Candles
Disclaimer: I wish I owned it, but wishing is all I do.
A/N: God, I loved this show. I've done nothing but listen to the incomparable soundtrack and write today, and that's the beauty of it. There's so much to be said about Penny Dreadful, its stellar cast, its poignant writing, and its beautiful cinematography. But I'm gushing and you didn't come here to read that... This story is dark and full of spoilers. If you haven't seen the finale, please don't read this until you have! It is a character introspection of that oh-so-beautiful Vanessa/Ethan scene in the final episode from Vanessa's POV. Reviews are love.
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She stands, like a bride waiting at the altar for a husband who will never arrive to marry her. The room is silent; clean, white, and shivering despite the hundreds of candles burning their way down to their wicks. She stares blindly at them, beginning to wonder if she herself is candle-like. Soft, yet infinitely durable, burning down and melting whilst keeping the flame alive. Perhaps, she wonders, it is time to let the wick burn out.
She hears the echoing footsteps, soft at first and then inexplicably deafening, pulling at her already overworked heartstrings. She is ready, though. Ready for one final battle, for one last, lingering lovers kiss. He has come to save her, of that she is certain. The only thing he doesn't know, however, is that saving her is not going to come quite so easily this time. She has become the very thing they all feared she would be and now day has turned to perpetual night and the stars of their entwined destinies are veiled. So veiled, in fact, that he does not yet understand that her life is a lost cause.
She knows it – has known it – since the very moment that she first understood her attacker, her claimant, her husband. His words had been poison, a canker spreading deep through her soul. But they had been a poison that she had been ready to swallow, a canker whose spreading blackness she had welcomed. Her acceptance of him, of herself, had sent her to an oblivion that she was happy to reside in, sinking into crushing darkness that enveloped her like the embrace of a long-lost friend. Until she heard his name again.
The sound of the footsteps ceases and she knows that her time has run out, that he is here and the prophecy that she had feared for so long and only came to understand of late is ready to be fulfilled. Her destiny will play out, here in the white room. How fitting, she remarks silently, what undeniable irony that she will end her days in a tiny, clinical room. But she will no longer be a broken thing. He will heal her, save her, kill her.
It cuts her deeper than she intends it to; seeing him. His hair is shorn and she longs to run her hands through the thick stubble that has been left untouched, she longs to run to him, to throw herself into his arms and fall, fall into the abyss without a care. But she doesn't. She is a creature of the industrial age; of steel forged in fire and blood. She remains calm and impassive, the very picture of serenity as she faces her condemned angel.
Speeches of valour and fealty follow, just as she expected. His promises to protect her and serve her are no different to that of the creature who stole her soul, but they feel much more solid. For this one, shining moment, she can see once again the vision that Lucifer had presented her with: a bright, sunlit room filled with the laughter of children and the earthy smell of her beloved, his strong arms wrapped firmly and safely around her. For that one moment she can pretend that the last few years have all been some terrible recurring nightmare and that he had not run from the offer of her heart because she was cursed; tainted and unclean.
She gathers her courage, whatever is left of the fight within her, and explains the truth. She watches his expression change, once stoic and determined to pleading and desperate, as she tells him of their true destiny and the meaning of his role as the Hound of God. He must save her, free her. Yes, that much is true. But the saving and freeing of her can only pertain to her tired, fragile soul. He begs her, pleading with her to not ask what she has already insinuated. Her slender fingers reach out to his holster and she takes a step towards him, willing herself forward, to take him in one last time before she ends the battle that her life has become. She hands him the gun, the smooth marble of the handle cool against her palm as she slips in into his, smoothing his rough calluses before kissing him gently. A farewell, a forgiveness, a declaration of undying love.
Words fail her as she awaits the snap of the bullet as it is propelled into her body, but he is no longer fazed. The determination has returned to his eyes, knowing that his love for her will carry him through this terrible deed and out to salvation. He begins a recitation she knows all too well: The Lord's Prayer.
The bullet, when it comes, slices through her skin like a knife through butter. Heaven opens its gates to her and she can finally see everything she has been fighting for, the reason why she has tortured herself for years on end. She can taste freedom, even as the feeling of Ethan's strong arms slips away from her, and the horror of what her body has become fades away. The candles flicker softly, reflecting faintly in his tears. She closes her eyes as she finally feels like Vanessa has come back to her again. Death is a sweet release. She is home.