glances at each other while they gathered the herbs for the tea.
Past the tea house they had built with their own hands—the life they had planted together like fragile seeds.
Past every dream she hadn't even had time to say aloud.
The cold night air whipped against her, but she didn't feel it.
Her lungs burned. Her legs trembled.
The trees blurred past her, dark and skeletal under the night sky. The dirt path cut into her bare feet and arms, but she barely noticed. Her hands trembled at her sides, useless, numb.
Her arcane—it buzzed under her skin. Unstable. Frantic. Cracking.
A caged animal tearing at her ribs, begging to get out.
But she kept running.
Because what else was there to do?
Her mind couldn't hold onto a single clear thought.
Just flashes.
His smile.
His words.
His hand on someone else's body.
Every step made it worse.
Every breath scraped against the hollow, bleeding thing inside her chest.
And then—through the trees—the lake appeared.
Silent.
Waiting.
She stumbled down the slope, half-blind, half-mad with grief. The earth tilted beneath her, as if the world itself had turned against her—mocking her, dragging her down, begging her to fall.
Fall…
His name echoed in her skull, a curse now.
She collapsed to her knees. Stayed there, trembling.
Everything—everything—she believed in was pulverised.
It finally hit her.
A sound tore from her chest, primal and guttural.
Grief poured from her throat like fire. She couldn't contain it. Wouldn't.
It had all been a lie. A dream too beautiful to be true.
The first person who had ever truly seen her… had never truly been hers.
How could…
Why… please…
The moon hung above the lake. Its reflection on the water was cold. Untouchable.
Just like him.
Her arcane pulsed violently inside her, tearing through her without mercy. The force was nearly unbearable—yet still, it paled in comparison to the pain of her broken heart.
So Spring rose, her limbs trembling.
She stepped into the lake.
The cold hit her legs like knives—but she didn't flinch.
Didn't stop.
Another step.
And another.
The water climbed her body, biting at her waist, then her ribs, her chest.
Her shoulders. Her neck.
Her heart kicked once. Hard.
Then again.
And then it fluttered, wild and panicked, a bird trapped in its cage.
The moment the lake closed over her head, everything vanished.
There was only darkness.
And silence.
And pain.
The weight of her unchained arcane dragged her body like a heavy stone, hair floating around her like a veil. She didn't move. Couldn't.
She just let go.
Her magic unraveled within her, exploding out in a violent, wild surge. Air and light tore through the water, shaking the lake, splitting the surface into furious waves above. The water almost drained out completely in a tornado.
Of grief.
She didn't feel it.
Didn't feel anything anymore.
Only the unbearable ache of what had been taken from her.
The future she had believed in reduced to ash.
All that was left were her unanswered prayers.
Please take it… all…
Summer felt it before she saw it.
The ground trembled under her boots, a sudden gust of unnatural air cutting through the trees like a blade. The world was wrong.
She dropped the dagger she had been polishing without a second thought, bolting toward the source.
Spring.
Every instinct screamed her name before her mind could even catch up.
She ran.
Faster than she had in years, dodging roots and low-hanging branches, heart hammering with a kind of fear she hadn't felt since the bloody days.
The closer she got, the worse it became.
The magic in the air was thick, desperate, drowning. It tasted like grief and sorrow.
When Summer broke through the treeline and saw the lake, she didn't hesitate.
She threw herself into the water fully clothed, weapons forgotten.
The surface was broken, heaving with the aftershocks of an explosion. Light shimmered violently beneath the waves, unstable and flickering.
She dove.
The water stung her eyes and cut thorugh her arms, but she forced herself—searching and searching—until she found a figure floating near the bottom, limp and glowing faintly.
Spring!
Summer's lungs screamed as she kicked downward.
She reached Spring, grabbed her by the waist, and hauled her up with every ounce of strength she had.
Breaking the surface felt like ripping through stone.
Summer dragged her to shore, gasping, half-carrying, half-cradling her.
Spring was cold.
Unmoving.
Her magic still flared and twitched around her like a dying candle.
Summer knelt over her, pulling the soaked clothes away, pressing her ear to Spring's chest.
A heartbeat.
Faint. Staggering. But there.
Summer swore under her breath—words in an old language, meant to be heard only by the gods above.
She pressed her forehead to Lara's for a second—just a second—before gathering her up in her arms like a child and running.
Back at Summer's house, she laid Spring down by the fire, wrapping her in every blanket she could find, whispering words of magic she hadn't used in years—healing spells, protective charms, anything to keep her tethered to this world.
Summer sat beside her all night.
She didn't sleep.
She didn't move.
She only watched willing her to stay.
Summer could only guess what happened.
They were never apart.
But she refused to think the worst. There had to be a better explanation to this.
She touched Spring's forehead, trying to use an ancient magic trick only she knew. Very old and very illegal.
She wanted to see the past. And she did.
But when she did… Summer couldn't stay inside.
The rage was too wild, overwhelming.
She stormed into the clearing behind her home, her boots sinking into the dirt, the stars turning coldly above her.
The fire inside her—her bloodline, her magic—burned hotter than it ever had.
She dropped to her knees.
And with hands that did not tremble, she drew the dagger from her belt and slashed a sharp line across her arm—deep.
Blood spilled freely, dark and glistening, soaking into the earth at her feet.
She lifted her face to the sky.
Her blood hissed where it hit the ground.
Magic surged up around her, grabing at her legs and waist.
"I curse you, Fall."
The world itself paused.
"You will feel her scent but she will never touch you. You will hear her voice, but it will never be hers." She said clearly and roughly.
She slammed her bloody palm into the earth, forcing the spell deep, anchoring it.
"You will never see her again, Fall!!" Summer screamed now.
She paused.
"Until the end of your miserable fucking life."
The ground around her split and scorched in a perfect circle, the magic searing itself into the world.
Summer sagged forward, her hands digging into the dirt, her breath ragged.
The curse was sealed.
Complete.
Summer sat there, blood dripping down her arm, heart breaking all over again—for her, for him, for everything that should have been.
In the aching silence that followed, she whispered:
"I trusted you… to love her."
Spring drifted in darkness.
Not the darkness of sleep.
Not the darkness of death.
Something worse.
Colder.
Deeper.
It wrapped around her completely, pulling at her limbs, weighing down her chest. She floated in it like in that lake, barely tied to her own body, barely aware that time still existed at all.
Somewhere, far away, she heard a voice.
Low. Fierce. Familiar.
Hands touched her shoulders—warm, solid, real. She should have flinched. She should have fought.
But she didn't have the strength.
She didn't have anything left.
The world swam back to her slowly.
Bit by bit.
The feel of a rough woollen blanket against her skin.
The sharp crackle of a fire.
The scent of pine resin and cigarettes.
And arms—strong arms—wrapped tightly around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, another splayed protectively across her stomach.
Lara blinked open her eyes.
Dim light. Wooden beams overhead.
And Summer.
Spring breath hitched. A ragged, broken sound that barely escaped her lips.
Summer tightened her grip, pulling her closer.
"It's alright," Summer whispered roughly, the words scraping through her throat. "I've got you. I've got you."
Spring shook her head weakly, the tears spilling before she even realized she was crying.
"No you don't," she whispered back. "No one does."
The words cut deep into Summer too.
She pressed her forehead against Spring's hair, squeezing her eyes shut.
But gods, it hurt.
It hurt to feel how empty she was.
To feel her magic flickering.
To feel the bond that had once linked her heart to another—severed so cleanly, so violently.
Spring let out a soft, wrecked sob, curling into Summer's chest like a child.
Summer got up into the bed with her and rocked her gently, back and forth, back and forth, like she had when Spring was small and frightened.
"You're not alone," Summer whispered fiercely. "I swear it. I swear it on every star and every god. You're not alone."
Spring didn't answer.
She just clutched at Summer's jacket weakly, her knuckles white, and wept.
Days passed.
Or maybe it was longer.
Time didn't exist properly anymore in the little cabin buried deep in the woods.
The fire never went out. Summer wouldn't let it.
The blankets never shifted.
Summer stayed.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her boots discarded, her weapons set aside—one hand always resting lightly over Spring's, as if she had to anchor her there with her touch.
Spring barely moved.
Most of the time, she lay curled on her side, wrapped in, her face turned toward the wall. Silent. Motionless. Breathing shallowly like each breath was a battle.
Sometimes she slept.
But the sleep never lasted long.
She would wake with a jolt, a choked-off scream tearing from her throat, her body convulsing like she was being ripped apart all over again.
"Hush, it's alright. It's alright," Summer would murmur against Spring's hair, rocking her gently, fingers stroking trembling shoulders.
Spring wouldn't answer.
Couldn't.
She would just sometimes clutch at Summer's tunic weakly, gasping for breath, tears running hot and unstoppable down her face.
Sometimes she would cry until her body gave out again, collapsing in Summer's arms.
Other times, she just stared through Summer like she wasn't even there.
An empty shell.
Summer would brush her damp hair back from her forehead, tuck the blankets tighter around her, whisper old lullabies.
And still, Spring didn't speak.
Didn't ask questions.
Didn't say his name.
Summer knew better than to push her.
Some wounds didn't heal with words.
Some wounds had to be survived.
She sat on the bed through endless sunrises and sunsets, hand tangled with Spring's, refusing to leave.
Refusing to let her slip away completely.
Sometimes Summer would speak quietly—to herself more than to Spring—filling the awful silence.
"You were always the strongest one," she'd whisper. "You're going to come back to me. I know you will."
But there were nights when Summer wasn't sure about that.
Nights when Spring woke up clawing at her chest, her tortured screams almost shaking the entire cabin.
Nights when Summer held her tighter, whispering fierce promises into the dark:
"You're still here. I am here."
And even though Spring never answered,
even though the fire crackled and the snow fell and the world outside moved on—
Summer stayed.
Because she had made a vow once, long ago.
A vow to protect the little girl that saved her.
And Summer will never break that vow.
It was on a morning like any other.
Light seeped in through the cracks of the old cabin, barely touching the floorboards.
The fire had burned low during the night.
Summer sat on the edge of the bed, as always, elbow propped on her knee, her chin resting in her hand, staring blankly at the smouldering hearth.
Exhausted.
Praying, even though she didn't believe in gods anymore.
Spring hadn't stirred in months. Months.
Summer didn't expect her to.
Until—
Movement.
Barely a whisper of sound, a shift in the bedclothes.
Summer's head snapped up, heart pounding.
Spring was sitting up.
Slow, unsteady, like she was fighting against the weight of a boulder.
Her hair was tangled, her face pale, her hands trembling.
But she was moving.
Summer couldn't think.
She just surged forward—grabbing Spring and pulling her into her arms in one desperate motion.
She crushed her against her chest like a mother clinging to a lost child.
Spring sagged into the embrace without a sound, her forehead pressing against Summer's collarbone, her fingers curling weakly into Summer's tunic.
Summer squeezed her tighter, arms wrapped fully around her, rocking her slightly without realising it.
"You're here," Summer choked out against her hair.
Summer cried openly now, shaking, the tears falling into Spring's hair as she held her as close as she could.
"I've got you," she whispered over and over. "I've got you."
For the first time in what felt like forever—
Spring clung back.
The broken shell that had laid silent for days was finally reaching for something again, however fragile, however faint.
Later, when the fire was built back up and the cabin was warm again, they sat together on the floor.
Wrapped in blankets. Again.
Close. Again.
But this time it felt different.
Summer didn't say anything.
She just stayed there, one arm around Spring's shoulders, her thumb rubbing slow, steady circles over Spring's upper arm. A grounding touch.
Spring stared into the fire.
Her eyes were wide and hollow, but there was something now.
A flicker.
A thread of awareness weaving itself back into her.
Summer barely dared to breathe, afraid that if she moved too fast, if she said the wrong thing, the fragile moment would crumble.
The fire crackled softly.
The wind brushed against the windows.
Spring shifted under the blanket.
Summer didn't move, just held her tighter.
And then—
In a voice so small, so raw that Summer almost thought she imagined it—
"...he's gone."
Summer's heart clenched.
She turned her head slightly, not daring to speak yet.
Spring blinked slowly, staring at the flames.
"I can't feel him," she said, voice shaking. "I... I used to feel him... even when he wasn't there..."
Her fingers twisted in the blanket around her knees.
"And now..."
She choked on the words.
"...it's just... nothing."
Summer exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
She shifted closer, wrapping both arms around Spring this time, holding her tightly, cocooning her against her chest.
"You don't have to feel him," Summer whispered fiercely, her mouth brushing Spring's hair. "You don't have to feel anything you don't want to."
Spring didn't answer.
She just pressed her face against Summer's shoulder, silent tears soaking into the fabric.
Summer closed her eyes and rocked her gently.
"You're still here," Summer murmured. " That's all that matters."
The fire crackled and burned low, the sky outside deepening from gray to black.
"Why would someone do this, Summer?" Spring continued.
"What did I do wrong?" she choked out, voice muffled against Summer's shoulder. "What did I do to make him stop loving me?"
Summer didn't answer right away.
She just held her, knowing that this is the first step towards healing.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Summer said finally, her voice soft but filled with steel. "Not a damn thing."
Spring shook her head, helpless. "I must've… I must've been too much. Or not enough. Or—"
She couldn't finish. The words tangled with the tears.
Summer pulled back just enough to cup her face in both hands.
"Lara," she said, using her real name—firm. "Look at me."
It took a moment. But Spring's tear-filled eyes finally lifted.
Summer's gaze was fierce. Loving. Uncompromising.
"You gave him your all," she said. "You trusted him. You loved him with everything you had. That is not a failure. That is not a flaw."
Spring blinked, lips trembling.
"He broke it," Summer whispered. "Not because of who you are. But because of who he is. He is weak."
Spring's breath hitched.
"Maybe he was too blind, or too stupid, or too lost to see what he had." Summer continued, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "But that's on him. Not you."
Spring let out a broken sound—half sob, half breath.
"I would've done anything for him," she whispered.
"I know," Summer said, stroking her cheek with her thumb. "And that's what makes you better than him. Stronger. Braver. Realer."
The tears kept falling, but Spring's body was softening in her arms now—still trembling, but no longer so tightly. The storm was settling in.
"I just… I don't know who I am without him," she admitted, the words barely audible.
Summer held her tighter, her hand smoothing gently down Lara's back, her voice low and steady as she whispered—
"You don't need to know yet. You just need to survive this. One breath at a time."
They just stood there for a while. Wrapped in blankets, in warmth, in the fragile beginnings of healing.
Until—
Knock. Knock.
Spring twitched.
"Who—"
"It's Winter. You may not believe me but he was really worried for you. He came to visit a lot."