A/N: The lengths of these vignettes will vary but will probably, as the story peeks through, grow longer. Thank you for your comments! I really do appreciate them. :)
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(fall from grace)
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"You said you fell in love with me," I wondered aloud. The figure lurking in the shadows made a small movement, the distinction camouflaged by the darkness.
'Blood loss," V said, though he sounded amused. "I think I was in love with the whole of London at that moment."
"Oh." A flicker of disappointment, as quick as the flare of disbelief. I was sober—at least, I was sure I was; I'd only had one obligatory flute of champagne at the meeting tonight—but the night was late enough to be morning and I'd not slept for over forty hours now. My words slurred in my mouth and I could barely keep my heavy head up.
My fingers fumbled for the pins in my hair. A waif in the mirror stared back at me, exhaustion dull in her eyes and the only hint of pleasure in the tug of her lips. Behind her, the shadows wavered again.
"Why didn't you stay in the Gallery?" the ghost asked, sounding curious. "I meant it for you."
"I missed you."
"Ah. That."
There was a pause as I struggled to unclasp my necklace. My fingers were shaking with a mix of weariness and exhilaration. I felt lightheaded, on the verge of flying, perched on the edge of my chair like a sparrow quivering. I could fly, yet. The fall would be magnificent.
"That. Yes. I said I missed you," I repeated, the accusation soft with all the fragility of a secret shared. A step towards the edge of the cliff, one foot in the air. "I still do. Do you even understand that, V? I missed you. I didn't even know I liked you this much till you died."
The specter remained silent. There was movement towards the light, but then he stilled at the edge of the shadows as if it was a threshold not to be passed.
I didn't want to argue. A foot in the air… I brought my head down on the dressing table slowly, before he could answer, and let the weariness lull me like an old lullaby. The shadow came closer as my eyes blurred.
"I'm so tired," I whispered, and we both knew I wasn't talking only of tonight, of raising New England and his revolution. I shut my eyes.
There was only darkness then: half-dreams, warmth, butterfly kisses of cool leather on skin… Someone was fiddling with my hair, loosening it from its styling.
Sleep, Evey, said a voice, and it was familiar and unfamiliar, unremarkable and so terribly haunting— Evey, Evey. Sleep.
I fell.