Hildebrand saw darkness, her arms still out in front of her, holding onto a person who wasn’t there. But she could still feel the certainty of a body in her arms, in the empty shape they held. She kept her trembling hands stiff. If she didn’t open her eyes, she might still convince herself she was dreaming.

  But an orange light seeped into her eyes. She opened them to the light of the sun. It hadn’t risen. And it wasn’t rising. It was still setting. Turning to twilight.

  She was awake. Still laying in the gym where she had been. In a place and time not her own.

  That’s right, she told herself. I was just dreaming.

  It had been a painfully pleasant dream. It still stung, like the ache she felt from chewing on an overly sweet piece of candy. She had given those things up long ago, only enjoying them once again in her perfect world. She always regretted tasting them because she would crave them. Those disgustingly sweet things.

  Hildebrand crossed her arms, vanishing the phantom of the man in her dream. But that was all it was. A dream.

  He was someone who had been, and would never be. Not in this life. Hopefully, he had lived a long life, in another world. And died peacefully in the loving arms of another person.

  Hopefully, his world had moved on. Picked up the pieces and mended them. And forgotten the villain once called a Saintess, who tried to grasp the world in the clutches of her hands. It never did belong in her hands. The same way the man didn’t belong in her arms.

  She was never meant to hold them.

  Like that beautiful little bird the Old Man showed her. A spell of fire with life so fleeting, spent escaping from her clutches. It never did belong in a cage of her making, no matter how hard she tried.

  But she lingered on those things. She still held onto those ghostly things. It was the price of her own selfishness. She knew that very well. It was because she wanted to possess them. She craved them. Because she coveted them. That was why they still haunted her. The man, and the ruined world to which he belonged. They were ghosts she clung to. A curse upon herself.

  Just like the villain of that little fairy tale book she once loved, she was her own greatest tormenter, even now. Death was the story’s only act of mercy towards the villain, delivered by an ironic twist of fate. But the foolish hero was more compassionate, offering a prayer. That a tormented soul might find peace and move on in death. He prayed for deliverance.

  Hildebrand touched her head, finding that she had been robbed of mercy. She was restless. She was stuck in familiar flesh. Stuck in the past.

  She crumbled away the dry blood, brushing it out of her locks. And she took to her feet.

  Dolph and Erika were conversing. Or arguing. Again, about the brain damage. And the doctor’s impending arrival. About the primitive medical knowledge of this world. And about Erika’s responsibility.

  Hildebrand paid them no mind and stepped out the doors of the gym into a dark hallway lined by small windows that escaped the setting sun’s presence.

  “Hilde? Hilde!” Erika called. “Wait!”

  Erika and Dolph both jogged up to her side, but she kept walking. Intent on finding the girl who had given her such a gift so sweet it hurt.

  “Hilde. You shouldn’t be walking around like this.” Erika tried to grab Hildebrand’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

  “Stop,” Erika said, grabbing Hildebrand’s arm. There was a surprising strength behind it.

  “I don’t like her, but she’s right,” Dolph said.

  “Really?” Erika asked Dolph, turning to him. It was the opening Hildebrand needed.

  “My name isn’t actually Hilde,” Hildebrand answered, pulling her arm away.

  Hildebrand shoved open the heavy doors and marched out into the courtyard, abandoning what little was left of her lady-like mannerism. It was chilly, bordering on cold. It wasn’t long until winter. Time was ticking.

  She passed by Roy and Adler, who were smoking under the cloister of the main hall, like sinners hiding the prying eyes of the gods. She heard a familiar irritating “Yo!” but she paid it no mind. She had already spotted her target, Bridgette, sitting on the courtyard fountain’s edge.

  The girl looked haggard and worn. Suddenly thin, like all the life had been sucked out of her. Her eyes were dark, yet so wide that white shored her irises when she looked up. She cradled her arm, the one that had been severed and reattached. The one that struck Hildebrand into the wall.

  It had been strong when it smashed into Hildebrand. Yet now it was weak. What’s the point of using so much strength just to hurt yourself so badly? Hildebrand wondered.

  Bridgette’s face contorted with a mix of emotions, too muddied to tell. But anxiety was ever present.

  “You. I thought I—” She trailed off, breathing a sigh of relief. Only to furrow her brows as she inhaled. “I see you’re fine,” she said. She glowered and shrunk away.

  The girl slouched into her hands, looking defeated and tired. What Dolph had said was true. She was weaker than before. And her stitched arm, pathetically so. It wobbled, just bearing the weight of her own chin, just barely holding it.

  “Go ahead and kill me,” she said. “No one will blame you.”

  She lowered her head into her hands. Offering her neck.

  Hildebrand saw the girl clearly with both eyes. It was the same sight she always saw when she opened her eyes. Despair. The same sight that made her avert her gaze from the world. That made her close her eyes and keep them closed. The same horrible sight that made her find comfort in the dark, where she once saw nothing at all.

  Once again, Hildebrand averted her eyes. Her gaze drifted away into the empty fountain. It was empty, not just of flowing waters, but also of the copper coin she had left.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Ah,” she whispered.

  The coin was gone. And with it, her wish. She had wished for Hugo to be safe, and for his coat to be unscarred. She wished to unburden him from the danger. She wanted the strength to carry the weight of his responsibilities and his feelings.

  It was a meaningless wish.

  I was being silly, Hildebrand thought.

  It carried the sentiments of a ghost. A restless spirit whose story had ended long ago.

  Hugo’s words echoed in Hildebrand’s mind as she grasped her trembling fingers, trying to hold them still. Those ringed fingers molded from divinity adorning the bloody hands of a nameless girl from the slums.

  She touched her skirt, tracing the handle of a small but deadly instrument strapped to her thigh. She had almost forgotten it was there; it had been there so long.

  She touched the knife with all five fingers, hoping those fingers that belonged to the Saintess wouldn’t remember the pattern on it. But they quaked in recognition of the weapon that stabbed the Old Man in the back. The blood seeped through, from one life to another.

  Some things weren’t meant to be.

  Her trembling hands reached out for Bridgette. And took hers.

  Hildebrand took Bridgette’s once-severed hand, and Hildebrand held it tight with both hands. The resigned Bridgette stared. She gazed deeply into Hildebrand’s eyes.

  And Hildebrand saw clearly with both eyes. She saw threads of glimmering gold fluttering about her as a gentle breeze blew through.

  “Let your wounds be healed,” she said.

  A light enveloped Bridgette’s arm. It was gentle, but not dim. Bright, but not harsh. Anyone could see the work of the divine, even without eyes.

  And when it faded, it had taken away the marks and seams of Bridgette’s wound. It even took away stitches left by worldly hands.

  Bridgette’s lips parted with astonishment as Hildebrand’s fingers tapped her chest. But the light had already faded. And the divine’s work had already been done.

  “And your scars too,” Hildebrand said.

  Bridgette raised her arm and squeezed her hand with as much strength as she ever had. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her fingers curled and her hands rose, but she grasped at the air. Searching for the right words to say.

  “Who are you?” were the words that escaped her mouth.

  Hildebrand’s lips parted into a smile that could only be called saintly. But she gave no answer. She took a seat on the fountain’s edge, finding no objection from Bridgette. The girl held her knees stiffly, with outstretched arms, with all their awkward strength.

  They sat in silence as the fire in the sky deepened. Until Bridgette turned her eyes to Hildebrand.

  Hildebrand gazed into Bridgette’s fluttering eyes. They closed and opened. Faded in and out.

  Hildebrand smiled again. To Hugo’s onetime friend. Whom he couldn’t save. Who showed Hildebrand a pleasant dream. And Bridgette smiled back, so her eyes pinched ever so slightly, and her brows lowered gently.

  “Thank you,” Bridgette whispered. She wiped her eyes, laughing slowly. “I thought you were trying to kill me.”

  “Of course not,” Hildebrand said, just short of laughing. “That was a misunderstanding.”

  Bridgette’s fingers fidgeted nervously. And she lost the little nerve to look Hildebrand in the eyes. She buried her face in her hands again. “I’m so stupid.” She dragged her fingers across her forehead, bringing them over her eyes. “I overheard what Dolph said, and I got scared.”

  “Dolph can be a little weird,” Hildebrand said. “He’s still just a boy. You know how they are. Always sizing everything up. Dogs. Wolves. You should be honored,” Hildebrand said. “You’re stronger than a bear. And most of the boys in class.”

  Bridgette lifted her head out of her hands, wearing a weary smile, laughing stiffly.

  “Do you have any brothers?” Hildebrand asked.

  “Yeah. An older brother,” she said, her voice quieting. “He’s not around anymore…”

  “Oh,” Hildebrand cooed. “I’m sorry.”

  “He renounced the family name and ran off to open a flower shop in the city.”

  “Haha,” Hildebrand laughed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Actually…” Bridgette said, pressing her hand to herself. “I was the one who was always sizing everything up.”

  “Ah,” Hildebrand said. “I see why you’re Erika’s friend. A couple of tomboys.”

  “Actually…” Bridgette said, quieting again. “She bullies me at work…”

  Hildebrand gasped. “What?”

  “I mean—she doesn’t torment me. But I have to do all the work on the farm,” Bridgette said. “She’s lazy.”

  “I’ll tell her to be mindful,” Hildebrand said.

  “Thanks.” She fidgeted with her fingers, pinching each finger on her healed hand. There was a mix of excitement and anxiety, still. “I—” she started, but stopped. “I’m…”

  Hildebrand placed a hand on the girl’s back and stroked it. As softly as a feather. “You must be tired,” she said, giving Bridgette a gentle push. “Go rest.”

  She did as she was told, stopping just momentarily to whisper a “I’m sorry.”

  Hildebrand waved as the girl became a speck, disappearing into the dorms.

  And then she sat. And she lingered at the fountain. She watched as the late diners trickled out of the dining hall and back to their rooms, their necks turning as they stole glances at Hildebrand. She watched as they all vanished. As the sun sank deeper still.

  She nodded to Erika, who, after loitering by the cloister where Roy and Adler smoked, announced she was retiring for the night. She retired with an uneasy expression on her face.

  Hildebrand sat and waited until she was alone. She sat through an eternal twilight, the longest she had ever experienced.

  “Hilde?” a voice called. An annoyingly familiar one.

  “Please,” she said.

  She wasn’t the one Hugo was looking for and could never be. She wasn’t Hilde, and she wasn’t meant to be.

  “Don’t call me—"

  Hildebrand turned to face her caller, only to catch golden locks in her face. She ran her fingers through her glimmering golden hair, brushing it behind her ears, and out of her eyes, only for it to fall back into place, framing her face.

  She saw clearly, with both eyes.

  There stood a ghost.

  The wind blew the hair out of his eyes. And some impossible, stray beam of fading sunlight came over the horizon to light his chestnut hair ablaze into a fiery red. Lights danced in his green eyes, creating the impression of emeralds.

  Hildebrand’s smile faltered. Her eyelids drew lower. But she couldn’t bear to close her eyes at the sight of him.

  Others came out of the dining hall to join the young man’s side. First Anya. Then the raven-haired beautiful boy with ruby-red eyes. Even Greg came out, hovering by the others opposite of Hildebrand. It was a familiar sight.

  But there was one more character, making a late entrance.

  Priscilla ran up, calling for her loyal hound. “Wait, D,” she said, running up to his side to cling to his arm. She caught Hildebrand’s gaze, and Hildebrand hers. She gasped. “Who is that?” she asked.

  “Hilde,” D announced.

  Hildebrand glanced at D.

  He was tall but shrinking. Small at heart, with timid fingers gripping tight, but lurched like a great beast.

  He was the spitting image of two ghosts that haunted her. The foolish Hero whom the Saintess couldn’t hold, but clung onto. And the boy from the slums. A ghost from long ago. Whose timid fingers once held a nameless girl’s hand, but she couldn’t hold on to.

  But Priscilla held those timid fingers tightly. And they held her hand back. She held onto D like she would never let go. Hopefully, she never would.

  Hildebrand couldn’t help but flutter her eyes, falter her gaze at the sight. The sight of them. If she didn’t close her eyes now, the sight would haunt her too. So she closed her eyes, shutting them tight. Letting them adjust to the dark.

  And she opened them anew, like waking after a long sleep, so the last light in the sky in all its meager glory would blind her.

  “Please don’t call me that. My name isn’t actually Hilde…” Hildebrand said.

  As the sun sank, the fiery light disappeared. The twilight had lasted so long, yet dusk came and went in the blink of an eye. And darkness swallowed the starless sky. The courtyard lanterns had yet to activate their magic. Even the lights indoors seemed to dim until they turned black.

  She could see their faces again, but for a moment.

  Hildebrand smiled perfectly. Her golden hair glimmered, even without reflecting the sun. Watchful eyes reflected her visage, like she was the only light in the world.

  She remembered the look. The sight of captive souls in the palm of her hands. She once wanted to possess them, to grasp them tight and never let them go. Now she wanted those eyes to look away. To close.

  She couldn’t stand the sight of the ghost reflected in them. The sight of herself. A ghost of the past, a future that would never arrive.

  She placed her hand to her chest. And tilted her head, making an introduction.

  Some stories were already penned. Some characters had already met their end. Some souls couldn’t move on. Some hands couldn’t let go. Some things weren’t meant to be.

  “My name is Hildebrand,” she said. “The Saintess.”

  Some villains weren’t meant to be redeemed.