Death
The air around them was thick with desperation. Brittany’s pulse was weakening in Santana’s arms, her breath shallow and ragged, as though the life was slowly draining from her. Santana could feel it; the curse tightening its grip, the god’s malicious influence taking hold of Brittany in the most unforgiving way possible. No one had been prepared for the moment when the sacrifice would be required, least of all Santana.
It had happened so suddenly; one moment, they had been performing the final ritual, trying to summon the god to negotiate their fate. They thought they were prepared, but the curse had known no mercy. It had reached out and claimed Brittany before either of them could even react.
Santana had screamed. She had begged. She had cried. But the god, in all its ancient fury, had been relentless. It had demanded what it was owed: Brittany’s life. The moment Santana’s soul had screamed out in agony, Brittany had fallen, her body lifeless, her spirit ripped from her as if she had never existed.
Santana had never known a pain like this. It was as though the earth itself had cracked open and swallowed her whole. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing felt real.
Brittany, the woman she loved, was gone. Taken in an instant, and the only thing left behind was an empty shell.
She held Brittany’s body, trembling in the cold silence of the room, not knowing what to do. The air felt thick, oppressive, like the walls were closing in. She had failed her. She had promised to protect her, and now, she was lying there lifeless.
“Santana…”
The voice was weak, so faint it might have been a trick of the mind. But it wasn’t. It was Brittany. The faintest whisper, a breath that barely parted her lips.
Santana shot to her feet, her heart skipping a beat. “Brittany? No, no, please… please come back…”
But Brittany didn’t stir again.
The curse had claimed her. But Santana wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. She had to find a way. There had to be a way. There had to be.
The next few days were a blur, and Santana barely had time to process the weight of the loss. Every waking moment was consumed with the desperate thought of getting Brittany back. She searched tirelessly; pouring over books, seeking out mystics, consulting ancient texts.
But nothing was working. Nothing. She had no more options left. Or at least, that’s what she thought.
Her mind raced as she sat in the corner of her living room, crumpled papers and half-read books scattered around her. The walls seemed to close in, her thoughts spinning out of control. How could she have allowed this to happen? What had gone wrong?
But then, something clicked.
The God.
It had to be the god that had done this to them. That dark, vengeful deity that had disguised itself as Santana’s grandmother had been behind it all along. It had set them on this path from the beginning, pushing them closer and closer to a tragic end. And now, it had taken Brittany.
Santana slammed her fist against the floor. “I won’t let it end like this.”
She had to find the god. She had to confront it, face it. She needed help. But the problem was that the god was cunning. It had been hiding in plain sight for so long. And the worst part was that it wasn’t just some faceless force; it was Santana’s own abuela, her grandmother. The woman who had been so determined to make Santana deny who she was, to make her “normal”, to make her like everyone else. The woman who had disowned her when she had dared to love someone like Brittany.
Her grandmother had always been cruel, but now Santana understood why.
She wasn’t just a bitter, homophobic woman, she was something worse. She was an embodiment of jealousy, a divine being bound by an ancient curse, capable of destroying everything Santana held dear.
Santana didn’t know where to begin. But there was one thing she did know: she couldn’t do it alone. She needed help.
Her first thought was Rachel, of course. Rachel had always been there for Brittany, even when Santana had pushed her away. Even when their rivalry had kept them apart, Rachel had never once backed down from the people she cared about. If anyone had the drive to help, it was her.
“Santana? What’s going on?” Rachel answered the phone, her voice shaky, as if she already knew something was terribly wrong. “What’s happened to Brittany?”
Santana barely managed to keep her voice steady. “Rachel… Brittany’s gone. I need your help. Please.”
Rachel fell silent on the other end. Then, “What can I do?”
Next, she called Quinn. Quinn, who had been there when Santana had fallen apart in the past. Quinn, who had helped her pick up the pieces when things seemed too dark. She was strong, unshakable, and yet there was a softness to her that could understand the kind of loss Santana was going through. If anyone could help her hold it together, it was Quinn.
“I’ll help, Santana. Whatever you need,” Quinn said, her voice a mix of sorrow and resolve. “We’re in this together. I owe it to Brittany.”
Then, she turned to Artie. The quiet, thoughtful one, who had always understood Brittany in a way few others did. He’d loved her once, even if it hadn’t lasted, and their bond had remained strong. He understood the depth of the love Brittany gave, and now, Artie would be just as committed to saving her as Santana was.
Artie answered the phone on the first ring. “Santana… I don’t know what happened, but I felt it. Something’s wrong with Brittany, isn’t it?”
Santana’s voice cracked as she spoke. “She’s gone, Artie. The curse, it took her, and I don’t know how to bring her back. Please, I need your help. We need you.”
Artie paused, and then, with quiet resolve, he said, “We’ll figure this out, Santana. We will. I’ll be there.”
Together, they would try to do the impossible. Santana knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She knew there would be no guarantees. But if they were going to stand a chance of bringing Brittany back, they needed to do this together. They needed all of their strength, all of their love, to defy the curse and the god that had taken everything from them.
As Santana prepared to take on the darkness once more, she couldn’t help but feel the burning determination inside of her. She would get Brittany back. She had to.