("She's gone, Jacob.")
.
.
Briar dies on a sunny day, and it's kind of beautiful.
Her eyes don't see anything. There's no smile playing on those rosy lips and her skin, while once radiating warmth, is now just as washed out and grey as any other corpse. When Jake holds her to him, her neck is at an unnatural angle and her left arm is bent all the wrong ways. But she is still beautiful. She is still beautiful with her limp body and glassy eyes, because she died for the person she loved, and like all good tragedies before her, it was all for naught;
.
.
(maybe even less, because)
.
.
Jake dies on a rainy day, and it's kind of beautiful.
He hates himself even as he buries himself in her hair, in the crook of her neck, in the ground, digging away with the shovel. He knows it's for the casket, it's for her, but he can't help but feel that it's his own grave that he's dug. And then he realizes. There's not a moment of hesitation when he shuts the lid on (forever) Sleeping Beauty's coffin,
.
.
(no wavering as he fills the hole with regrets and dirt and hollowness,)
.
.
because he's laid to rest not just his love, but himself, too.