She is eighteen years old, and she is dying.
It's the most transient of intervals, the space of two fluttering heartbeats or that short-lived glow of a candle's flame freshly snuffed out. Between the Ogre's first bone-shattering slam and the second one, she is dying she is dying and just like that the dying part is over with - the scary part is done.
And as the beast carelessly tossed her corpse aside she couldn't help but think, quite relieved: Well, that wasn't too bad.
"I'm glad you think so."
A lily-white hand reached down to help her to her feet, and she took it, standing with something like a full-body shiver. The hand was connected to a lily-white woman with black hair like a storm-cloud, and she looked from the silver sigil down to her own mortal remains with dawning realization.
"Oh, the Maker has an awful sense of humor. I never did get to have sex."
"Not everyone does."
Bethany chuckled weakly. "Yes, but not everyone knows what they're missing." For the thought of dying a virgin was somehow worse than the thought of being dead.
"Well, it's not always hearts and flowers. Sometimes it's awkward. Or messy. Or awkwardly messy. And the faces you make can be terribly funny."
"Still – it would have been nice." Bethany sighed, and, looking up at last, she noticed with fierce satisfaction that the Vallens and her family had prevailed. As they approached her fallen form, Bethany could see how desperately Marian was trying to hold it together for Mother, and Carver -
Carver was looking at them.
His mouth was partially open in a rictus of disbelief, blinking rapidly as his eyes tried to convince him what his brain stubbornly insisted could not be true. He was standing close enough that she could touch him, though Bethany knew that if she tried her hand would pass right through.
"Twins always know." Death said softly, as if speaking from experience.
Her brother; her twin, and therefore half of her. No wonder he could see them - part of him has died as well.
For the first time since the pain ended, anxiety flooded her, and she pleaded at Death with hopeful eyes. "They're be all right, won't they? Mari's always tried to put on a brave front, and Carver, oh, Carver he can be such an idiot at times that I - "
"It wasn't all for nothing, Bethany. I promise." Death's smile radiated like sunshine. "Are you ready?"
She nodded, pulled into Death's embrace, and the last thing Bethany felt was being nestled by comforting, feathery wings.
He is twenty years old, and he is dying.
It wasn't the creep of the Blight that told him, as it forged slowly, painfully, through his veins, but that he could see her, again. She lingered, a hazy presence just beyond the periphery of his vision, like an old childhood imaginary friend, and whenever he might turn his head to try to catch sight of her she only smiled and faded away.
"Don't go," He begged, throat burning with thirst.
"I'm right here. I'm here, Carver." His sister's voice trembled, barely masking the panic beneath. "We're almost there, just hold on." And he shook his head wearily, knowing she wouldn't understand.
It's funny. He'd spent so long bemoaning his state of constantly being defined as the non-mage sibling he had forgotten his other label as twin, and between the two of them his younger sister definitely got the more merciful ending.
His sister; his twin, and therefore half of him - Why won't she claim the rest?
His skin felt hot, too hot, and his eyes ached with the effort of seeing as Marian bid him a tearful goodbye. Muscles screamed, and teeth shuddered whilst the Wardens bear him away, walking and walking with her beside him, just dancing out of reach. He is dying, he is dying, and -
They gave him a chalice of darkspawn blood, and they told him to drink.
"I'm here, Carver." Death said.
He exhaled, quite relieved. One way or another it would be over with.
The cup clattered to the floor as he doubled over, the blood frothing and twisting and changing, and when Death finally stepped forward she took him by the face, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Be seeing you." She smiled, and then she was gone.
He is now thirty years old, and still dying.
