“What happens after? If we succeed?”
“The transformation stops, presumably.”
“No, I mean... after. Do we just... go back to normal?”
“Nothing about this has been normal.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do. She’s asking if we’ll remain connected. If this forced proximity means anything beyond duty.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Oh.”
“Do you want to? Remain connected?”
She considers, and I find myself holding my breath despite not needing to. I notice her hand is slightly more translucent than an hour ago—I can see the faint outline of bones through her skin.
“I don’t know either. You’re very tall and formal and you make terrible jokes?—”
“They’re not jokes.”
“—and you haven’t eaten in four days apparently?—”
“Now five.”
“That’s worse! But also...” She pauses. “You make me feel safe. Which is weird because you’re literally made of winter and could probably kill me with a thought.”
“I would never.”
“I know. That’s what makes it weird. I trust that. I trust you with my physical safety completely. It’s everything else that’s scary.”
“Everything else?”
“Feelings. Connection. Trusting someone to hold on when things get hard.”
“The ceremony.”
“Not just the ceremony. After. What if I can’t hold on? What if I’m not strong enough?”
“You are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. You’ve held on through everything so far.”
“That’s different. That was just surviving. This is...” She trails off.
“Choosing to hold on,” I finish. “Rather than having no choice.”
“Even for immortal ice beings?”
“Especially for immortal ice beings. We have more time to lose people when we let go.”
I look at her translucent hand again—the change is accelerating. But she doesn’t seem distressed. If anything, she seems more at ease than she has since this started.
“Rianne, the translucency?—”
