Author's Note: This was originally going to be posted in Fragments, but, well. It seemed to deserve its own space. Anyhow, it's inspired by an utterly gorgeous piece of fanart by krt033 on Tumblr, that I don't think FF will let me link to. (The artist does not want their work reposted, thus no cover image.) There's a link on my AO3 (I'm Glowbug there) or just search the tags on the blog. It's really lovely and the whole blog is full of Layton art, go see.
And now, the fic. Don't hate me for ripping your hearts out, folks. :)
She sinks into the lake—no longer covered in ice, now—but she does not fear drowning. She has never had a heartbeat, has never needed air.
She is dying anyway.
The water is cool against her skin, soothing. Her hair drifts out around her in a cloud.
Goodbye, Professor Layton. Goodbye, Luke.
Goodbye, Professor Sycamore, and Raymond, and Emmy, and Keats.
The last dregs of power of the Azran sanctuary fizz through her like the bubbling drink Luke convinced her to try in San Grio, and blend with the sunlight filtering down through the water. A small fish swims close enough to touch; she runs clumsy fingers along its fins and it flees in alarm.
Say hello to Luke for me.
She is not quite sure how she saved them, only that, seeing those terribly still bodies, feeling the golems fall from the sky, her entire being had cried out for it. (Her soul? Does she have a soul?)
(She has a purpose. She has her own purpose. It is enough.)
She still would have taken Luke's hands, if she could have. Would have cried with him, if she could have. There is so much she would have said to him, to all of them, if there had been time. If there had been time.
There's never enough time, a voice whispers, and someone takes her hand, not there in the lake but in another realm entirely. Especially not in love. There will always be lost futures.
You'll see them again, Aurora. But now it's time to go.
Yes. But one last look—
Aurora lifts her face up toward the mirror-like surface of the lake. The debris has started to sink, and she can see the orange light of sunset. And if there is a dark shape at the lake's edge that might be a hat—or a splash of dirt-streaked yellow—or a small, warm hand reaching out to ripple the water—then perhaps some good has come from the Azran Legacy after all.
What a wonderful gift, to be human. Aurora closes her eyes, and smiles.
