Gathering
After Brittany’s death, Santana was consumed by grief and guilt. The pain of losing the one person who meant everything to her was unbearable. She had been manipulated by the curse, forced into making an impossible choice, and now she was paying the price. But there was something else, something she couldn’t let go of.
Brittany wasn’t entirely gone.
Santana felt it in the quiet moments, an almost imperceptible trace of Brittany’s presence still lingered in the space between life and death. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough to bring her back. But it was something, and for Santana, that was all she needed to hold onto.
She couldn’t accept that Brittany might be lost forever. No matter how hopeless things seemed, Santana knew she couldn’t give up. Not when there was even a flicker of Brittany’s soul left behind.
Sitting alone in her living room, Santana surrounded herself with ancient texts and ritual instructions. Her hands trembled as she held the pages, but determination kept her grounded. There had to be a way. Brittany was out there somewhere, and Santana wasn’t ready to let her go.
Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it instantly. Artie was calling. He was one of the few people who understood the depth of her pain, the depth of the bond she shared with Brittany.
“We’re ready,” Artie’s voice came through, steady and sure. “We’ve gathered everything.”
Santana breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I need you.”
Within hours, Santana’s former Glee clubmates had arrived. Artie, Quinn, Rachel, and others had come to offer their help, knowing how much this meant. They may not have understood all of the supernatural forces at play, but they knew one thing; they understood the strength of Santana’s love for Brittany. And that love had moved them to act.
The room was filled with the sound of hurried preparations. Together, they arranged symbols and offerings, preparing for the ritual that might just be their only hope. Some were skeptics, but they were here, standing by Santana, willing to help her fight for Brittany, even if they didn’t fully understand how.
“We don’t have much time,” Santana said, her voice trembling. “We have to try. We can’t lose her.”
Rachel, with her usual determination, stepped forward. “We’re with you, Santana. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
Santana gave a shaky nod. It wasn’t going to be easy. But with them by her side, she wasn’t facing this alone.
The room grew still, save for the soft murmur of chants and the flickering light from candles that seemed to glow with an unnatural intensity. The air was thick with anticipation, but also with something else; something unsettling. As they began, the atmosphere shifted, becoming heavier, darker. It was as if the very walls were closing in on them.
Santana’s heart raced as she tried to steady herself. They had no idea how powerful the forces they were attempting to summon truly were. The curse that had taken Brittany from her was still present, still haunting them, and Santana could feel its weight in every breath she took.
She clutched the ancient texts in her hands, her mind racing. The words were old, powerful, and dangerous. But she couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t give up.
“Keep going,” Santana urged, her voice tight with emotion. “We can’t stop. Not now.”
But as the group continued, something didn’t feel right. The candles flickered violently, the air growing colder. Something wasn’t working.
“Why isn’t it—?” Quinn started, but she was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that extinguished the candles. The room plunged into darkness, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.
Then came the whisper.
Santana’s breath caught in her throat. It was faint, barely audible, but she knew it was Brittany. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she strained to hear more.
“Brittany?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “If you can hear me… please.”
The room remained silent. The air heavy. But there was something there, just beneath the surface. The presence of Brittany’s soul, trapped somewhere between the realms.
“We need more power,” Santana said, her voice filled with quiet desperation. “We need to call on everything we can.”
Artie, looking hesitant but resolute, spoke up. “This is dangerous. We don’t know what’s really out there, Santana.”
Santana turned to face him, her gaze hard and determined. “I’m not losing her. Not again.”
The room seemed to darken further as the ritual continued, the air thick with unspoken tension. The group could feel the presence of something much more powerful than any of them had anticipated; a force not just of magic, but of malice. Santana’s stomach twisted, but she held her ground. The god that had cursed them, that had taken Brittany from her, was here, watching them.
“We can’t stop now,” Santana said, her voice stronger than she felt. “Brittany is out there. We have to reach her.”
As the ritual grew more intense, the flicker of Brittany’s presence grew stronger, faint, but there. It wasn’t enough. Not yet. But Santana wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t.
“Stay with me, Brittany,” Santana whispered into the cold air, the words more to herself than anyone else. “I’m coming for you. I won’t stop.”
The minutes felt like hours as the group worked, pushing their limits, calling upon every force they could think of. But it was clear—this was only the beginning. The curse still held its grip on them, and the god was watching, waiting for them to fail.
Santana refused to believe they would. She couldn’t.
The final hour was approaching, and they were running out of time.