The portal was still there.
Of course it was still there. Why shouldn't it be? Marlena eyed it nervously, then glanced back towards the entrance to the alleyway. She wondered if anyone else had stumbled upon it, if they'd found the beach. No one was nearby.
A month ago, she wouldn't have chanced it. Portals were funny things; she didn't want to risk her baby. And she'd been right, not that there was any triumph in that little victory. Now there were no dietary considerations, no hazardous materials to avoid for anyone's sake but her own. She'd even bitterly considered going to find Nyphetai and asking the woman to show her how to use an infernal stone, just because she could now; but the warlock had vanished without a trace, along with her demons and shards of souls.
Marlena had never felt any ill effects from using the portal before, all the times she'd gone back and forth from the beach. Even the Nexus had done no harm to her. She didn't understand how the Nexus worked, or even what it was; all she knew was that she'd slipped into it, and it had taken her baby. Maybe, she thought, the baby was still there, and if she went back in at the right place and the right time, she could find him again.
Him? It was a fetus, a nonsapient lump of tissues and stem cells, she reminded herself harshly, blinking hard against sudden tears. Well. There was the portal, and on the other side...
She could feel the difference before she opened her eyes. (She always stepped through the portal with her eyes closed, and she wasn't sure why. Perhaps she was afraid of what she might see if she looked between the worlds.) The air was dreamlike on the beach. In the summer there was no shock of temperature change, but there was humidity, and salt-scent, and the dry rustle of distant palm fronds and the closer assorted leaves of Harold's tree.
The tree filled her vision, and a smile spread irresistibly across her face. She remembered sitting up there with Harold, listening to his humming and trying to harmonize, falling asleep leaning half on him, supported by the tree's branches. The house, with its glow-in-the-dark stars, where she'd spent weeks preparing to leave, and left her bequests for her beloved friends.
She was sitting on a branch, halfway up, before she'd realized she'd started climbing. Here was where she and Harold had sat the first time she climbed. She looked around at the beach, mentally mapping the deserted expanse of sand. There was where the old beanbag had been, before it faded from memory due to disuse, and the rose garden that had long since lost its sweet scent, as those who enjoyed the blossoms ceased coming to the beach.
There, she had listened to children's stories with Alex and Emma. Over there was where Spock had saved her life the first time; there, the second. That dune was where Christine used to set her beach chair; only a few yards away, Kevin and Ephram had declared their love for each other.
Tears blurring her vision, she stood up on her branch and climbed higher, up to the treehouse. The hinges creaked as she pushed open the door, and she coughed as dust swirled into the air. No one had been in there, she saw. The hat sat in its place of honor, thick dust dulling the cunning colors of its tassel. She picked it up, brushed it off, and carefully set it down again.
Outside the house, she stared up at the sky. What time was it? It occurred to her she'd never seen the sun set on the beach. She climbed down the tree as the sky flushed pink and red, the sun reflecting brilliantly off the water.
She remembered the days she'd spent swimming. There had been no sunsets then; there were the days of being, and the nothing between them. Marlena shuddered. No wonder she'd swum out to sea.
She sat in the sand and stayed, waiting until the last sliver of sun sank beneath the surface of the sea. There was a momentary flash of green, then dusk began to fall in earnest. The sand beneath her began to cool as the sky darkened, and she ran it through her fingers, marveling. It had only ever been warm, heated by a still sun in a clear blue sky. Night had never, ever fallen before.
There was no reason why not. No one had ever thought to handwave it before, that was all. Well, she'd done it now. If anyone wanted to change it, it would be simple enough for them to handwave morning again.
She would leave that option, for anyone else who might find the beach. It would be cruel not to; it wasn't her beach to take away, regardless of whether it was ever used. But for her, night had fallen.
One last handwave, a simple one. As she stepped through the portal, she closed it behind her. The easy, cavalier hops between universes were finished. She would not lose any other part of herself to the gap between worlds.
Of course it was still there. Why shouldn't it be? Marlena eyed it nervously, then glanced back towards the entrance to the alleyway. She wondered if anyone else had stumbled upon it, if they'd found the beach. No one was nearby.
A month ago, she wouldn't have chanced it. Portals were funny things; she didn't want to risk her baby. And she'd been right, not that there was any triumph in that little victory. Now there were no dietary considerations, no hazardous materials to avoid for anyone's sake but her own. She'd even bitterly considered going to find Nyphetai and asking the woman to show her how to use an infernal stone, just because she could now; but the warlock had vanished without a trace, along with her demons and shards of souls.
Marlena had never felt any ill effects from using the portal before, all the times she'd gone back and forth from the beach. Even the Nexus had done no harm to her. She didn't understand how the Nexus worked, or even what it was; all she knew was that she'd slipped into it, and it had taken her baby. Maybe, she thought, the baby was still there, and if she went back in at the right place and the right time, she could find him again.
Him? It was a fetus, a nonsapient lump of tissues and stem cells, she reminded herself harshly, blinking hard against sudden tears. Well. There was the portal, and on the other side...
She could feel the difference before she opened her eyes. (She always stepped through the portal with her eyes closed, and she wasn't sure why. Perhaps she was afraid of what she might see if she looked between the worlds.) The air was dreamlike on the beach. In the summer there was no shock of temperature change, but there was humidity, and salt-scent, and the dry rustle of distant palm fronds and the closer assorted leaves of Harold's tree.
The tree filled her vision, and a smile spread irresistibly across her face. She remembered sitting up there with Harold, listening to his humming and trying to harmonize, falling asleep leaning half on him, supported by the tree's branches. The house, with its glow-in-the-dark stars, where she'd spent weeks preparing to leave, and left her bequests for her beloved friends.
She was sitting on a branch, halfway up, before she'd realized she'd started climbing. Here was where she and Harold had sat the first time she climbed. She looked around at the beach, mentally mapping the deserted expanse of sand. There was where the old beanbag had been, before it faded from memory due to disuse, and the rose garden that had long since lost its sweet scent, as those who enjoyed the blossoms ceased coming to the beach.
There, she had listened to children's stories with Alex and Emma. Over there was where Spock had saved her life the first time; there, the second. That dune was where Christine used to set her beach chair; only a few yards away, Kevin and Ephram had declared their love for each other.
Tears blurring her vision, she stood up on her branch and climbed higher, up to the treehouse. The hinges creaked as she pushed open the door, and she coughed as dust swirled into the air. No one had been in there, she saw. The hat sat in its place of honor, thick dust dulling the cunning colors of its tassel. She picked it up, brushed it off, and carefully set it down again.
Outside the house, she stared up at the sky. What time was it? It occurred to her she'd never seen the sun set on the beach. She climbed down the tree as the sky flushed pink and red, the sun reflecting brilliantly off the water.
She remembered the days she'd spent swimming. There had been no sunsets then; there were the days of being, and the nothing between them. Marlena shuddered. No wonder she'd swum out to sea.
She sat in the sand and stayed, waiting until the last sliver of sun sank beneath the surface of the sea. There was a momentary flash of green, then dusk began to fall in earnest. The sand beneath her began to cool as the sky darkened, and she ran it through her fingers, marveling. It had only ever been warm, heated by a still sun in a clear blue sky. Night had never, ever fallen before.
There was no reason why not. No one had ever thought to handwave it before, that was all. Well, she'd done it now. If anyone wanted to change it, it would be simple enough for them to handwave morning again.
She would leave that option, for anyone else who might find the beach. It would be cruel not to; it wasn't her beach to take away, regardless of whether it was ever used. But for her, night had fallen.
One last handwave, a simple one. As she stepped through the portal, she closed it behind her. The easy, cavalier hops between universes were finished. She would not lose any other part of herself to the gap between worlds.