It should be off-putting to see blood that colour, but it was part of Lexa and every part of Lexa was beautiful. The blood that flowed through her body kept her alive, kept her breathing and when it was just the two of them, kept her heart beating for Clarke only.
Clarke loved to paint with black ink more frequently now, a colour most people thought it reminded them of death and darkness – a dull and cold colour – but for Clarke it reminded her of the essence of life.
It reminded her of the time the hilt of Aden's sword connected with Lexa's face during training. Clarke had expected anger from the Commander, or shock that the boy could get close enough to hurt her like this, but seconds later Lexa's face stretched into a smile, blood trickling from the corner of her lips, the white of her teeth stained black with blood, a proud look on her face.
It reminded her of the times Lexa stumbled into their bedroom covered with wounds, both superficial and deep, black blood seeping into her already dark coloured clothes, colour matching her war paint. It reminded her Lexa's heart was still beating, strong and steady, loud against her ears and pulsing beneath her fingertips, and Clarke had been tasked at keeping it alive, keeping her alive ever since the moment their eyes met and they exchanged their first words.
So Clarke painted in black now, flowers and trees black as night, silhouettes and lines coming to life. Black slowly became her favourite colour, right next to the different shades of Lexa's eyes.
Despite the wounds that Clark knew to be fatal, she thought Lexa still looked utterly beautiful – blood flowing freely onto the green grass colouring the ground beneath them black, sweat beading across her forehead, hands and neck covered with her own blood and somehow the war paint around green eyes had managed to remain impeccable during combat.
The Commanders of Blood and Death were surrounded by a circle of their most trusted warriors and friends, fighting off the last of their enemies while the lovers said their goodbyes. Clarke was vaguely aware of the fight around her but she didn't care, she trusted Bellamy with his gun, Octavia with her sword, Indra with her fists, and Lincoln with his bow and arrow. Even if somebody threw an axe across the field and struck her in the back, the ache in her chest at the sight of Lexa's shallow breaths and fading eyes would definitely be greater than any pain she'd have to endure.
The puddle surrounding the Commander grew larger by the second, as if it had transformed into a black hole that would suck Lexa into the void any second now and leave Clarke behind. She grasped onto shoulders, neck, face, anywhere she could get a hold off, in case Lexa would just slip from her fingers and disappear forever.
"You have my heart, Clarke. I will find you in the next life," Black liquid coated pale lips with a cough, down equally pale cheeks and joining the puddle below. "And the next."
"No, do not leave me, Lexa. I need your spirit to stay where it is, in this life." Clarke shook her head in denial, she could sense death looming, a sickening stench that filled her nostrils and made her guts twist in dread, horror and heartbreak.
When Lexa blinked twice and then her eyes remained close the third time, Clarke shook her with a bit of force, causing green eyes to return to Earth. Clarke needed more time, they hadn't gotten enough of it in this life together. She'd spent far too much time resenting Lexa for the Mountain and for stealing her heart. She needed a lifetime of gentle touches on her cheeks, kisses along her jaw and limbs tangled up in bed. She needed more time before saying goodbye.
Minutes felt like seconds. The fight around them was over, the Trikru and Skaikru victorious once again but neither Clarke nor Lexa could tell, stuck in the bubble of painful silence, trembling hands and inevitable goodbyes. Lexa's jaw had been clenching in pain ever since she fell to the ground, but right this second, looking into Clarke's eyes, the agony in her own eyes were gone, replaced by a layer of serenity and acceptance.
Lexa knew today was the day death would come knocking.
Her lips quivered as she attempted to smile, her teeth stained black and silent tears trailed down her cheeks and into her hair.
"You need to say it." Lexa's cold hand pried Clarke's trembling ones off of her stomach wound, clutching tightly. Her words sounded more sober than ever.
"No, I can't."
"Beja, Klark." Lexa pleaded weakly as another cough almost sent her over the edge of death and afterlife.
Clarke whimpered, her body wracked with waves of sobs. She was too focused on the dying girl to see her comrades tearing up, lumps lodged in their throats. Indra's knees gave out – exhausted from all the fighting and killing and her steel heart cracking open at the sight in front of her – and she landed on the grass with a thud, looking up at the Gods, praying for Lexa to rest in peace and to let the Commander's spirit find them in the next life.
Clarke took a second to try and compose herself, wiping snot from her nose with the sleeve of her jacket and breathed out shakily into the cold night's air. She willed herself to say those words Lexa wanted to hear, needed to hear, but she needed to say something else first.
"Ai hod yu in, Leksa."
Grey eyes warmed and morphed into the familiar green ones Clarke fell in love with, but only for a second. Clarke would've missed it if she blinked.
"I love you too, Clarke."
A fresh wave of tears clouded her vision but Clarke was quick to wipe them away.
"Yu gonplei ste udon."
The last of the brunette's tears rolled down her cheeks, a peaceful smile on her face as she finally closed her eyes in exhaustion.
Clarke pushed her forehead against Lexa's, so close that her breaths hit Lexa's cold and pale cheeks, their noses brushing, but she didn't feel Lexa's own breathing against her lips like she'd experienced many times before.
This time her tears fell onto Lexa's cheeks as she kissed blood stained lips one last time.
"May we meet again."
Clarke could barely look at the colour black every time she paints, even though she barely did that anymore. The colour reminded her the blood of the woman she loved, warm and sticky on her skin like she'd dipped herself into a tub of black paint, and how she'd returned to their bedroom in Polis hours after Lexa's death and sobbed into bloodstained hands.
She'd paint with orange and yellow and purple and blue, but never the colour of grey green eyes and black. Paintings that were once dark yet full of life became bright yet emotionless. None of the colours felt right. Clarke couldn't understand how bright and beautiful colours looked so dull compared to the countless black portraits she'd created in the past.
She just had to come to terms that no matter how much she used to love the colour black, she could never paint with that colour anymore.