Making Miracles

„The Gods provide,“ was the favorite sentence of your family whenever trouble brewed. Your grandparents had said it when they had been alive and your parents did as well now, as did your younger brother.

In all honesty, you had no idea if they were right or not. Sometimes it looked like the gods did provide and other times nothing but days-long hard work could even begin to solve a problem. You would like for them to be right however, simply because it would make them happy.

Your father was an upbeat, colorful man, who seemed to sing more often than not, hair long and braided and he always insisted on embroidering everyone’s clothes. You loved him dearly and no matter what was going on, he always took a moment to listen to you, his soul and heart kind and warm.

Your mother was more fiery in comparison, her laugh ringing through the house like cheerful bells, her grin fierce and she never shied away from the challenges of life. No matter how busy she was, she was always willing to fight for you and the rest of her family. She made everyone around her better and brighter, just like her spirit was.

You liked to think that your little brother had been born with chaos in his heart. Your parents only laughed when you said so in a mock-grumble. In their opinion both their children were perfectly lovely.

For all that your little brother could get on your very last nerve, especially when he was in one of his mischievous moods, you knew you could always count on him. The two of you could be real shits to each other, but absolute nightmares to anyone who dared to come after you or your family.

All in all, you led a happy life. Not always an easy one, but a good one nonetheless. When your magical abilities showed themselves when you were fourteen years old, your parents didn’t hesitate to send you to a mage academy, full of pride and love for you.

Your little brother just smiled that perfectly innocent smile and asked if you could learn spells that opened doors or would turn them invisible.

You knew that the cobbler’s son had said very mean things about his best friend and he had been thinking about how to get revenge ever since. Harmless revenge at the end of the day, but still something that would make the other boy’s overblown ego deflate a little.

You just patted him on the shoulder in silent agreement and then you went on your merry way.

The mage academy was both very demanding and very fun. You found two amazing best friends named Iza and Gil. They were, like you, a little daring and rather willing to experiment around.

Magic was amazing and as long as you didn’t have to rigidly follow spell instructions, it was rather easy to use. You did better with improvising compared to pre-determined, carefully selected and thought out spell casting.

Which, of course, at times bit you in the ass quite a bit. As it turned out, thinking ahead wasn’t the worst idea, especially in a spar against talented, more practiced mages.

You wrote home frequently and visited during the holidays, helping your little brother get his revenge. Afterwards you showed off the spells you had learned, making all your father’s flowers bloom to the point where they were the most beautiful in town and you helped your mother in her forge, carefully etching runes across steel to imbue it with a little blessing. A little magic.

A little bit of wondrousness wrapped around the mundane.

„The Gods provide,“ your mother said with a laugh, reaching out to pull you into a hug as she pressed a grinning kiss to your temple. „And you are certainly a gift they gave us. You and your brother both. My little god-made miracles.“

„Eh,“ you made a mock-unsure, doubtful noise and she laughed, giving your back a pat as she returned to her work.

You left to meet up with your friends for the rest of the day, since they didn’t live too far from your hometown. The three of you were thick as thieves and you loved them more than anything in the world. You could entrust them with all your secrets, your good and bad parts and they did the same. With them, no matter where you were, you had a safe place.

Yeah, life was good and it stayed good even with some harsh lessons in-between, some bad experiences and rough times. Because you had love in your life and that gave you strength and hope and you always had someone to lean on, to get a moment’s reprieve, when you felt like caving in yourself. You could always wade through the dark to make it back into the light and therefore, life was good.

And then, your little brother fell in love and you got to watch him be as besotted with someone as your parents were with each other. The young man he brought home was quite the polite, friendly lad and he clearly was just as in love with your brother as he was with him. You were quite happy for them both.

Your best friends Iza and Gil started to date each other shortly after you all came back from the holidays and you had to admit that, apparently, your people-knowledge wasn’t as good as you had thought. Because you had not seen it coming, but now that they had mentioned how long they had liked each other, you did start to see it.

You couldn’t help but be amused as well as relieved at how insistent they were that you had to keep hanging out with them no matter what. Your little trio would be lacking without you, they said.

Your friendship indeed remained as strong as ever and the three of you graduated as full-fledged mages, ready to explore the world and make a name for yourselves. To your surprise, you soon received a letter by one of the archmages of the north, who had selected you among a couple other graduates to come study under her.

It was an incredible opportunity, but it would also take you away from home for at least three to five years, depending on how long you would stay. Coming back home would take too long to be worth the time you’d have off.

„A chance like that doesn’t come along just any old day,“ Iza insisted, giving you a giddy little tap with her fingers on your lower arm. She was visibly very happy for you and she bumped your shoulders together. „Gil and I will make sure to check in with your family, so don’t you worry about any of us.“

With such reassurances bolstering you and everyone’s insistence that, as long as this was what you wanted, you should not let such a chance slip by, you wrote your acceptance to the archmage. Your bags were packed and you were soon on your way, making your friends and family promise that they would write to you regularly.

The archmage was incredible once you arrived. She, just like you, only followed guidelines when it suited her and you had never had a better, more talented teacher. She was as demanding as she was rewarding and whenever you wrote back home, your letters were filled with your excitement about the things you had learned.

The years passed as well as they could have and while at times problems emerged that worried you, things could be resolved sooner or later. The Gods indeed provided at times as well.

You felt like you could do amazing things on your own now and you were eager to wrap up your apprenticeship and return home at last. All that was left was presenting what you could do, the spells you had changed into something better and the spells you had invented to a gathering of the council of archmages. If they were impressed with you, if you could convince them, they might bestow the title of archmage onto you as well.

Once you received that honor, you would head straight back home. Both your brother and your friends desired to get married and they had told you they’d make sure to wait for your return. You loved them all so much, even if you never really told them that.

You were nearly done with said apprenticeship when you noticed that it had been a while since you had received any letters. How long had it been, two months? Three? You weren’t too concerned at first, considering that sometimes the riders delivering their letters could be held up by a number of things.

It had once taken half a year for a letter to arrive because there had been massive flooding and the rider of the postal service had fallen sick in some backwater village where he was unable to contact the service so someone else could take over for him.

Then you heard the rumblings of war at the horizon and still you didn’t grow worried. Your hometown was in a peaceful, slightly remote valley after all and Iza and Gil were there as well. Two mages could keep themselves and those around them safe from harm.

So you wrapped up your apprenticeship with a happy smile, the archmage you considered a good friend and even better mentor taking you to the council of archmages.

You were viciously nervous, but you made sure to present everything with confidence and aplomb, even if you had to fake it. You held your breath as the council discussed their decision and at last, they presented you with the title of archmage.

You just barely held back a shout of joy and the moment you and your mentor were out of the council building, you cheered loudly together, hugging each other and laughing joyfully. You had done it!

Your mentor last wrote you a glowing recommendation, in case you wished to work for nobility or in another high-ranking job and she told you to come visit her whenever you liked. Her enchanted tower would let you enter without issue.

With that thick letter in your pack, along with the certification that made you an archmage and your pride puffed up and happy in your chest, you were eager to go back home. You traveled fast, the good weather on your side and you made sure to skirt the areas where armies clashed.

You only had a vague idea why this war had gotten started – something about succession and the prince not wanting his niece on the throne, bogus like that – and you were happy to not get within a mile’s radius of the conflict.

There were already plenty of mages at war as well and you had no desire to join, neither for money nor for glory.

At last you crossed into the valley where your hometown laid and as you walked faster, smiling with happy anticipation, you started to notice strange things. The hard-packed dirt road was wider and churned up, trees along the road felled and there were large campsites, long abandoned but the vegetation still struggled to recover.

And then you saw the first village and where you had expected to see old neighbors, to say hello and be greeted in return, you saw nothing but burnt-down husks.

An army had come through here, you realized and the joy curdled swiftly into a terrible feeling you had never felt before in your life. Of course you had known fear and worry, as well as self-doubt and struggles.

But this was different. This was a nameless dread that gripped you like invisible hands, squeezing your throat tighter, kicking your heart into a faster rhythm like a startled horse, your stomach getting speared by an ice-lance of fear.

You rushed forward, your brisk walk turning into a jog at the next burnt village and then into a full-on sprint when you saw, up the hill, your hometown, blackened and nearly gone. Ash and rubble was all that remained.

You were shouting as you approached, a desperate kind of hope clawing through your veins. It felt like that hope was the only thing that kept you together, like stubborn threads making sure worn, old clothes didn’t fully fall apart.

You skidded to a stop, breath catching in your lungs and for a brief moment it felt like your entire body entered some kind of stasis, your gaze stuck on the body half buried beneath blackened and charred remains of a house. The flesh was so badly burnt that not even insects or other animals had wanted to eat it.

That was the cobbler’s house, a distant part of you realized and you forced yourself to keep moving.

More and more bodies laid strewn about, some torn to pieces, though you could not tell if it had been by animals or your fellow humans. Some had only left shredded clothes and chewed apart shoes behind as they had gotten devoured by wild animals. Others were nothing but bones, picked clean and chewed on.

How long...how long ago had the attack taken place? It must’ve been months.

You thought back to the sudden lack of letters and you nearly threw up as your stomach heaved. All this time...all this time that you had been safe and happy, playing with magic like a...like a child and your family and friends had been thrust into the middle of a stupid, senseless, needless war.

There were banners in the dirt, brown with a white, rearing horse and distantly you remembered that it belonged to the brother of the late king, who clearly had no desire to see his niece on the throne.

You felt strangely distant to your own body as you kept walking forward, like someone caught in a bad fever dream as you headed for your home. The place you remembered as standing tall and broad, having been extended twice. Once so your brother and his beloved could move into their own space together and another time so you could have your own place as well, for living and for practicing magic.

Iza and Gil had lived there in the meantime.

It took you a moment to realize you had reached your home, because it was...gone. Crushed and caved in by something that must’ve been magic.

Of course. Iza and Gil would not have simply died, they would have fought and even an army would struggle against two mages who worked together as smoothly as clockwork. It certainly would have allowed most people in your hometown to escape, while Iza and Gil guarded their retreat.

But if the army had mages in their employ, then nothing but ruin would remain if Iza and Gil lost.

They must have lost, a numb, distant part of you thought as you stared at your old home, flattened like cardboard stacks that a giant stepped on. Your arm felt heavy and distant, your magic felt heavy and distant, as you started to levitate the pieces, trying to find something.

You did. In a divot, like a round shield had protected them, you saw four curled together bodies. You saw the dirty, embroidered clothing, the work of your father, the carefully made jewelry your mother had gifted for birthdays and special occasions.

Something peeled off the pieces you had floating, falling to the earth with dull thuds and you stared at the crushed and half pulverized bodies of your best friends. It had to be them, when you saw Gil’s necklace hanging from a nearly shattered neck, his head gone and the other body had Iza’s enchanted iron hand still stuck to her arm, which had separated from the rest of her remains when she had fallen just now.

The broken pieces of your home thudded to the ground as you dropped the levitation spell and you felt dizzy and reeling and distant and breathless all at once.

You had no feeling in your fingers when you made yourself move, carefully wrapping the bodies and casting a stasis spell, followed by a shielding spell, the same that Iza and Gil must’ve cast to protect your family. It hadn’t been enough.

You had no idea how long you stood there or when you started to move or really what you were doing. It felt like you were drifting in and out of focus, collecting bodies, clearing roads and streets and levitating aside debris to try and find everyone.

You didn’t count the bodies, but deep down, a part of you knew that no one had survived. An entire town, wiped out.

Because some people argued whose ass got to sit on the throne. What a joke.

The anger felt downright safe, like it kept your fraying apart edges together where the threads of hope had snapped and torn. It felt like you could get at least some air back into your lungs.

You cobbled together a building large enough to house the bodies, carefully placing everyone inside. You refused to call it a mausoleum or a graveyard and you sealed it shut with all the spells you could use for such a task.

You didn’t stop to think as you left, didn’t dare to when it felt like you were balancing on a knife’s edge, one wrong decision away from tumbling into a terrible pit that you would never claw your way out of again.

You barely rested and you reached the battlefield where armies clashed in no time at all. You barely paid attention to anything that was said when you signed up and ultimately, people were all too happy to get out of your way.

Mages were always wanted and needed for warfare, archmages especially so, for most liked to stay in their enchanted homes and play around with spells rather than go to battle. And you were good, you were very good.

At the end of that same day, the enemy army was broken and ruined. A handful of prisoners had been made and whoever hadn’t fled had died. You got blackout drunk that night and the next day, you ignored your superior to move on to the next battlefield.

In the end you didn’t get in trouble for insubordination, not when you were so very useful. So very ruthless. People learned to send you to the next fight as soon as you were done, which made things easier and cut down on travel time.

You stayed numb inside the whole while and all that you managed to feel was anger. It was exhausting as much as it shielded you, keeping enough of you alive that you didn’t curl up somewhere to leave this world as well.

The battles all merged together in your mind and you didn’t care if you fought people on plains, at the foot of a mountain or at the edge of massive cliffs, the ocean churning below. Though, granted, the latter was good for shoving enemy soldiers over the edge with sharp blasts of magic.

Of course your luck couldn’t last forever – though, was it luck? It didn’t feel like luck when you did not care to stay alive, safe for finally reaching that stupid prince and ripping his smiling head from his worthless shoulders.

‚The Gods provide‘ had turned from a nice phrase to empty words that rang through your mind like death knells. The Gods had done shit, in the end. Had protected nothing, not even a single life. Not a single soul.

In the end, you were the only one left.

And the day your luck ran out at last, you were finally about to face the prince himself, his army gathered around him and you were almost satisfied at the panic and desperation you heard in his voice as he shouted at his soldiers to fight.

You had just torn down the last mage in his army, when you realized something in your numb-angry haze, your body moving just a tad too late. The mage had been a distraction, sacrificing himself so a mage hunter with an enchanted blade could come up behind you.

And run you through.

You felt the cold-water sensation of your magic getting blocked as the blade struck your body and the man ran on, leaving the sword in your side, while you collapsed to your knees.

There wasn’t really pain, just a dull sort of disbelief and shock and you brushed fingertips against your side, bringing them back wet with blood.

Finally, a part of you whispered, grim and joyless.

You watched the chaos of war wage around you in a near distant manner, any ounce of care gone from your mind and body. Even the anger was silent at long last, quelled and asleep like a beast finally finding a cage capable of holding it. Then again, what power was larger than death itself? Love, perhaps, but you hadn’t felt that in a...while.

You closed your eyes and unconsciousness found you just as someone skidded to a stop beside you, hands gripping you before you could slump the ground.

The world was far away and you drifted in darkness for both hours and minutes when you felt a familiar touch on your arm. Iza, your mind supplied right away. She had that particular habit of tapping her fingertips against the lower arms of the people she liked, like her body, her very blood, was always filled with a little song.

It showed in her magic as well, her spells beautiful and elegant and downright musical. There was something wondrous to the way she used magic, like a part of her was something special indeed.

„Isn’t it kind of late?“ Iza asked and her voice felt both near and far away. „It’s time to get up, don’t you think? The day’s not waiting for you, sleepyhead.“

You didn’t dare open your eyes, a terrible, tearing sensation gripping your chest and not moving an inch just barely, barely kept that feeling from tearing you to shreds completely.

A knee nudged yours, Gil so easy to recognize since he had always done that, every time he had sat down beside you, his silent way of saying hello, while already talking a mile a minute about what he had discovered, heard, seen, read that day. Always eager to share everything with those he loved, from his thoughts to something as simple as a meal.

His magic had always been as steady and rock solid as he himself, a constant hope to his very being that he had carefully cultivated through trying times as well as good times. He had always believed that the best was possible, that change was coming, because the people themselves were change.

He was always safe to lean on, his hugs warm and encompassing and the best ones you had ever gotten. He had always offered them to you readily and no matter how dark your day was, he had found ways to make you feel better. On your good days, he had never hesitated to lift you higher, like he wanted nothing more than for you to reach the sun or the stars in the sky and hold them if that was your wish.

„Hey there, my dear friend.,“ he said, his voice as deep and kind as you remembered and the terrible tearing sensation in your chest got worse. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. „It’s so good to see you again, but you can’t stay here with us, I’m afraid.“

You wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab them. To hold on tight and never, ever let go again. You missed them so much.

„You have to wake up,“ Iza said and her hand found yours, lacing your fingers together while Gil did the same on your other side, both of them giving your hands a gentle squeeze. „It’s not your time yet.“

No. No, you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay right here, with them.

„We’ll watch over you,“ Gil promised and you felt both of them grip your hands tighter, starting to pull. No matter how much you wanted to fight, you couldn’t so much as muster an ounce of resistance. „It’s going to be alright.“

„While we all wish we could be with you again, to walk beside you, such is not our fate,“ Iza said, sadness and regret in her voice. „Now, just one more time, dearest friend.“

You were pulled up to a sitting position and you tried to open your eyes, to at least see them once more, but now that you wished to, you couldn’t. You felt hands against your back then and you knew exactly who they were. Your mother and father, your brother and his beloved.

And all their voices spoke as one as they shoved you forward, „Wake up. Live.“

You felt like falling and tumbling and rising all at once, a juxtaposition that made no sense at all. And then it was over, just rest and darkness surrounding you.

Slowly, sensation started to creep in. A terrible ache in your side, the feeling of a less than comfortable mattress beneath you, a lumpy pillow keeping your head at a slight angle.

It felt like an impossible effort to peel your eyes open, your vision blurry and as you blinked a few times you managed to focus your sight. You were in a hospital, surrounded by countless other soldiers. Some murmured softly as they spoke with others and someone off to the side had rattling breaths like they were locked in a dance with death and were running out of strength to keep going.

You heard steps approaching and you blinked when you saw your mentor. The archmage sat down beside you, eyeing you for a moment before she sighed.

„You look like shit,“ she said and you couldn’t even bring yourself to attempt a forced smile. Her expression grew more solemn. „I heard what happened and I can take a very educated guess as to what you’ve been up to since.“

„They’re all dead,“ you found yourself whispering, voice a rasping croak that made you wince a little.

Your mentor was silent for a long moment before she leaned forward, her gaze flinty. „So what are you going to do about that?“

You stilled, staring back at her, your mind just as carefully motionless in that moment, not a single thought forming. You did not even begin to think about what she meant with those words - you did not have the energy left for hope. For the ruinous pain it would bring should it all be for naught.

Your mentor huffed. „The mage I got to know took the word ‚impossible‘ as a personal challenge. You figured out how to put lightning in a bottle just because someone told you it couldn’t be done and you discovered a way to keep food from rotting completely when you were told stasis spells could only do so much. And now that it’s more important than ever, you just give up? Roll over and accept the hand dealt by fate?“

„The Gods provide,“ you found yourself rasping, a little nonsensically, the favorite saying of your family coming to you the same way your feet still walked the streets of your home in your dreams.

The archmage laughed. „Gods indeed are a mysterious force,“ she said and the smile she gave you held nothing humorous. It was a sharp thing, a little baring of teeth, knowledge sparking in her gaze. Of someone having challenged that mysterious force and having found a secret, hidden truth there.

She spoke, quiet but not soft, „If they do not deign to give us miracles, then what do you think we should do? Kneel and weep? Bow our heads and scuttle along like mice?“ She leaned forward a little. „Miracles are made, my dear. Who cares by which hand?“

For the first time in...you had no idea how long, air rushed back into your lungs. Against all odds, against your own wishes, hope clawed it’s way out of the pit it had fallen into when you had seen the broken and dead bodies of everyone you held dear.

That hope dug its hands into you, holding on with a gaunt kind of grim desperation. If there was a chance...just one...

„Necromancy has never worked,“ you rasped out. „It only creates zombies.“

So far, the dead had only come back as shuffling creatures without a mind or soul, only capable of following simple orders. Your mentor just raised a brow.

„Well, if you don’t want to try,“ she said, offering a too nonchalant shrug. „Then I guess that’s it.“

You grit your teeth, fingers slowly curling into the blanket. „No,“ you whispered at last. „No, it’s not.“

Just one more try. You owed your family and friends that much, if nothing else. They deserved that much.

You sat up with a groan and your mentor grinned.

„Shall we?“ she asked and held out her hand. You took it without thought and let her haul you to your feet.

She helped you limp out of the hospital without anyone noticing, the nurses too busy with all the wounded and many doctors bent over patients. Everyone looked haggard and tired.

There were celebrations out in the city as you emerged from the hospital. The war had ended, the prince was defeated and their queen would be crowned at the end of the week, after days of drinking and dancing and everyone laughing with relief that battle was finally over.

You saw soldiers embracing loved ones, others again weeping as they knelt in front of the parents and siblings and lovers of the companions they had lost on the battlefield, only to get fiercely embraced by them.

Love and loss was tightly entwined here, as banners of a red rose on a white backdrop got mounted, flower wreaths getting woven and colorful decorations being set up.

Your mentor helped you through the streets towards the largest mage academy of the continent. You and Gil and Iza had studied at a small one that had been closer to home and you had always said that you wanted to come here one day and enter a library that was the largest anyone could find in any of the surrounding kingdoms.

You lost weeks, if not months in that academy – or to be more precise, its library. You searched through all the texts you could find, on necromancy, on life and death and even on the gods. On their domains and the art of miracles.

And one night, the librarian having overlooked your presence with an absentmindedly cast spell so you could stay longer, you found your answer between your bone-deep exhaustion and the throwaway musings of a priestess.

You had only half-heartedly been reading her diary, not because it was boring, but because it wasn’t helpful right now to know about the life and struggles of a woman that had lived nearly a hundred years ago.

But one passage drew your eye. It read: ‚I was touched by death not too long ago when I fell down that ladder and onto my head. I understand now why those necromancers fail to truly revive the dead. I have never felt an embrace kinder and safer than that of the Dark Lady.‘

You stared at the diary for a long moment, your exhaustion forgotten as your mind raced like a herd of wild horses. A moment later you shoved to your feet, pocketing the diary with an absentminded, silent promise to bring it back once you were done.

Your mentor had left some time ago, but when you arrived at her tower, she let you in all the same and granted you access to all her tools and supplies.

„The problem,“ you said as you gestured, sounding and feeling half manic, „Isn’t that necromancy is a failure. The problem is that many of the dead do not wish to return. Or rather, that they have not been given a reason to.“

„Do you think the necromancers of the past haven’t tried to give them one?“ your mentor asked, watching as you grabbed her finest tools and an untouched dagger to start inscribing the blade.

„Of course they tried,“ you muttered, half distant now as your focus laid on the runes and sigils you ever so carefully started to etch. You could not afford to make a mistake. Not here and not with something so important. „But I think they were not loud enough.“

Your mentor made a curious hum, but by then you had gotten lost in your task and you didn’t speak again.

It took you a month to complete not only the dagger but also an altar and it was your most intricate work to date. It was the sort of thing that would make any mage famous, that would become their life’s work.

You didn’t care about any of that. Not when you had desperate hope clinging to you like moss growing on buildings, trying to dig deep enough into the stone that it could not be removed again without ruining everything in the process.

Of course other necromancers would have tried to lure souls back to the other side with promises and love, but from everything that you had been able to gather, they hadn’t been able to do more than offer a vague feeling to the dead. And so only a small spark of those lost and gone had returned, enough to create zombies but not enough to bring back the dead.

It would take more than that for true revival to work. It would take a shout loud enough to be heard across the divide between life and death, something fierce enough to pierce through the Dark Lady’s protective, gentle embrace.

You left to fetch the bodies of your family and friends first, their bodies kept in perfect stasis through your spell. Returning those bodies to working condition was something that took you long, exhausting days.

It was hard to coax something dead to re-take the shape it had held in life, to re-grow any pieces that had gotten lost, but you managed to do it with your mentor pitching in to cut down on the time you had to spend on the task.

And then the hour of truth came.

„What does it take to bring back the dead?“ your mentor asked as you very carefully and gently laid Iza down on the altar. She had found you first in death, so she would be first to rise.

If she decided to.

You took a deep breath and took hold of the dagger as you answered, „It takes a miracle.“

You raised the dagger to shove it into the symbol of the Dark Lady that you had placed above Iza’s head and you poured all your magic through it, until every line and rune and sigil glowed like captured starlight.

And for lack of a better thing to do, you prayed. To the Gods, to the people you held so very dear, to the force of love itself. Praying that it would be strong enough to overcome all obstacles once more. Like it always did in stories, in the grand tales of brave heroes and kinder morrows.

You prayed for a miracle.

You opened your eyes, unsure when you had close them and the glow faded and the prayer in your mind grew in strength with every heartbeat. Please. Please. Please.

Iza’s chest rose and she opened her eyes, blinking blearily and then she smiled at you, a smile you had only seen in your dreams for far too long. You wept in that moment, crying as hard as you hadn’t been able to when you had found everything and everyone you loved in ruin.

„My dearest friend,“ she whispered and reached up, her warm, warm fingertips brushing away the tears spilling down your cheeks as you desperately, wetly, gasped for air. „It’s so good to see you again.“

You collapsed onto her chest, clinging to her like a child to the promise of love and safety, to the promise that the world was good and kind. Clinging to her because she was back.

She had chosen to come back and if she did, surely so would everyone else.