Two girls. Two soldiers. Two warriors. Two pale, tear streaked faces. Two widows.
Amelie stared, not uncompassionate, at the two young women asleep on the floor. Curled up, with their arms wrapped tight around each other even in sleep, she was yet again astounded at their strength. Although what other option they had, but to be strong, she did not see. The world was a different place to what it had been two years ago.
"She watched as Fallon pulled out a copy of the abhorrent machine she had heard so much about from Myrnin, who had confessed to allowing Claire to build it, if under good intentions. From a human standpoint, at least. She wasn't surprised when he pointed it at her. The amount of energy it was giving off was detectable even to her, who was stood at least three feet away. He pushed the trigger, but before anybody could react, a body threw itself in the path of the effects. For a moment, she assumed it had been Oliver. The height was similar, as was the shape. But it was in fact, Morley. For some incomprehensible reason, he had seen fit to protect her. Still, no time for hesitation. Even as she thought it, Oliver was moving, grabbing Fallon, ripping the gun out of his hands, shattering it into a thousand pieces over his knee.
It cost him his life.
The Daylighter who had pulled Lady Grey up to the stage pulled out a silver stake and attempted it to drive it into Oliver's chest. He easily grabbed it and threw the man off the stage. It would have ended there, had Fallon not rediscovered his courage. Like herself, he was not expecting it and this error allowed Myrnin's failure to pick up a discarded stake and put it in his back. Oliver may have survived that, at least for a while, had he not pulled it back out… which triggered the release of the liquid silver solution inside."
A man calling her name brought her back to the present. She turned, and saw Myrnin in the doorway. The spider, as some of the humans called him, had drastically changed since the beginning of the war. The madman was gone, and in his place stood a general. Black clothes, black hair, pulled into a practical tail at the back of his head. Some wisps had escaped and framed his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and cool grey eyes. Grey, like Oliver's. She felt something then, not akin to what she felt when her beloved Sam died, but something deeper. Sam had been part of her life for less than a century, much of which she had regretfully spent at a distance. Oliver… he had been there almost from the beginning.
"What is it, Myrnin?" Although she spoke softly, Claire stirred, lifting her head up. As she watched, Amelie saw the first few moments of confusion, before the bliss of ignorance was lifted and reality entered once again. The reality of the war. Of the loss of allies. Of the loss of her husband.