No.
"Well," She announces, so high above you both, lips twirled up and looking ready to burst with how bruised they are, "It took a while, but it looks as if some NAUGHTY CHILDR-EN are finally done."
Rose.
Rose can still speak, while you are reduced to gurgles and groans, but it's like acid to the heart to hear it.
"How very queenly of you to let us suffer through your awful excuse for obscure puns whilewe bleed to death. I'll be sure to send you a thank-you note on the lovely new stationary I'll be receiving in hell."
That's your girl alright. She worked her ass off to get here in the first place, and you know she's not going out quietly. Some stabs at the batterwitch's dignity will never be out of fashion, of course, but it's completely necessary at this point.
Even if the last laugh is one that spits blood.
"What's this?" Coos the bitch, "I suppose I was wrong. This one's still a little doughy on the inside."
You start to choke on all the mucus and blood gathered at the back of your throat, flailing to move towards her. Your Rose. She won't get her again. This does not go unseen.
"Dave, " She says, sounding exasperated, as if you had just interrupted a good bout of knitting progress, "Stop that now. You'll get a nice kick in the ass for all your trouble if our generous -"
"Rose."
"Dave."
You've dragged yourself to lay on her chest, head rested against her cheek. She strokes your hair with her one working hand, and she takes a shaky breath.
"Your Condesce," She addresses.
"Yes, hurry up."
"Which is better, the first kiss or the last?"
The witch is perplexed by her question, lips raised and eyes lidded in a quiet snarl of disgust. " How should I know? More importantly, why should I tell such a badly-behaved human girl like you?"
Your Rose smiles, teeth pinkened from all the fight she put up, eyes hardly open. "Ah," She mutters carefully, " Then wouldn't you say I should find out myself?"
"What?"
She takes your face in her hands, and you get a nice, long look at her. It hurts to see, but you need it, too. She has always been beautiful, no matter how much your noses look alike, or how close her hair shares it's color to yours.
She turns her head, and your lips meet.
They stick together, red and cut. You can feel your blood trickling into her mouth, down her throat and onto her ruined dress. It used to be her favorite. But now she is covered in it, as it flows from you and into her, your running nose intermingling with it as well. In some vague and disgusting manner, you feel it's beautiful, especially when your tongues brush, for the briefest moment, and you swear you feel like a little piece is missing.
The witch shrieks behind you, "-ENOUGH!"
Perhaps Rose had planned this out, too. Just maybe, she knew you would lose, and the only thing she could do was give you one last kiss for the road and watch your fishy overlord throw a tantrum.
"Oh, yes," she breathes, closing her eyes. "The last is much better."
The witch raises her over-glorified fork.
"Better than your cooking, anyhow."
In that last moment, you hold her tight, squeezing her to the point of pain if only to block out the incoming source.
You cannot say you love her, and she does not need to. You watch the life drain from her eyes and the smile stick to her face, and you know.
You always knew.