Downstairs and Dead

Epilogue

Joy

The night was beautiful.

She walked the streets in her home, remembering what it meant to live in a place that held her heart. Closing her eyes, because she didn't need sight to find her way.

Eventually she found herself leaving behind the stone of the street for the short grass of the park.

Home.

She kicked off her shoes.

Home. Home. Home.

Her toes recognized the damp texture. Her nose recognized the fresh scent. Her skin was familiar with the touch of breeze.

Home.

Once upon a time, she'd come to this place to dance. To find, as her mother called it, joy. Joy in movement. There was no music, but her body stretched, reaching for the stars, her beloved stars, and then she tripped forward, searching for the center of the large area. For solitude.

She hummed.

Happiness buzzed in her blood. The song controlling her muscles was faster than it usually was when she was dancing around in this park, but she was just too excited to be here. To be back here. To be home.

Ah hell, no need to hold back!

She laughed and allowed herself to jump around, cartwheel, and laugh even more. No harm in happiness.

Movement in joy, and she was bursting with both.

There was dew on the grass, and she slipped once or twice. Glad she'd decided to wear her pajama pants out instead of anything nicer. Grass stains and mud, for sure. But who cared? Not her.

She laughed as she twirled and leaped.

Home.

It took awhile for her energy to drain. She was so happy. So buzzed. But her feet slowed. Her steps became lazier and longer. Her arms stretched farther and swung around instead of snapping forward.

And when the music in her head changed tempo, he caught her hand. He stepped up to her, one clear inch between their bodies, and they danced. They moved.

His posture was perfect. She smiled at him. His face was so serious, making sure each movement was correct in every way. The imp in her, the gleeful fairy, double stepped on a single and spun when she should have simply turned.

She twisted so that she was behind him. Put a hand on the small of his back and slowly moved it up, and skipped away before he could reach out.

She made him work for her. Made him improvise. Made that perfect posture adjust.

Made him touch her. Made that inch vanish.

The night was warm, shadowed and silvered, and she was covered in sweat and dew.

And they danced. He'd let her turn, let her twist away. But he would always pull her back, tight against him. She'd have to fight for air. For a sense that there was anything in the world other than him. Him and his lead.

She pushed him. Turned Turned to face the night. So that she could breathe. But the inch was still gone. His chest, large and warm against her back. She was the one who destroyed that perfect posture. His hands, one in hers and the other eclipsing her left hip. She lifted her eyes, and instead of the stars, all she saw was him.

The music changed.

Faster again, faster and faster in her blood. But she had stopped moving. Her feet were still.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"Bend down and let me see," she replied.

He moved those hands, one to her jaw, one to her stomach. Pulling her up; pulling her close. He let her kiss him. Power shuddered over her skin. His hands convulsed. Her own lifted to hold his head still. Just for a moment. One moment. One moment longer.

She released him. Opened her eyes. He moved his hands, both hands, to her hips. Not letting her go, but no longer taking full control of her.

"Yes," she whispered. Resting her head back against his chest. "Yes. It hurts."

"You love me."

"Yeah."

His hands slipped back to her stomach. He pressed. Pressed so that she might almost merge with him. A convulsive, impulsive movement, she thought. And there was pain, again. She stood with it. A tremor went through him.

"That's all I wanted to hear."

"So from now on you only get to entertain me, is that clear?"

"One sentence more than necessary, Lucy, but yeah. Clear." He laughed. "Perfectly clear. I'm glad to be home."

"Yeah. It was a long year."

"Hasn't been a year." He tilted his head down to breathe in her hair and brush his lips over her temples and cheeks. "Two months and a week. A long nine weeks." He grinned. "I finished my job and went to see you. Your landlady told me you'd left with an overactive pink-haired boy, so I went back to the guild to wait a little longer."

Her throat closed. Her face burned. Tears formed and fell instantly from her eyes.

He kissed her.

"You're right. It hurts." He said, with his mouth against her shoulder. "I love you, too. If the old man pulls some bullshit like that again, I don't care if he has good intentions, don't leave. I can't stand to lose this."

"I won't. I won't ever. I can't."

She fought his hold. Fought him, struggled against him so that she could turn and reach around him. Reach up and hold him. Kiss him.

One day, maybe it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it wouldn't hurt, and would still be real. But maybe they would never leave behind what their love was built on. The lives of girls who would never have what they had. So they would live and love for them. And suffer, too. It was only right. It was only fair.

She kissed him, and it was movement and joy. It was real and painful. It was love, and it was home.

It was him, and she was grateful.

0000X0000

The End

So like I said, this was a very short epilogue. Thanks to everyone who supported me throughout this year on the story. I hope you all found some enjoyment in it.

Finally, Moon, again, thanks. You've been an excellent reviewer. Supporting me all through this process. I can't fully express how much I appreciate that, especially since you're not getting the alerts like people who have accounts get. You must actually be paying attention and looking for it, and that means a good deal to me. I'd be more than happy to see you review other stories!