"It was two weeks after the day she turned 18…Baby why'd you leave me, why'd you have to go? I was counting on forever, now I'll never know. This can't be happening to me. Everybody's saying he's not coming home now. I can't even breathe…this is just a dream…"
-Carrie Underwood, Just a Dream
Celine Herondale, Pre-City of Bones
His face was a mask of tragedy. Of all the faces, the different expressions of pity or sympathy, his was the only one she really saw. His mouth was moving, forming words, words she couldn't hear because the words she had just heard were echoing too loudly in her head.
Stephen died bravely, Celine. A warrior's death. We're so sorry for your loss—it was a loss to all of us as well. He's not coming home. He's not coming home. He's not coming home. He's not—
But of course he was coming home. This wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. It was some kind of dream—some kind of nightmare. He wouldn't have died, not on some stupid routine vampire raid. He wouldn't have left her! He loved her! They had celebrated her birthday just two weeks ago, and he had kissed her and rubbed her swollen belly and whispered that he loved her so much. So much. People didn't leave the ones they loved. (But they did). A dull, painful ache began to spread through her body, past her stomach and her heart, constricting her throat. She was only eighteen, too young to lose him. And she loved him with the all-consuming adoration of the young, the kind that left no room for logic or thought or practicality. And so she knew, of course, that he couldn't be gone. They would have forever together, like she'd dreamed. This wasn't happening. She nodded solemnly, calmly, to Valentine. She only wanted to get her things before she viewed the body. She ascended the staircase slowly, her mind far, far away. With Stephen.
And then it struck her that this was only a dream. If she were only to wake herself, she'd be with Stephen. She had only to let go of the miserable pretense of this world and she would be eternally happy. Her breath hitched, breaking her dreamlike calm for the first time. She entered the familiar space of the room she and Stephen shared, breathing in his lingering scent, pine and ink and fresh linen, seeing his shadow in every corner. She had potions to help her with the baby cramps. She downed one, then two, off her bedside table, desperately hoping they would numb the growing pain inside of her. They did nothing. The pain pushed its way through her, fighting to escape, to break free of her fragile body. It would be so easy to just let it out, to shed the confining skin that held it in, to wake from this terrible nightmare. Stephen kept Seraph blades—angel blades—in their room. Her fingers grasped the tip of one of his matched pair. She pulled it out of its glassy sheath, and it began to glow dully in her hand. She sank onto the bed she shared with Stephen, poising the tip of the seraph blade against the almost-translucent white skin of her wrist. Stephen's delighted laugh echoed in her ears, his phantom arms encircled her waist. Just a few minutes more, and the phantom arms would be real. Outside, the sun was rising, turning the sky red, pink, orange, gold, illuminating her silhouette and the sharp curve of the Seraph blade.
She opened her left wrist, slicing through the thin skin easily. She didn't even feel it—perhaps it was the potions, perhaps it was because she was only dreaming. Red welled to the surface, spilling out of her far too quickly. Her hand was weak, but the angel blade was so sharp that she was able to maneuver, to cut her other wrist as well, deeply enough that she felt it, despite shaking hands and wobbling wrists. The pain left the rest of her body, flowing like blood to her wrists, and she fell backwards onto her bed, faint from the loss of blood. Now she could feel it, feel it like the tears that were dripping out of the corners of her eyes. A sick sort of satisfaction filled her in place of the pain. She was so close, so very close to him. And then her eyes fluttered closed for the last time, and she slipped across the veil between life and death.
A/N: And on that cheery note…thanks a million to my lovelies: Mads-hatter-15, Antha32, and dewikaka. ALL REVIEWS ARE WONDERFULLY APPRECIATED AND MOTIVATING. I love it when I get favorites, but I wish you guys would also just drop me a line or two about anything. Criticism? Advice? Suggestions? Also, I wish I knew that my old followers were keeping up. Are you guys still out there? I hope I got the creepy feel right in this chapter. This song is perfect for Celine, I think. I got my info from the extra "Jocelyn's Story" on Cassia Clare's website.
Reviews are hilarious Improv Shows!