A/N: This is a (possible) ending to the modern Mulan AU. All I can say is I'm sorry. I wanted this in this collection because it is too tragic for Unwrapped, so the song was, again, chosen after. I had the Evanescence version of "My Immortal" in mind for this. I do have plans to write an alternate ending to this, if that makes anyone feel better. WARNING: Character Death.

My Immortal:

You used to captivate me by your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face—it haunts my once pleasant dreams
Your voice—it chased away all the sanity in me

She was dressed to the nines, as they said. The silkin red dress, the color of his eyes, was short and fitted and so soft that it caressed her skin like a lover's touch. The matching patent leather pumps shone like mirrors, shone like the glossy red sheen she had applied to her plump and pouty lips. Her blonde hair, grown out to just above her shoulders, curled enticingly around her cheeks.

"Do you think…" Maka began hesitantly, looking up shyly to Black*Star, her roommate and protector in this strange new life away from the war. "…he'll like it?"

"I think he'll love it," he said throatily, giving her a grin and a hug. She hugged him back, then stepped back and nodded, grabbing a small black clutch.

"Well, then. I'll be home in a few hours." She smiled back and, with a small wave, grabbed a filled canvas bag and strode purposefully out the door. She had a date to keep, after all. A promise was a promise.

The grounds for their meeting were beautiful, meticulously kept, full of shade trees and surrounding three small, picturesque lakes. It was a beautiful day, perfect really. The late afternoon sun, the sky dotted with fluffy clouds. She couldn't have asked for better. Their picnic would be as idyllic as they deserved. Yes, that seemed fitting for a first date.

Upon finally reaching her destination, she stopped for an instant, froze really, but this was no time to freeze, no time to back down, no time to run away. She had made a promise; she would keep her promise. They had set the date months ago, and she was here, as she said she'd be here. She laid out the blanket. She sat down. She waited, looking down at her hands, her emotions running high. She sat there for a while, waiting, just waiting, not sure what else to do. Not sure she could do anything else.

Finally, as she heard the crunch of footsteps, she dared raise her eyes. A man dressed well, with flowers in his hands, met her gaze, then turned away. He was not here for her. No, her date had been here all along. She lowered her eyes to the massive stone before her, white marble, beautiful but cold. Evans, it said in large, even lettering, and below that, Soul Evans. A birth date. A death date. Nothing else, nothing to tell what he had meant to the people who cared for him. Nothing to show who he was. Nothing to show what he had meant to her.

"So," she whispered. "How do I look?" There was no answer, would never be an answer from cold stone and hard packed earth, from soft grass and tall trees. Never from a deep casket and a lifeless corpse.

"I came," she continued quietly, willing her voice not to break, willing the wetness behind her eyes not to fill.

"I kept my promise. I came," she said again, shakily. "So why didn't you?"

This time, she couldn't hold back the wetness and let it spill across her cheeks, warm but quickly cooling, like his body had been in her arms until they'd pried him from her, like his blood had been on her hands as it flowed and flowed and flowed into the French dirt, nourishing their soil with his life, his essence, his very soul. She grabbed roughly at the hem of her dress then pulled her hands away, digging through the canvas sack at her side to out an already opened bottled of wine. She removed the cork and, pulling out a glass, poured one and stood up to set it on top of the headstone before sitting back down to take a pull from the bottle.

She didn't know what to do. She was here, her promise kept. She was here, but this was all wrong. Everything was all wrong and how could it ever be right again when he was gone? Before long, the bottle was gone, and then the glass on the headstone with it. The world was a blur as the sun began to set. They'd come to kick her out soon and she had barely begun, hadn't even said everything she meant to. Even when he was past her reach she couldn't get the words out. She was such a coward.

"You're a bastard, you know that, right Evans? A right ass," she slurred out, biting her lip in thought as she finished. She didn't care about the lipstick smearing on her teeth. It was hazy, but she knew what she needed to say, now. "You were never s'posed to do that, jus' cause you knew I was a girl. It was my m'stake, shoulda been me here. Do you hear me, Evans? It should have been me. I loved you, damnit! Thought ya' knew everythin' but you din't know that, did ya? I loved you, and here I am, fucking crying over you because it should have been me. Why couldn't you have let it be me?" The last was a choked out whisper, the tears falling hot and fast, soaking the front of dress.

"Because he loved you," said a male voice, far too much like his, though more refined. She jerked her head up and started at the man standing in the shadows of a just set sun. His hair was stark, and she gasped.

"S…soul?" she froze, the word stammering from trembling lips. The figure shook his head and stepped closer, away from the shadows.

"No," he said. "I…I wish it were, but no." And yet, there stood his near twin His hair had a little more color, more platinum than stark white, and his eyes were a reddish brown, burgundy really, yet he looked so much like Soul that she began to shake. Neater, maybe, with his expensive suit and perfectly coiffed hair, but even still, the resemblance was uncanny.

"I…" she shook her head, swallowing past the painful lump in her throat, choking down the scream of anguish that threatened to escape every second. He moved still closer, squatting down to meet her gaze and holding out an envelope.

"He wanted you to have this," he said quietly. "His instructions were explicit in the final packet that was sent home, his final effects. This was to be delivered, to you, today." She held out shaky hands, fingertips just brushing the paper, just edging this offering, before he shoved it into her hand and let it go, standing up. Maka turned the envelope over in her quaking palm only to find her name written in his messy scrawl. She looked back up, shaking her head, trying to dam the renewed flood of tears.

"Who…?"

"I'm Wes," he said gently. "Soul… wrote of you often. He really did love you." He paused for a moment and cleared his throat, his gaze straying to the headstone near her. "I attached my contact information. I'll be in town another few days if you need anything, or just want to talk." His voice was even, yet there was a strain there; it was almost undetectable, but his voice was enough like his Soul's that she could hear it behind the strength he wished to convey. She nodded, gulping in air, trying to catch her breath, to restore some small measure of composure. He nodded back then turned around and held his hand up with his back to her in a brief wave. It was a gesture so like his brother that she had to bite back a sob. She forced her gaze back to the letter in her palm and clutched it to her heart. She would read it, but not today. It hurt too much, far too much to consider reading it today. When the figure was out of sight, she let the sobs take over, racking her body and soul. She collapsed in on herself, curling around her newfound treasure, her new found pain, and cried herself to sleep.

When she felt strong arms lift her up, she murmured "Soul.." and cuddled close into his chest. Black*Star didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise, so he stayed silent, tightening his arms around her as he carried her back home.