Elizabeth's smile was faint, but it was warm, the kind that used to make Stella feel like everything would be okay. But now, there was something different—something fragile about it. Like the light in her was flickering, struggling to stay alive.
"My sweet child," Elizabeth whispered, lifting a trembling hand to Stella's cheek.
The moment her skin touched Stella's, a jolt of fear ran through her. Elizabeth's hand was warm—too warm. The redness had spread, creeping up her arm like wildfire, a cruel reminder of the sickness that was consuming her.
Stella swallowed hard, pushing the lump in her throat down as she leaned into the touch. "I'm here, Gigi," she said softly. "I'm back."
She didn't know if she was reassuring Elizabeth or herself.
Gigi's fingers brushed against her skin weakly before falling back onto the bed. She looked exhausted, but the way she gazed at Stella was filled with nothing but love.
"I was waiting for you," Elizabeth murmured.
Stella felt something inside her crack. "I should have come sooner," she whispered, guilt clawing at her.
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "No, my love. You came when you were meant to."
A tear slipped down Stella's cheek. "I don't want to lose you."
Elizabeth's eyes softened. "Oh, my darling girl… we never truly lose the ones we love. I will always be with you."
Her voice broke, and Elizabeth squeezed her hand with the little strength she had left.
"I'm still here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For now, I'm still here."
And that was all it took for Stella to let go of the strength she had been holding onto. She rested her head against the bed, gripping Elizabeth's hand as silent tears streamed down her face.
She didn't care about time, didn't care about anything else in that moment.
All she knew was that she wasn't ready.
She would never be ready.
After Elizabeth drifted back into sleep, Stella stepped out of the dimly lit hospital room, her footsteps quiet against the cold floor. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the distant beeping of heart monitors. She found Mallory standing by the doctor, her expression blank, her posture rigid.
Stella joined them, swallowing the heavy lump forming in her throat.
"We thought she had at least a month," the doctor began, his voice laced with sympathy. "But I'm sorry to say… she only has days left."
Silence.
Mallory didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She only nodded, her face unreadable. Stella mirrored her response, because—what else could they do? No spell, no miracle, nothing in this world could stop time from slipping through their fingers.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, Stella and Mallory returned home to freshen up. The weight of inevitability pressed down on them like an iron chain, suffocating, inescapable.
At the hospital, Agatha sat beside Elizabeth, her wrinkled hands gently resting on her old friend's frail ones. The morning light seeped through the window, painting the room in soft hues of gold.
A raspy breath, then a whisper.
"He's dead… isn't he?"
Agatha's gaze softened. She nodded.
Elizabeth let out a soft chuckle, her weak, trembling fingers barely gripping Agatha's hand. Her eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, held a glimmer of something—understanding, acceptance.
"She's always been that way," Elizabeth murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "She doesn't give up, tries to put on a hardcover, but it shatters quickly."
Agatha's throat tightened. She didn't need Elizabeth's gift of sight to know how much Stella was suffering. She had seen it in the way the girl had moved through the hospital—silent, distant, like a ghost of herself. She had lost too much, too soon.
"She thinks she has to endure it alone," Agatha said, shaking her head. "But she doesn't. We're still here."
Elizabeth exhaled softly, the air rattling in her chest. "It's not about who's here, Agatha. It's about who isn't."
The words hit like a blade, and Agatha looked away, staring at the dim hospital lights flickering above them. She knew Elizabeth was right. Some wounds could never be soothed by the presence of others. Some absences were too vast, too consuming.
"She'll survive this," Agatha finally said, though her voice wavered with uncertainty.
Elizabeth gave a knowing smile, her frail fingers reaching up to pat Agatha's hand. "She will," she agreed, her tone as sure as ever. "But it will change her."
Agatha swallowed hard, dreading the truth in those words. Because when someone loses too much, too fast, they don't just grieve. They become someone else.
As the room fell silent, Agatha sat still, watching over Elizabeth as she slept. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor was a cruel reminder of the little time she had left. Agatha exhaled, her fingers brushing lightly over the frail hand resting on the bed.
She had known Elizabeth her entire life, through every stage—her reckless youth, her wise adulthood, and now, her fragile old age. And yet, in all those years, she had never seen her as weak as she was now.
Elizabeth Adams, the greatest Seer to have ever lived. A woman whose touch could unravel the past and glimpse into the future. A woman who had carried the burden of knowledge for over a century, knowing fates she could never change and tragedies she could never prevent. And now, she was reaching the end of her own story.
Agatha's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"What do you see now, old friend?" she murmured. "Is it peace? Is it the end you wished for?"
Elizabeth didn't stir, her chest rising and falling with slow, uneven breaths.
Agatha clenched her jaw. "You always knew this day would come before any of us. You probably saw your own death long before I ever even thought of losing you."
"Elizabeth Adams…" she whispered, her voice trembling, "you had a beautiful childhood, a beautiful youth—for at least a hundred years. And now, you have finally turned old." Her lips quirked into a bittersweet smile. "My best friend. The most powerful Seer."
The weight of those words settled in the air between them, heavy and unspoken for so many years.
"With all the love in my heart," Agatha murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Elizabeth's knuckles, "I wish you peace. May you leave this world happy."
Because Elizabeth was never a witch.
She was something far greater.
A Seer.
The most powerful one to have ever existed.
And no one had known—no one but Agatha.