Sometimes, in the mornings, Helissent would sleepily reach out for the warmth next to her, patting the bed next to her in search of its form. Under her fingertips she would only find the cool linen sheets, always perfectly made on the other side of the bed. She would be confused, first, then worried, and finally when she opened her eyes, she would remember: there was no warmth next to her. There had not been for two years.
Other times she would rise from dreamless sleep, not think anything of the empty space beside her, and get halfway through her morning routine before she realized anything was missing. Those mornings were worse. Those mornings she fought off the pangs of guilt for daring to forget what she’d lost.
Minfilia would never share a morning routine with her again. Minfilia was not sleeping soundly next to her, Minfilia was not sitting on the sink as Helissent carefully applied her face paint, Minfilia was not wrapping her arms around Helissent’s waist as she cooked breakfast for both of them. Now, Helissent only cooked two eggs instead of four.
When she woke she expected this morning to be no different, already anticipating the tell-tale tugging at her heart when she saw the absence next to her before she even opened her eyes.
It did not come.
The pillow remained fluffed, and untouched, the blankets undisturbed until they approached her form, because Helissent had never moved much in her sleep and Minfilia had teased her; had said it was like sleeping next to a log. Everything was colored warm and yellow from the sunlight streaming through the window of their cottage that they had planned the rest of their lives in. Just beyond the bed was the nightstand, and instead of Minfilia’s reading glasses tucked next to a book, there was just a simple wrought-iron lantern, one that Helissent had tiredly put down without thinking when she stayed up too late the night before drinking with her friends.
Helissent had used the same lantern to scour the tunnels underneath Ul’dah, under the cover of night, in secret. She used it to turn over every rock and stone, looking for any clue in the murky depths. Instead of making her stomach churn, the fact simply sat with her like she had invited it for tea. The lantern did not look like anything other than a lantern.
She scanned the rest of their bedroom. Minfilia’s slippers were no longer by her closet, but the small flowers she’d painted on the doorframe were. There was no coat hanging on the chair of the vanity, but the vanity itself remained, now cluttered with Helissent’s books and notes and her adventuring bag balancing precariously on the corner. Minfilia had insisted on building the vanity, and the bed, and most of the furniture in their home. Helissent had been forbidden from helping due to her, “complete uselessness with a saw, you may be my greatest warrior, but those talents don’t lend well to carpentry”.
Just from looking at their home, it was obvious that only one person resided in it. Minfilia’s possessions had been packed up and redistributed amongst her friends and family, the rest remaining in a chest in the attic. Her closet was now full of Helissent’s overflowing wardrobe, her makeup thrown out as Helissent had no use for it. There was only one pair of shoes at the door and one place set at the table.
Despite it all, though, Minfilia remained. It was her fingers that had wrested the wood into shape to form their bed, her clever mind that had selected the portraits on the wall. Her garden out back, lovingly kept alive even though Helissent had to call on every favor the botanist guild owed her. Her presence, now, filled Helissent with such a certainty that if she closed her eyes, she could feel her there, could almost see her.
Minfilia was dead, but Minfilia was not gone. Helissent found that the thought was more comforting than any platitude she had been told over the years.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the beams running across their ceiling, a dark stain that complimented the pale paint on the walls. Her wife was dead, but for the first time, that fact didn’t tear into her being and her very soul. It sat with her, still sharp and gnawing, an uninvited houseguest that was a little too rude, but it sat with her nonetheless. It seemed less all-consuming than it had the day before. Slowly, Helissent realized it had been feeling less all-consuming for a while.
Perhaps she had grown up. She was no longer twenty-seven, she was nearly twenty-nine. Her face had more lines, her body had more scars. Her heart held more names. Perhaps she had grown, and her unwelcome houseguest had shrunk a little, just enough to settle into an ugly old armchair, always within reach but not as demanding.
Helissent rose and made the bed, smoothed the sheets, brushed her teeth, washed her face, slicked the short strands of hair back, grimaced at the grown-out bristles of her undercut. She kept waiting for the inevitable tears, the great, cavernous hole she’d grown used to, for her houseguest to rattle the walls and tear the house down. It never came.
Perhaps it would come another day. Helissent pulled on the gardening boots that had little ducks on them, ducks had been Minfilia’s favorite, and grabbed the hat hanging on the hook next to the back door. She took one last look at her bedroom, bathed in sunlight and the echoes of Minfilia, and smiled. Good morning, my love, she said to the empty space, and then she stepped out into the light.