Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

by Caroline Garcia

Juleka has always known death. She was born into it, bookended by the loss of siblings before and after her. Life is hard—that’s what her mother says each time she buries another baby.

But at every small funeral, her older brother Luka picks her up in his arms and holds her close. Life is beautiful, too, he whispers, and the kiss he places on her forehead shifts the world back into its rightful order.

He is the only beautiful thing in a very hard life. Born in Russia amid the revolution to parents who have little hope of her survival, she isn't even named until her fifth year.

It's Luka, of course, who finally christens her.

“Juleka,” he says one day, touching her hair like a benediction. “My little jewel.”

Their tiny village is filled with cold air that never rests, always biting at exposed skin and turning what little food manages to grow into broken, withered shards. The ocean is no kinder, heaving with disdain when the men push their little boats into its waves. From it, they draw up nets full of silvery fish—often the only thing standing between them and starvation.

Other families have some stock: goats, chickens, a few cows. Juleka’s home has none of the comforts an animal like that would bring. Even in this pitiful place, they are lower than the rest. Besides the fish her father wrestles out of the sea and the wild plants her mother scavenges from the land, they have but one other livelihood: Juleka’s rabbits.

Luka catches them for her, and she keeps them in a ramshackle enclosure with no floor. The rabbits eat what's available on the ground, then the cage is moved to another spot with fresh foliage. They're wild things, used to surviving in this barren climate, tough and lean and able to breed at an impressive rate.

She cries each time they have to eat one of them, and her mother slaps her if she goes on too long.

Luka always looks disturbed by this, but doesn't intervene. He works on the boat with their father, and the passing years find him growing more restless, more dissatisfied.

“You deserve more,” he tells Juleka. “You shouldn’t be hungry. You shouldn’t cry.”

So he leaves, as if that were better somehow. He’ll find a job working in the gold mines, he says. He’ll save up money and then come back, and they won't have to struggle so much.

“Promise me something, Juleka.” His tone is fervent, his vivid blue eyes staring hard into her own. “Make me a vow.”

She nods, willing to do anything at all for him.

“Keep living. Stay alive. No matter what, you understand? If you’re not here when I get back…” And he trails off, such sorrow on his face that she gives him her rarest gift.

“Promise,” she whispers, her voice slithering into the chilled air.

That makes him smile at last. He thanks her, and then he leaves, and she knows no more blue or green or red or yellow. All fades to gray.

It takes a long time for the news to reach them. The workers in the mines, poorly treated and malnourished, went on strike. The government responded with imprisonments and, in the end, gunfire. Nearly three hundred men, dead for the crime of wanting to be more than slaves.

That was in Juleka’s thirteenth year. Her words, always sparse, vanish entirely, and she lives like a ghost. No one notices or cares. Lacking a son, her father insists she go out on the boat with him, though she's terrified of the water and has never been taught how to swim. Her hands bleed when they pull in the nets and ache with sorrow in the night.

The rabbits wither away without her tender attentions. They starve for love, and, eventually, all of them are gone.

Gray are the skies, gray are the rocks and dirt and houses. Her dress, her shoes, her lips, and the restless waves under the rocking boat: all gray.

On the day she fumbles and falls into the ocean, her father is too focused on his work to notice. It’s a quiet death, for the cold shocks her into stillness and her rarely-used voice is unable to escape past the need to take in short, shallow gasps of air while she still can. She cannot call for help, and she cannot stay afloat.

Life is hard, she thinks, then goes under.

Her eyes are closed, and the world is black outside her eyelids. She holds readiness inside her chest, awaiting that great wolf named death that has lingered over her since birth. It never was fair, that she should survive when all her siblings were gone. Life is hard, and she’s grateful to leave it behind.

Then she remembers: 

Life is beautiful, too.

Make me a vow.

As she thinks of the color blue, her lungs stop hungering for air. The needy pain in her stomach ceases as well, and her hands give up their throbbing. Is this what it’s like to die? It’s not how she imagined it would be. Something pulls at her. Not by the wrist as her mother sometimes does; it pulls her entire body at once, feeling like nothing so much as the heavy winds when she stands on the tallest hill in her village.

She ends up on a beach. Not dead, not cold, not hungry. None of it makes sense, and she weeps for fear of the unknown. When two beautiful women rise up out of the water, her tears stop and turn to astonishment. Perhaps this is death.

A third woman arrives, even more beautiful than the others, and significantly more hostile. Juleka shrinks away from her, and one of the nicer women steps forward.

“What’s your name?” she asks, her Russian flowing as naturally as if she were born to it—though she clearly wasn’t.

If ever there were a time to speak, this would be it. “Juleka.”

“Hello, Juleka. Have you ever heard of a rusalka?”

Her mother had told Luka many times to be careful near water. There was a girl in the village who had drowned in the ocean, and others said she came back as a rusalka and would drag any man she could capture under the waves to die alongside her.

Is that what these women are? Rusalki?

A more horrible thought: is that what Juleka is now? She died in the water, yes, but she feels no urge to kill.

As if hearing her thoughts, the kind woman kneels down and confirms: "We are rusalki, Juleka.” But then she continues, and the rest doesn’t make sense. “We serve the ocean,” she says, “who nourishes and sustains this planet. She supports all life, and in turn we support her by helping her gather her food." Why refer to the ocean as a person? She leans a little closer, speaking in a low, earnest voice. "You didn’t die today. You've been given a second chance at life, if you’d like to join us."

The woman’s eyes are the exact shade of blue that Luka’s were, a spot of color within their dreary surroundings. They’re conflicted, those eyes. As if she’s yearning for something that will destroy her.

Rusalki are not food gatherers; they are vengeful murderers. Pulling together her voice until it’s strong enough to push out a few words, Juleka asks, "What does the ocean eat?"

She senses the answer even before it comes.

"People. The ocean eats people."

Yes, Juleka has known that all her life. She’s seen it happen many times before, and hasn’t it just happened to her? The horror is this: the violence isn’t done by a dispassionate natural force or by twisted specters too lost to know the harm they do. It’s done by women in mesmerizing gowns who have all the steadiness and good sense of any human. They’re completely in control of themselves, and yet they take lives like her father pulls in a net of squirming fish?

The other woman, not the glaring one but the one who has hair as orange as a sunset, steps forward. She looks… excited.

"We understand that this is a difficult idea to come to terms with. We've all felt what you're feeling now. But as Marinette said, we need the ocean. By helping her take a handful of lives a few times a year, we save billions .” She continues speaking, delivering a speech that has clearly been made before.

This is the justification, then: take lives to save them.

Introductions are made. Marinette is the sweet one, Alix the impassioned one, and Chloe the angry one. The others stay quiet as Marinette continues to explain these bewildering circumstances. There are benefits: temporary immortality, freedom, luxuries. But there is duty, as well.

When she stops for a moment, Juleka pushes out her primary concern. "What if I don't want to do this?"

Alix takes over, sitting beside Juleka so that she’s crowded between two strangers. "How did you end up here tonight?" Alix asks, reaching up to lay a hand on Juleka’s shoulder.

No one has given her a comforting touch since Luka went away, and it makes her shiver with unease. “I fell…off the boat. No one noticed.”

"I'm so sorry. That was a terrible end… Do you understand that you were meant to die today? That that was your fate?"

Juleka thinks again of the wolf that has stood over her since the cradle, and she nods.

Alix continues: "If you choose not to become a siren, you must return to your fate."

The wolf snarls, eyes gleaming with victory, and her heart beats in fear of it. Kill or be killed? Stay a rabbit, or become the wolf? She’ll never be able to fit into that role.

“How long?” she asks. Maybe she can hold on just long enough.

Marinette is the one to answer. "A hundred years.” So long. A lifetime, two lifetimes. “We each serve for a hundred years. Alix’s time is almost up, but I’m only a few years in, which means we'd be together for most of it...if you wanted, that is. You could also go off on your own like Chloe, if that's your preference."

Juleka looks up, then, into those eyes that are like echoes of Luka’s. She won’t have to be alone? Marinette will stay with her?

She remembers her vow. Keep living. No matter what, you understand?

And so, to her brother she says, “I’ll stay alive.”

Juleka learns the price of her decision immediately. The women—who refer to themselves as her sisters, which feels like a shiny new pair of shoes that will rub her feet raw—direct her into the water she only just escaped from. They tell her that the voice she hears is that of the Ocean. It would seem the water really is alive. Juleka balks in fear at the edge of the waves, and Marinette speaks gentle words, coaxing her forward.

When they go under, she takes Juleka’s hand, and Juleka thinks she can handle almost anything.

She’s wrong. Allowing the Ocean’s song to rush up through her throat and call other human beings to their deaths is an experience unlike any other. It’s all men on that ship, and she wonders how many of them have little sisters waiting at home. Sisters who will lose all warmth and softness when they are told of what's been taken.

The only comfort is collapsing into Marinette’s arms even as the Ocean tears apart the ship with an awful noise.

Afterward, they want Juleka to suggest where they should go. She barely even knows the names of other countries, let alone which one she’d prefer. She asks instead to go somewhere warm, because anywhere warm must be entirely opposite from the place she’s left.

Her first months as a siren are…strange. Alix is their leader, deciding where they go and what they do. Marinette seems happy to go along with it, and Juleka doesn’t have anything better to offer. Alix is as wild as a young hare driven mad by spring. She bounces around and attacks life with a ferocious kind of glee that Juleka can’t understand. What’s the point of any of it?

Juleka chooses sleep over everything else. There’s no need to eat, no need to find shelter, no wind-worn home to clean or nets to pull in, no tiny graves to dig. What else is there to life? Alix seems determined to give her options, but none of them appeal to Juleka.

The moments that give her hope are the ones filled with the most vibrant color. When Alix takes them into a volcano, Juleka’s eyes can hardly handle the intensity of the glowing lava. It’s beautiful, and for the first time, she feels a flicker of gratitude for the chance to still be alive.

When Alix leaves, it’s a little bit of a relief. Though her body doesn’t tire anymore, Juleka feels exhausted by the constant surging of the woman’s enthusiasm. Marinette cries a little, then draws herself back up and asks again where Juleka would like to go.

The words won’t come out with enough force to be audible, not when Juleka is this drained. She tries to say, “I don’t know.” Tries to ask, “Where would you like to go?” All she manages to give is the barest of mumbles, though, and Marinette grows frustrated.

“How about Italy? Would that be okay with you?”

It feels like destiny, that decision. While Alix was dragging them all across a place she called Central America, Juleka had wondered if perhaps this was all there was to the world. The hills and volcanoes and lush forests didn’t ignite any kind of fire in her. There was no sense of recognition—a feeling she hadn’t known she was searching for until she found it in Rome.

The city fits into her heart the way a well-fed rabbit used to fit into her arms, and it brings the same feeling of comfort. Sunlight falls upon the stones and statues and ancient pillars so perfectly, she wishes she could capture it somehow.

Then they visit art museums, and she sees how others have found a way to take light and shadow and bring them together to form something new and wonderful. Juleka can’t believe the variety of paintings, so many sizes and mediums and things depicted. They tell stories. They conjure emotions.

They hold so much color.

Marinette sniffs out Juleka’s interest and stalks it, catlike in her intensity. It makes Juleka uncomfortable. She’s never wanted anything before, and to have someone read the wanting so clearly makes her feel exposed. She works harder to push it all down and hide it away, retreating into the safe harbor of impassivity.

Her control breaks, though, when presented with too great of a temptation: Marinette buys the art supplies Juleka has longed for and spreads them before her like a feast. Then she leaves, and Juleka can’t hold back. She runs her hands over the brushes, feeling the soft bristles tickling her fingertips. The tubes of paint are pleasantly cool when she rolls them in her palms. The canvases smell like possibilities.

From that moment forward, art becomes all she thinks about. It’s an obsession that seizes her in a way Alix would probably have approved of, and Juleka embraces it fully.

It doesn’t even bother her to see the complete satisfaction on Marinette’s face. If she’s honest with herself, Juleka knows that the approval of her only companion means more to her than she’d like. Marinette finds her own passion in making clothes, and together they settle into this new way of life.

The paintings themselves don’t matter much. Whether they’re good or bad, Juleka doesn’t care. What happens to them once she’s finished doesn’t bother her either. When they begin disappearing, she doesn’t even notice. It’s the act itself that keeps pushing her forward. After awhile, though, Marinette confesses how she’s been sprinkling them like gifts throughout whatever city they’re currently living in.

“They make people happy!” she asserts. Juleka isn’t sure about that, but if that’s what Marinette wants to do, Juleka won’t stop her.

“This is beautiful,” Marinette says when Juleka finishes a painting the size of a dinner table. “But how can we give it away?” She proposes a ridiculous idea: “We can go hang it somewhere! See if people notice! Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll be vandals in the best way.”

It takes some convincing. In the end, it’s the debt she feels toward Marinette that gives Juleka the push to go along. Marinette is ecstatic, bouncing on her toes as she searches for the perfect spot. She points toward an apartment building and dashes inside, leaving Juleka to follow, awkwardly lugging the giant canvas. When the deed is done, Marinette practically glows with accomplishment. A little laugh escapes from Juleka—she didn't know laughter still lived inside her, surviving somehow after so many years of absence.

The brief moments of levity are always chased away by her duties, though. It never gets any easier to open her mouth and sing. Juleka has always kept her voice close, a precious treasure entrusted to a very few, but when the Ocean hungers, a song Juleka doesn’t control rises out of her lungs. It doesn’t belong to her, yet it comes from within her, and it brings death.

There is more reason now than ever to be silent.

Another war begins, like the one that raged across the world in her youth. At first, Marinette wants to hide, and Juleka follows her from one neutral country to the next. There’s a simmering under Marinette’s skin, though, a tension that only builds until one day she asks Juleka to join her in her new crusade.

“I want to help people,” Marinette says. “We have all these resources. We can do something for good.”

Had she thought of it herself, Juleka would have been convinced she’d get it wrong somehow, that she’d only make things worse. She would have been too afraid to take the steps to make the plan a reality. But Marinette has a strong inner core, a kind of bravery and sense of justice that propels her over every hurdle. In her wake, Juleka absorbs some of that resilience.

Helping people feels nice.

Decades pass without much notice. Juleka doesn’t starve anymore. No one slaps her or eats her rabbits. She no longer fears the water, for now she cannot drown. Things are better, but still…something is empty.

A new siren is chosen, a hateful girl named Kagami who has glaring eyes and a vicious mouth. Marinette, always too kind, is determined to befriend their new sister. Kagami takes those earnest efforts and tears them apart like sheets of paper. Then she leaves, and Marinette is crushed, wondering what she did wrong.

Juleka doesn’t know how to help, so she doesn’t.

When they see Kagami at a feeding, it’s painful to watch Marinette perk up with hope. She greets Kagami enthusiastically, and Kagami gives a minimal response. Juleka clenches a fist, wishing she could punch the horrible girl.

Then, things change, as they always do. Kagami refuses to sing, and in a flash she’s dropping under the water, disappearing as if she never existed at all. And Juleka sees in an instant what this will do to Marinette. Even now, Marinette is lurching forward, trying to go after Kagami.

“No!” Juleka shouts and grabs her sister’s arm. She won’t lose her, too. Not like Luka.

Marinette gives in, hugging Juleka’s waist and sobbing even as she begins to sing again. The close contact is such a comfort, Juleka almost protests when Marinette lets her go. The singing is over, and Marinette is huddled on the surface of the waves, shuddering with grief. It terrifies Juleka more than anything has since the moment she fell out of her father’s boat.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

Chloe makes a rude comment, and the Ocean has to stop Marinette from launching an attack. Marinette screams out at the futility of it all and pounds her fists against the wall of water that’s blocking her from Chloe. It’s enough to make Juleka brave. She’ll try to help, even if she messes it up. So she wraps her arms around Marinette’s shoulders and pulls her away from the Ocean’s barricade, and when Marinette falls into tumbling apologies, Juleka gives her words of reassurance.

Just stay. I’ll do whatever you want.

Once they get back to their current home, though, Juleka is useless again. Marinette shuts herself in her room for days, not making a sound, and the Juleka takes to sitting under her window—keeping watch, in case Marinette decides to sneak through it and give herself up to the Ocean.

She’s sitting there when her worst fear comes true: footsteps from within the house, a slamming door, and then Marinette running down to the beach, not listening at all when Juleka calls out for her.

She’s gone in an instant, leaving as suddenly as Kagami did. Juleka stands in shock for a heartbeat before following, hoping she’s not too late. She’s only a few steps into the water when the Ocean’s voice fills her mind, reassuring her that Marinette isn’t surrendering her life.

Juleka waits, checking in occasionally, one foot dipped in, then returns to pacing. Her fear builds and builds into a crescendo, and when Marinette finally reappears, Juleka rushes forward and clings to her sister, her only friend, the one thing standing between her and utter isolation.

"You can't leave, too. Promise." She understands now more than ever the fervency with which Luka requested this vow.

And Marinette gives it, returning the hug and whispering, "Promise. I won't abandon you."

Chapter Text

Then come the long years of waiting—though Juleka doesn’t know until later that that’s what they are. She clings ever closer to Marinette, gripping her hand for support during every feeding and giving her more words, using small sentences and short conversations as offerings to convince her not to leave.

When Marinette seeks solitude, Juleka follows her into uninhabited stretches of the earth and finds contentment in painting the unique landscapes. When Marinette wants to return to big cities and attend society events, Juleka goes along without a protest. It’s good. She is safe with Marinette, and there are things to do. The movies are interesting, especially the scary ones, and Juleka never tires of making art.

Life is…fine.

She does wonder sometimes what the point of it all is. She’s alive, yes, but why? Her existence has no purpose. Nothing pulls her into the future; she’s only pushed along by a promise from the past.

I’m trying, Luka.

And she continues trying, allowing years that turn into decades to wash over her without notice.

Until a day in 1966 when the Ocean calls for them, urging them to come welcome a new sister. Marinette is as nervous as a freshly-caught rabbit, which scares Juleka to her bones. What if it happens again? What if Marinette can’t handle it this time? Marinette sees Juleka’s fear and gives her a brave smile.

“It’ll be okay,” she says and holds Juleka’s hand while the Ocean takes them where they need to be.

The girl they find when they arrive on the beach is so small, Juleka wonders if even the Ocean’s magic will be able to make her unbreakable. The bones of her wrist are small and smooth as marbles, and her hair is already drying into feathery wisps.

Through her tears, she says her name is Rose. Chloe makes a predictably rude comment, but it doesn’t seem to land. Rose says she’s not afraid.

"It's okay that I'm dead,” she says, and her voice is just the right shape, sliding like a key into Juleka’s ears. “It's just that I'm so sad for my family. They're going to miss me a lot."

She has to stay. The thought is so strong, it compels a fierceness to burst out of the soft docility Juleka has always carried. One look at a surprised Marinette and Juleka knows her sister won’t intervene. Rose blinks trusting eyes when Juleka kneels in front of her.

"You must be very loved,” Juleka says, knowing it to be true. Who could resist loving this person?

Rose responds simply. "I am."

"You're not dead, though.” You’re alive, and you have to stay that way. If I can do it, you can. “It's true that you can't see your family anymore, but you can live with us if you want to. We'll be your new family." Please.

It had been distressing to see Kagami choose death, but Juleka doesn’t think she can survive if Rose makes the same decision. A light is dawning, swift and unexpected, and Juleka cannot go back to the dark.

She gives Rose so many words, handfuls of them that have been stored up like an inheritance all her life. She hadn’t realized they were being kept in reserve for someone in particular. The details of their lives as sirens should be distressing to speak about, but Juleka studies Rose’s face and sees no reason anymore to hate her duties. Not if she can share them with this person.

"So you're like angels of mercy?"

Sweetness hangs from Rose’s lips. Her cheeks shine with sincerity, and her throat could never hold death. As the other two women gasp and Rose explains her reasoning, Juleka has already accepted this perspective. What they do is merciful. If Rose says it is so, it must be so.

“You’ll stay?” Juleka asks, though she sees the answer in those guileless eyes.

“Yes, I’ll stay.” And Rose smiles, then stands, then scatters drops of color all over the canvas of Juleka’s world.

For several years, Juleka and her two sisters are the closest of friends. Yes, they’re united by the dark appetite of the Ocean, but in each other they have light and laughter. Rose changes their lives. She’s the link between them, the one who pulls everything together. She pulls them both in for hugs, pulls their hands as they run out the door on another adventure, pulls them into laughter with her nonsensical jokes.

Juleka has never had a friend quite like this. It feels like a betrayal to Marinette to even think such a thing, but there it is. Even with Luka, life had still been mostly sorrow and struggle. But here, with Rose by her side, all is festival.

They’re blissful ignorance, those first few years. Before the change. Before Juleka’s heart shifts and destroys all the good things she’s only just discovered.

She doesn’t recognize it at first, for it’s the most unbelievable thing that has ever happened to her. More far-fetched than an unbreakable body and a deadly voice, the idea of…of… romantic attraction is implausible beyond rationality. What right does she have to desire someone? To hope that they desire her in return? And for that person to be another woman… She’s never considered that.

It happens gradually—or perhaps it happened immediately, at first sight, and Juleka only notices it gradually. She stops comparing everything to rabbits. The world becomes instead a reflection of Rose, and it makes Juleka ache. There are little glimpses sometimes, little sparks of hope that perhaps Rose might feel the same way. When she rests her head on Juleka’s shoulder in a movie theatre, or when she smiles particularly brightly, as if Juleka is the most wonderful person to ever exist…

But that’s just how Rose treats her friends. She gives all of herself, pours radiance into every corner of a person until they shine like a mirror of her.

Juleka becomes awkward—more awkward than normal. She shies away from Rose’s touches, looks away when Rose smiles. Every painting somehow turns into a portrait of Rose, and it’s too humiliating to consider being caught like that, so Juleka hides them or burns them or throws them away before her sisters can see.

It can’t go on like this forever, she knows that. She wishes the feelings would just go away, that she could love Rose the way she loves Marinette. She tries to do that. Tries to breathe evenly when Rose links arms with her, tries to give equal attention to Marinette's wishes and desires, tries not to notice the way Rose moves with all the grace and assurance of a sun-dappled deer.

Her efforts collapse into pieces when they leave Spain and make a brief stop in Amsterdam. Marinette books them into a hotel while Rose and Juleka wait in the lobby on an uncomfortably small loveseat. Rose is pressed in tight to Juleka’s side, sending waves of warmth up the length of her body. It’s distracting. All Juleka wants to do is lean in and press her nose into Rose’s hair, to breathe in the sweet smell of her and place a kiss on that forehead.

No. She’ll ruin everything if she does that. How disgusting of her to even think it. Would they send her to live in isolation like Chloe? Would they ignore her at feedings? Rose is so kind, she’d probably try to still treat Juleka kindly. It would kill Juleka to see that.

In desperation, she reaches out to grab a newspaper someone has left on the table beside the couch. Usually she avoids the woes of the world—she has enough of her own—but perhaps some bad news will keep her from causing a personal disaster.

The very first headline, though, reveals her mistake:

Strike Turmoil: UK Miners' Resolve Tested by Threats of Force

She doesn’t realize how hard her hands are shaking until Rose wraps tiny fingers around the newspaper and gently pulls it out of her grip. They can’t speak, not here in public, but the tilt of Rose’s eyebrows communicates clearly enough.

Are you okay?

She glances down at the paper, trying to discern what has made Juleka’s body turn into a harsh line of stress, but none of the headlines stand out to her. Of course they don’t. Juleka has never told her sisters about Luka, or anything about her life before becoming a siren. She knows Marinette doesn’t really remember much. It happens like that—if one doesn't think of the past very often, it slips away.

But Juleka will never forget Luka. She clings to every memory she still has of him, though the one that stands out above the rest is the very one she wishes she could forget. If only she could keep the tenderness and leave this knife-sharp pain behind, but every smile he ever gave her was tainted by his death.

Marinette hasn’t come back yet. Rose isn’t willing to wait, and she gently guides Juleka to get up off the couch and follow her outside. Behind their grand hotel is a park with walking pathways and an outdoor stadium for theatre performances. Rose steps quickly off the pavement and into the woods, pushing through trees until they’re secluded enough for a quiet conversation.

But they don’t talk. This privacy to release their deadly voices isn’t for the sake of discussion. Rose has seen right through Juleka and brought her to a place where she can cry freely. That’s not the only kindness extended—of course not. Rose gives and gives and somehow never runs empty. She takes Juleka in her arms and strokes her hair and makes shushing sounds and not once does she ask Juleka to explain. Her own need to know what’s wrong is far away from this isolated moment.

And Juleka…her defenses have sublimated. It’s not a melting or a shattering or a breaking down of walls. They’re solid as bricks one moment, then fading like wisps of smoke into the air the next. She returns Rose’s embrace, pulls her in tight, buries her face into her neck, and Rose makes a small sound of happiness.

The truth is there between them, in the way their fingers rest lightly on each other’s skin. Somehow, against all probabilities, Rose feels the way Juleka does. The force between them goes both ways and intertwines their fates with all the ease and rightness of braiding one’s hair.

Intertwining fates…

The death wolf opens its maw and snarls, but its yellow eyes are not on Juleka anymore. They rest on Rose now, hungry and full of intent.

“No,” Juleka gasps, ripping herself out of Rose’s arms. “No, we can’t.”

Rose looks as if she’s expected this. “It’s okay, Juleka,” she says, her voice as high and pure as a bird at sunrise. “It’s not wrong.”

But it is. “The Ocean!” Juleka’s voice hurts. “If She found out…we’re not supposed to have relationships.”

“Relationships with humans. This is different.”

Juleka moves back another few feet. “You don’t know that. Are you going to go ask Her for permission?”

Rose pauses. “I’m sure She wouldn’t mind!”

Never. Juleka can’t ever pull Rose into the sight of that wolf. Rose is a thing to be protected, not to be risked for the sake of selfishness.

Juleka gets up and walks away, back toward the hotel and sanity. She expects Rose to press the issue, but she doesn’t. Not that day, and not any of the days that follow. Rose never chases; she merely waits, and every time Juleka gives in to the temptation to stare, Rose turns over her hand to display an empty palm.

It becomes a silent conversation between them, one that can easily go unnoticed by Marinette or any humans nearby. Rose’s open hand is an invitation for which Juleka’s conflicted refusal is not a rejection, merely a different show of love.

When they are alone, Rose asks questions.

“Did you have any siblings?”

“Many,” Juleka says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“I had two brothers. They were so funny! They teased me a lot, but I know they’ll be missing me. What was it like to live in Russia?”

“Very cold. Very gray.”

Rose laughs. “Australia is hot, and where I lived, there were plenty of trees. And the Ocean, of course. I guess our homes were opposites!”

To herself, Juleka whispers, “In every way.”

Rose hears her and scoots a little closer on the couch. “Not in every way. Did you love your siblings?”

“Yes.”

“And your parents?”

“...that’s more complicated.”

Rose sighs. “Yeah, it can be. What about games? What did you play with your friends?”

Juleka glances one more time at the upturned hand being presented to her, then gets up to hide away in her room. Their conversations often end like this, unless Marinette interrupts first. There are some questions Juleka doesn’t know how to answer.

On another occasion, Rose asks about pets, and this is once again something Juleka can’t bring herself to talk about. The memories cut her open, but instead of blood, Juleka bleeds devotion. That’s the first time she accepts Rose’s offer, gently placing her own too-long fingers into the perfect, tiny palm.

Rose just smiles and curls her hand around Juleka’s in a soft embrace, skipping to a different question. “What was the first place you went to after becoming a siren?”

And so they go on, with Juleka sometimes taking Rose’s hand and sometimes not. During feedings, when they’re both linked with Marinette, it doesn’t have quite the same significance, but Juleka treasures it all the same.

When they talk alone, sometimes Juleka is the one to introduce a topic. It’s never about countries traveled or childhood pets, though. Instead, she lays at Rose’s feet all the reasons they cannot be together.

“There’s the gap,” she murmurs under the stars in an Indian desert. “If you fall, you’ll have fourty years to regret it.” This is how Juleka refers to it: falling. Never falling in love, for that sounds too soft, too delicate. What Rose wants would be no gentle tumble—it would be a foolish leap with only misery awaiting at the bottom.

The sand shifts beneath Rose’s head as she turns away from the stars to gaze at Juleka. “We’d have sixty years together, though. That’s more than most people get.”

“If we survive at all. It would only take one slip, Rose.” Juleka can never grow accustomed to the sweetness of saying that name. “If the Ocean saw this in our minds, She might take both of us. You haven’t seen it happen like I have.”

“I’ve seen plenty of feedings.”

“That’s different. They don’t know what’s happening. You haven’t seen the waves rise up and take someone. It’s different.”

They go round in circles like this for months and years. Rose says Juleka is only wasting the precious time they could have together, and Juleka insists that she won’t put Rose at risk.

“Life is a risk!” Rose says, uncharacteristically frustrated. “Is this a better alternative? You’re miserable. I miss you.”

And Juleka stares down at their intertwined fingers—she can’t tear them apart anymore—and tries to weigh the options objectively. “I’ll have to leave you,” she whispers. “You’ll miss me more then.”

They’re in the mountains of Gansu, China, and all around them, the sandstone is striped with waves of red and yellow and white. The sunset paints them further colors, until the view becomes more dreamscape than reality. In this place, far from the Ocean, Rose reaches up and traces the outline of Juleka’s ear.

“Every part of you is so beautiful,” she says. “Whether you let yourself fall or not, I’ll be so sad when you leave. The only difference will be whether I have sixty years of happy memories with you.” Then she giggles. “Well, closer to fifty now. You’ve left me waiting a long time!”

Rose’s voice and her laughter and the tenderness of her touch are full of more color than any landscape could ever try to hold, and Juleka is tired of fighting. She wants those fifty years, even though it’s selfish. Her own memories will be wiped away, and she’ll leave Rose behind to grieve, but in this moment…all they have is right now.

Her grip on Rose’s hand loosens by a minute degree as she at last gives in, surrendering to the fall. Somehow, Rose feels that subtle shift and understands it for what it is. She lets out a choked sob of relief as she throws herself into Juleka’s arms, nearly toppling them over the edge of a steep outcropping of multicolored rocks.

Though the view begs for a first kiss, it doesn’t get one on that day. The yielding is too fresh, too raw, and so kissing will have to wait. Instead, they have closeness. Intimacy. Sweet words. It’s what they’ve both longed for, and the relief is so vivid it burns.

From that day, Juleka’s world becomes a tapestry of jarring, contrasting colors. There’s the pastel coziness of Marinette’s friendship, the streaks of red grief from her duties as a siren, and of course, the bright jewel tones that explode behind her eyes every time she so much as thinks of Rose. Always, though, those lovely greens and blues and pinks turn muddy at the thought of the only two endings their love story can have:

Either the Ocean discovers them, and they die, or they have a handful of lovely decades together before a permanent separation.

“It’s no different than any other relationship,” Rose always says. “Everyone has to face death. Every couple knows that if they stay together forever, eventually one of them will die first and the other will be left behind.”

And Juleka tries to take comfort in that.

When they climb to the top of Mount Everest in the dead of winter, defying nature in a way no human could ever hope to do, it fills Rose with such a rush of adrenaline that she kisses Juleka—that first kiss that seems to have been fated since the beginning. Marinette is only a few yards away, but thick clouds obscure them from her view. In the cold, biting wind, Rose's lips are still warm. Pressing against them at last, after having imagined it for so long, leaves Juleka stunned for the rest of the day.

She tells Marinette later that it was the intensity of the view that turned her speechless.

Rose and Juleka manage to keep the secret from their sister for another four years. They discuss confiding in her but always conclude that it’s safer for her if she doesn’t know.

“Just in case,” Rose says, for she still insists that the Ocean probably wouldn’t mind them being together.

It’s a hopeless endeavor. Even with all the world to roam, the three sirens live too closely for things to stay hidden.

They’re high in the trees, surrounded by a symphony of insect calls and dripping rain, and Rose is playing her old game of questions again. Once she'd realized that asking about Juleka’s former life only saddened their conversations, she'd moved on to sillier topics.

“If you were a pig,” she says now, giggling and pressing each of her fingertips to Juleka’s, “where would be the best place on earth to live?”

“A pig?” The absurdity of the question draws a low laugh out of Juleka, and she presses back lightly against Rose's hand until they're palm to palm, heat to heat. “Somewhere far away from any humans who might want to eat me.”

“Say there were no humans! Where would be the most fun?”

“To be a pig?” At Rose’s encouraging nod, Juleka looks around. “Here, I guess. The wild boars seem happy.”

These silly hypotheticals continue for a while, then relax into silence, leaving them wrapped in each other’s arms. Juleka can feel Rose working up to something, some topic she’s hesitant to address.

“I understand how you feel,” she finally says. Her voice is a soft accompaniment to the music of the forest.

When she doesn’t continue, Juleka holds her a little tighter and breathes in the smell of her hair. “About what?”

“About having to leave me behind.”

Juleka ponders this. “Because you had to leave your family?” She’s heard many stories about the happiness of Rose’s childhood. She lives vicariously through those idealistic memories, imagining what it would have been like to have that kind of upbringing. Sometimes she burns with envy.

“I know how you feel about having to anticipate that departure. To know that someone you love is going to grieve you.”

The words don’t make sense. Rose looks up and sees the way Juleka’s mouth is pursed in confusion, and she reaches to touch the lips until they soften and kiss her fingers.

Then she tells her story. “Even before I got caught up in a riptide, I was going to have to leave my family. I was sick for most of my childhood, and it would have been fatal eventually. I’m glad for it now. It made me appreciate every moment I had, and it accustomed them to the idea of losing me. I’m sure my supposed death by drowning was a little less tragic because of it.”

It makes sense, Juleka thinks as she pulls Rose’s head into her shoulder and strokes the fine hairs at the back of her neck. It explains everything: Rose’s omnipresent positivity, her ease in adjusting to this life, her peace with their own eventual separation. Then the tears come, slowly leaking out despite Juleka’s efforts to hold them in.

She's been jealous of Rose, jealous of her perfect life and her simple joy in living. And now? Now Juleka knows: that optimism was born from great pain. Rose wasn’t handed happiness on a silver platter; she fought for it with every ounce of her being. She had practiced at it like an athlete, building a strong inner core of unshakable cheerfulness.

And Juleka is going to test it. She’s going to make Rose even stronger by putting her through more sorrow.

Then Rose’s hand is small and warm on Juleka’s cheek. “Don’t be afraid,” Rose says, her breath shaking the tiniest bit before she presses her lips to Juleka’s.

This kiss, more potent than any of the ones that came before except the very first, only lasts a second before a quiet gasp interrupts them.

Juleka’s head jerks up. She already knows who it is—who else could it be?

“Marinette–” she starts to say, locking eyes with her first and dearest friend even as Marinette releases her grip on the tree and falls backward. There’s a blunt sound of impact from far below, then stillness.

“Go to her!” Rose urges, pushing at Juleka’s shoulder.

It’s not hard to follow Marinette. She’s crashing through the underbrush, snapping branches and trampling ferns. As Juleka follows, she wonders what it is that has set Marinette running. Disapproval? Fear? Betrayal, probably. That seems the most likely—they’ve kept a secret from her for a long time.

Juleka finds Marinette laying in a river, flat on her back under the water, eyes closed, looking like nothing so much as a corpse. Even knowing better, Juleka’s heart does a little flip. But Marinette's fists are clenched, and her mouth is twisted in a grimace of pain. It brings Juleka to a halt, that pain.

She's never been very good at comforting people.

Other people are usually the ones comforting her.

She stands there, watching the water turn Marinette's hair into black fire, and she thinks of all the times Marinette has been the one supporting both of them. She's so strong. It must have been lonely for her after Alix left, and for decades Juleka only took and took and never gave anything back.

Juleka doesn't know how to help, but she tries anyway.

She follows the example set before her and joins Marinette. Rather than trying to pull her back up into happiness, Juleka gets down into the mud with her. It's surprisingly nice to become one with the riverbed. The rushing stream is soothing, and after a minute, a hand touches her own.

Still, Juleka waits, leaving space for Marinette to decide when she's ready. Another fragment of time passes before Marinette withdraws her hand and sits up in the water, knees pulled up to her troubled face. The set of her chin says she's finding the right words to say something important.

Nervous, Juleka moves away to sit across from Marinette, as if extra distance might soften the blow that's coming.

"I'm sorry,” Marinette says, and it's not what Juleka was expecting. "I'm being dramatic, I know. I'll get over it. I promise I'm not mad or anything. I'm happy for you.”

What does that…mean? Juleka stares in consternation at the river, trying to interpret Marinette's thoughts. Nothing in what she has said reveals exactly what it is she's being dramatic about. What does she need to get over?

Juleka needs to make some kind of response, but all she can think of is what Rose has just revealed. “You shouldn't be,” she says darkly.

"Shouldn't be what?”

“Happy for us.” And it's such a relief, when she looks up and meets Marinette's eyes, to finally share this torment with someone.

Marinette doesn't understand at first, too caught up with whatever internal dilemma sent her running. Juleka explains in the simplest of terms, laying out the brutal facts of their situation, and Marinette does what she always does: she puts her own needs aside to take care of someone else. 

They don’t talk about it after that night, but Marinette’s understanding and empathy changes their group’s dynamic once again. They feel like a team now, working together to keep a life-or-death secret from an ancient deity. And with Marinette on their side, Juleka really thinks they might be able to do it.

Chapter Text

After the Congo, they move on to England, a place Rose voted for most enthusiastically. She’s excited about books for some reason, though she’s never showed much interest in them before. Juleka watches with indulgent delight as Rose brings stacks of them home every day, enthusing over this or that story from her childhood. With no need to sleep, they stay up through the night reading and discussing. Sometimes Marinette joins them, other times she seems to wander into a private sorrow that has her shutting herself away in her room.

The day Rose comes home with a book on sign language, Juleka finally understands. This has been her ulterior motive all along: a way to give Juleka a voice. Nevermind that Juleka is able to talk with Rose just fine now; Rose wants her to be able to speak openly with Marinette and the rest of the world as well.

They run into some roadblocks, of course, but Rose uses her positivity as a battering ram and tears through each one. Nevermind that there isn’t one universal sign language, nevermind that most people don’t even understand the one they eventually decide on. Rose researches and finds a city in New York where their signing will be recognized and welcomed, and she helps Marinette overcome her grief over finally arriving in the country she’d been heading toward when her ship was taken.

The day they arrive in Rochester, Rose bounces from foot to foot in anticipation and insists that they immediately go to a restaurant. There, for the first time, they’re able to order food without using paper and pens, without having to deal with confused waiters who stand impatiently as they scrawl their requests. Juleka, knowing how much it will mean to Rose, even engages in small talk.

For the others, it’s like being normal again.

For Juleka, it’s as far from normal as she can remember.

“Are you happy?” Rose asks later that night. They’re in their own room, lying in bed for the simple pleasure of being in each other's arms.

“I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

Rose frowns and squeezes Juleka a little tighter. “But does being able to talk make you happy? Did I push something on you that you didn’t want?”

"It's just…strange. Not in a bad way, I don't think. Just…different."

Rose lets that thought rest between them, giving it time to settle. She's wearing a sleeveless shirt; Juleka kisses her shoulder and sighs contentedly.

"I think maybe…it's nice." She whispers it into Rose's skin like a secret. Why does it feel shameful to want to share her thoughts with the world?

Rochester is a lovely city, and they spend several happy years there. Though it hadn't been Rose's intention, Marinette also finds some peace through learning sign language. She makes friends while they're there, and through them she's invited to volunteer at a school for the deaf.

That's perfect for you! Rose signs when Marinette tells them. They're having a conversation while out in public, sitting casually in a cafe and talking as if they aren't living weapons. It's surreal.

You have a lot of love to give, Juleka adds. Children always need that.

With the Ocean's hesitant approval, Marinette volunteers at an event and comes home with stars in her eyes. Juleka only gets to see that shining happiness for a moment, though. It's quickly overshadowed by embarrassment and discomfort—Marinette has walked in on them in a compromising position again.

"Oh– Um, sorry, I'll just–" And she flees.

Rose is giggling nervously, but Juleka groans. "I told you we should've gone to the bedroom."

"It's a little awkward, but that's part of living together! I'm sure Marinette doesn't mind."

"I don't think that's the problem." Juleka sighs, and the movement reminds her how tightly she's pressed against Rose. As bad as she feels for Marinette, she's sorely disappointed at the interruption. "It must be hard for her. To be alone, I mean. It must hurt to watch us and not have the same thing."

"Oh," Rose breathes. "I didn't think…"

It weighs heavily on their minds, and they try to be more discrete. From Rochester, they move on to California. Marinette continues her volunteer work while Rose and Juleka explore the countryside.

It's just like in the book! Rose signs again and again throughout those months, until at last Juleka gives in and reads the Steinbeck novel.

You really like this? she asks halfway through. It's so dark.

Rose grins and swirls the glass of wine she's tasting. She signs with one hand, It's like life. You have to find the beauty in it.

A shiver runs up Juleka's body, and for a moment she can almost feel Luka's kiss on her forehead as he told her life was beautiful as well as hard. She resolves to put more effort into seeking that goodness.

The Ocean has put a time limit on how long Marinette can stay at any one school. When it runs out, Marinette decides to continue on to another rather than going back to the lifestyle they had before.

She insists they don't have to stay with her, though. It's her dream, she says, but not theirs. Under this rationalization, Juleka sees how they can lighten some of the burden they've unwittingly placed on their sister's shoulders. Marinette is asking for a reprieve from living in the shadow of their love.

"We'll visit often," Juleka promises.

It's painful to part ways. She's never been separated from Marinette, not for any length of time. It feels like abandonment, until she sees the guilty relief on Marinette's face when they say goodbye.

On their own, Rose and Juleka discover a new dynamic. It's not better than living with Marinette, only different. There's a puzzle piece missing in their little family, but the extra space leaves more breathing room. They go to Canada first, then New Zealand, then they wander across continents without any real aim or purpose.

Wherever they go, Juleka paints what she sees. It's what she's always done. Now, though, she tries to see more of that beauty the world has to offer. It starts with Rose, of course. She paints Rose into every landscape, in a window of every building, smiling in every crowd. She's the easiest beauty to find.

But in time, there are other things as well.

Rose has taken Marinette's idea to give back to the world and has transformed it. Rather than just focusing on the most dire of needs, Rose tries to give joy and hope in the places that are most lacking it. They still make anonymous dropoffs of clothes and diapers and food; they just include more toys, or bouquets of bright flowers, or boxes of candy with no nutritional value.

"Despair can kill just as easily as hunger," Rose says, and Juleka follows her lead. She paints tiny canvases with replicas of all the loveliest things she's seen while traveling the world, and these get added to the baskets left on doorsteps.

Color for the gray places, she thinks and wishes she could go back to her home country and spread light there as well.

The light is necessary for their own hearts. The feedings are beginning to change—more women and children are being taken, more families on vacations or wedding parties just wanting to celebrate. It leaves Juleka paralyzed with fear every time they're called to serve. Marinette says it's because of advancing technology.

"The Ocean has to be more careful," she says. "She has to take whatever is available. Whatever is safest."

Despite that reasoning, they all suffer for this extra caution. Marinette stays with them after each feeding, needing their companionship and comfort. And they need her as well; when times are hard, each puzzle piece needs to be snugly in place to defend against the sorrow.

What will it be like for Rose to say goodbye—first to Marinette, and then to Juleka? A single piece alone on an empty table. The image is too much to bear.

The feeding that changes everything starts like all the rest: with dread and tightened throats and beautiful, deadly music that escapes no matter how much Juleka wishes it wouldn't. The Ocean has chosen a small yacht this time, and the families onboard rush to their deaths with smiling faces.

All except for one girl, who stands on the deck and cries. Juleka exchanges a confused, horrified look with Rose even as Marinette's hand tightens into a vice grip. It all happens very quickly from there.

A woman grabs the crying girl and tries to drag her into the water.

Marinette pulls away from Juleka and Rose and moves toward the boat.

The girl falls into the Ocean, and Marinette lunges toward her.

Rose and even Chloe join Juleka in trying to stop Marinette, but she goes limp and slips through their grasp.

Marinette crawls forward, no longer singing. She's sobbing in great, shuddering gasps, and then the crying girl is sucked under the water just like Kagami was.

Silence. In the aftermath, Juleka's ears ring with the sound of Marinette whimpering a name over and over.

"Bridgette. Bridgette! No, Bridgette!"

But she isn't looking at the spot where the girl disappeared. She's sitting listlessly in the waves, staring at her hands, seemingly unaware of her own broken refrain. Juleka falls to her knees and takes those hands, terrified because she doesn't know what's happening. Who was the girl? One of Marinette's students?

Please, Juleka thinks, don't give up because of this.

Rose is behind Marinette, patting at her shoulders and saying comforting words. Chloe has already left.

"Marinette? Can you talk to us?" Juleka sees tears falling onto Marinette's limp hands and realizes they're her own. "Marinette?"

It's the Ocean who responds. She says Marinette is going to leave, and Juleka stops breathing. Leave forever? No, the Ocean reassures her. Not that kind of leaving; she just needs to grieve alone. Marinette sinks below the waves, slowly, tenderly. The Ocean is taking great care with her, and Juleka has no choice but to let go of those hands—the hands that held her together when her world was cold and gray. What will she do if she's never able to hold those hands again?

The days that follow are excruciating. Despite the Ocean's assurances that Marinette is going to be okay, they can all hear the deep majestic voice calling for Her favorite siren. Marinette left the water, and now she is missing.

Let us go to look for her, Juleka begs. She'll come to us.

The Ocean refuses, and they can't figure out why.

"Maybe She's worried that if Marinette is going to be rebellious like this, we'll go along with her," Rose suggests.

Chloe is sent instead, and there's a collective sigh of relief when she reports that Marinette is just fine.

"Give her space," Rose says, and Juleka reluctantly agrees. They wait in Iceland, wanting to show Marinette all the beautiful things they've discovered there, but when weeks turn into months, they finally move on to their next destination.

In Bolivia, Juleka paints the rich colors of the traditional clothes worn by women in the streets. Life is hard for them, but they smile and carry children on their wide hips and walk with skirts flaring through the crowds. Marinette would be inspired by them. If she were here, she would spend days watching them before retreating into her room and bending over a sewing machine. She'd beg Rose and Juleka to try on the clothes she'd made, then her eyes would go wide with delight and she'd insist on finding a way to give away the outfits immediately.

The empty spot where she should be is a lost limb, producing phantom pains and intermittent reminders of what's not there.

When the Ocean calls for them, Juleka drops the canvas she's holding, still wet with paint, and is out the door with Rose fast behind her before she can even begin to worry about why they're being called. Is Marinette okay? The question pulses like pain behind her eyes, a migraine of worry.

She's alive, the Ocean says when they dive into Her waves, but she's struggling. They need to help her.

They find Marinette in the Arctic Sea, looking as though she has nothing at all to live for. It's too much for Juleka, and she lets Rose be the one to convince Marinette to come home with them.

Home. It's a strange word to use. It's not a physical place for them, only the idea of being together. Something has broken inside Marinette, though, and it's as if she isn't there with them at all, like her mind and heart are somewhere far away. She stays inside unless Rose begs her to go outside with them. She is almost always asleep, and when she isn't, she rarely speaks.

It isn't until a visit to the salt flats that they find out who Bridgette was. Juleka believes almost anyone could be moved to speech by the incredible views here, and it seems Marinette agrees. She tells them of the student she'd had a special bond with, and they capture her grief within their arms and try to love it out of her.

Marinette improves a little. She takes up painting, though not in the way an artist would. Instead, she smears colors onto empty canvases as if filling them will erase her troubled past. She works with extreme focus, her bottom lip between her teeth, her clothes splattered with the cast off drops from her brush. She's a woman possessed.

Near the end of the year, there are catastrophic floods in the area they've been living in, and for the first time, Juleka is able to save lives instead of take them. The Ocean doesn't usually like them to intervene; using their unbreakable bodies could put their secrets at risk. In this case, though, they blend right in. The people of Bolivia are all working together to save who they can, and no one pays any mind to the three strange women who are helping them.

The event has an effect on Marinette as well. That intense look is still in her eyes, but she's more restless now. Less gloomy. Juleka is expecting the worst when Marinette announces that she's going to leave again. Ostensibly, she's heading to the United States to find more ways to help humans. It doesn't make sense though—she could do that here.

Rose is only worried about Marinette being too depressed on her own. Juleka knows better.

"Why does it sound like you're never coming back?" She means for the words to come out hard, accusingly, but instead she seems to have lost her voice again. After all this time, it's infuriating.

“I’m just feeling sentimental after…after what happened.”

Does she mean the loss of her student? Or seeing all the lives taken by the flooding? Either way, it's a lie. “You’re keeping something from us.”

Marinette physically recoils as if Juleka has slapped her. She fumbles for excuses while Juleka is struggling to understand why her sister, the one who has been with her since the very beginning, would suddenly start lying and evading and leaving them.

Then, she knows.

Hadn't Juleka done the same? Well, not the leaving part, but everything else fits. Marinette has something precious to protect, and how can Juleka stand in the way of that? She would have resented Marinette forever if Marinette had tried to do the same to her.

“I guess we kept a secret from you, too," she says, hiding her face so that Marinette can't see the abject terror that must be showing there. If Marinette is keeping it from her closest friends, it must be something the Ocean would kill her for. "Just…please be safe."

The hug she gives Marinette then is so fierce, it would probably have hurt a human, and Marinette's response only confirms Juleka's fears.

"I'll do my best," she says, and then she goes.

Months pass without a word. Juleka and Rose go back to living on their own, trying to enjoy the extra space without that missing puzzle piece, but it's just not the same. Knowing that Marinette is out there somewhere, upset and alone—well, perhaps not entirely alone—makes it hard to enjoy the pleasures of this life.

They stay in Bolivia, lacking the desire to pursue exciting new locales. Every day, Rose comes up with another reason why everything will be just fine.

"Marinette is so smart!" she says. "I bet she's helping a lot of people."

Or: "She promised you she would be careful. Marinette keeps her promises, so nothing can go wrong!"

Even Rose runs out of cheerful reassurances, though. Every few weeks, they cross through Peru to visit the coast and ask the Ocean how things are going. She doesn't have much information; all She says is that Marinette is alive and checking in every month or so.

For the first time in her existence as a siren, Juleka is glad when the Ocean calls for them to serve. It's been awhile—there were plenty of shipwrecks at the end of the year, and the Ocean has been well fed. Now, in April, the time has come at last. They'll get to see Marinette again.

When Marinette rises up out of the waves, last to arrive, Juleka is just as exuberant as Rose. They both run toward Marinette and grab her up into a group hug, nearly in tears.

"How are you? Are you okay? Please come back home with us. Or– or we can go with you!"

Marinette gives Rose an uncomfortable smile and struggles to come up with an answer. "I just– I need to process things by myself. I'm okay, I promise."

"You could visit," Juleka says with a tiny bit of recrimination, but she immediately withdraws it when she sees the regret on Marinette's face. "We just miss you."

"I miss you, too."

That's all. No promises to return, no hope of a visit, no hint of whatever it is she's doing on her own. Of course not. The Ocean is right beneath their feet, always listening. Juleka draws her theories and her suspicions tight into herself, folding them into a ball along with her love for Rose, safely tucked away from the Ocean's prying.

They sing, and, other than her eyes that are shiny with tears, Marinette is as stony and cold as Chloe usually is. There are no displays of emotion, no visible signs of her heart that has remained soft even after nearly a century of slaughter. Is this new detachment because of the student she lost? Or something else? Juleka pushes away those questions. They're not safe to think about here.

Then, once more, Marinette leaves them. Juleka gives her one last hug, holding her tightly, letting a few tears slip out into the dark tumble of Marinette's hair. Why does this feel like the end?

Her tension builds as each day passes after that. There's a premonition inside her, a malignant thing that settles in her chest and refuses to leave. Something bad is about to happen, and there is nothing at all that Juleka can do to prevent it.

It only takes a few weeks for that foreboding to come to fruition. The Ocean calls for them, and Her voice is a deep well of sorrow and anger. Being called now can only mean the worst, for She has just fed, and there are already four sirens. 

"I'm afraid," Juleka says to Rose. The simple words make the situation too real.

"I'm sure it will be okay!" Rose doesn't sound convincing, even to herself.

They're already slipping away, taking the fastest route to the Ocean. When they touch Her waves, She instructs them to not ask any questions. The force with which She pulls them is almost violent, and pitch black gowns form around them.

They resurface on the shore of a tiny tropical island, and Juleka looks around for Marinette the moment her head rises over the waves. Only Chloe is present, dressed in black as well. There's a nearly perceptible swirl of rage emanating from her, but Juleka doesn't care about that petty anger. Where is Marinette? Is she already gone?

The Ocean plucks this thought from Juleka's unguarded mind and responds to it. Marinette is alive. For now.

The agony of that makes Juleka's limbs stop working. Her body goes limp, and the Ocean has to push her onto the island. Rose is wide-eyed, working hard to overcome her own panic as she pulls Juleka to a standing position.

Not long after, Marinette appears. Her expression isn't one that Juleka has seen before. There's guilt, yes, and sorrow, but also a peace that Juleka should have expected—Marinette pursues what she thinks is right. This isn't resignation; it's pride.

They don't get to say a word to each other. The Ocean begins a speech, telling them how Marinette has broken the rules and a punishment must be given. When She tells them that Marinette fell in love with a human, Juleka's suspicions are confirmed. Marinette never loves halfway. Of course it would be that caring, passionate heart that brought her to destruction.

Falling in love was bad enough, the Ocean says, but Marinette has also put them all at risk of exposure by interfering with the human's fated death. She's bargained her life in exchange for his—

Juleka gasps. She can't help it. Marinette's eyes finally rise to meet hers, and Juleka sees only determination there. If I have to die, she seems to say, isn't this an honorable death?

He must be extraordinary, this man. Something worth dying for.

What's the point of them being here, though? A public execution? Resentment is a dagger in Juleka's hand, but it evaporates into shock when the Ocean says they are going to have to decide on Marinette's fate. Suddenly Rose is supporting Juleka, small arms wrapped around her too-tall body that has given up on her.

The Ocean hurries to give them their options: they can sentence Marinette to death, or–

Or they can choose to add fifty more years to her time as a siren.

The choice is so blazingly obvious, it's as if there isn't even a question. Marinette has been granted a death row pardon. Juleka feels Rose perk up beside her; they're both flooded with relief.

Marinette, however, falls to her knees with what can only be called despair written on her features. "I won't keep killing," she says, agonized. "You can't make me!"

She can't mean–

Rose is already sprinting out of Juleka's arms, feet light on the waves as she flings herself into Marinette and berates her. "You have to stay," she orders.

Juleka is angry. At the Ocean and Marinette and this whole ugly world. "You said you wouldn't abandon me."

Marinette apologizes, but doesn't budge. "You know I don't want to. But another fifty years– I can't do it. I won’t."

No. No. She can't throw it all away, not after all this time. Juleka is ready to argue, to insist, to put her foot down and stand firm. She's never felt like this before, never believed in anything so absolutely. Marinette cannot die like this.

Before they can even continue the debate, though, Chloe intervenes. "Let's cut the bullshit, shall we?"

Juleka stares at her, dismayed, and loses her voice again. No! She'll only make things worse.

But then:

Chloe begins to speak, and it isn't at all what Juleka expected. “Ocean, we all know You never intended to kill Your special pet," she says, and the words feel true. She points out how the Ocean clearly wanted an excuse to keep Marinette alive, and now She can't even do that because Marinette would rather die than stay any longer as a siren.

And then, more shocking than anything else:

Chloe asks for more time. She offers to take all of Marinette's remaining time plus the fifty years of punishment. And…and Marinette can be released…Marinette can live.

Before Juleka can even feel the relief of this suggestion, Chloe delivers a disastrous final blow:

She throws into the air everything that Juleka has worked so hard to hide. She speaks of the forbidden relationship between Juleka and Rose as casually as if it were a well-known fact. Chloe is offering to take some of Rose's time as well, to let them be released together at the end of Juleka's sentence, and–

She's going to get them all killed. That's what Juleka is thinking, but Rose has other ideas. She doesn't see the same dangers, she never has. Instead, she sees hope in the darkness, and she lunges forward to squeeze Chloe into a hug like the deal is already done.

The rest fades away. What point is there in listening to Chloe's whining voice or Marinette's stunned reply? All Juleka can focus on is the water beneath her feet that roils in agitation. Any moment now, they'll all be pulled under just like Kagami was. It's the end for them, and Juleka has never hated herself more. It's her fault that Rose will die. Marinette made her own decisions; she chose her own destiny. But Juleka– she chose for two people, and now they both will pay.

The Ocean is speaking, but Juleka can't discern what's being said over the recriminations echoing inside her mind.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

You could have prevented this.

The only thing that can break through this haze is Rose. When she cries out, Juleka thinks at first that it's out of pain or fear, a death cry. She thinks that the wolf has finally closed its jaws around the soft neck of her beloved. Marinette's arms hold Juleka up as she starts to fall, tears streaming down her face. It's Marinette supporting her as Juleka realizes Rose is quite literally jumping for joy.

The Ocean whispers directly into Juleka's mind: not today. Death will come for them, but it will be someday far off in the future. It will come as gently as a rabbit to curl into their chests and warm them both to sleep.

For now, they will live, and live together.

It's the Ocean's idea for Juleka and Rose to visit Marinette on her wedding day. It shouldn't come as such a surprise, knowing what they do now about how the secret of their relationship wasn't ever really a secret at all, but Juleka still finds herself shocked at the Ocean being so…nice. So generous.

It's not too much of a risk? Juleka asks. Of course she wants to see Marinette, but not if it causes a disaster.

Then the Ocean says the strangest thing. She says Marinette's new husband will be the one to welcome them in, that he won't be dismayed by anything they do. They only need to keep Marinette from being too disturbed—no mentions of having known her before her memory loss, no hints about what she used to be.

Juleka and Rose swear to be careful.

They know exactly where and when to visit, for Marinette still keeps in contact with the Ocean, albeit unknowingly. In their rental car, they creep slowly up the little road to the lighthouse, waiting for a blonde man to appear. They've been told to wait for him, that he will greet them and take them to Marinette. It seems far-fetched, but when he appears over the crest of a hill, the Ocean is proved right.

He doesn't look pleased, though. His posture is defensive, frightened, and he stares at them as if they could attack at any moment.

Rose giggles from the driver's seat and gives him a jaunty wave. His terror turns to confusion and then–

Recognition. All at once, Juleka remembers the painting Marinette asked for just before they said goodbye.

"That day in Bolivia," she'd said. "On the salt flats. Could you paint that for me? I want to keep that view."

Juleka had purposely made the three of them tiny, only occupying a small corner of the landscape, mostly silhouetted and with the most minimal of details. It's not possible that he has made that connection…is it?

Rose doesn't seem concerned. She signs a question, and before Juleka can even whisper that of course he won't understand sign language, the man is lifting his fist and dipping it down in an affirmative.

"Oh, how romantic!" Rose's voice is just a breathy squeak as she pulls the car carefully into a parking spot. "He must have learned for her."

Or he already knew, and that's what attracted Marinette to him. Juleka won't say that, though. Rose's version is better.

They approach the picnic tables hesitantly, having no trouble locating Marinette amongst the other guests. Even if she wasn't wearing white, the radiant glow around her would have drawn them at once. She's happier than they've ever seen her, completely at peace, untroubled by memories of the things she took part in.

The people around her are loud and friendly, and she seems at ease with them. She has a good life here. Her husband is kind—and clearly just as extraordinary as Juleka assumed he would be. He'll be able to take care of Marinette, then.

It's the happiest ending Juleka can think of for her cherished sister, the one Marinette deserves after all she's given to others.

If there's any justice in the world, Rose will get a new life that's just as perfect, and Juleka will be there to see it.

It’s quiet here, on the island that used to belong to Marinette. Juleka is watching Rose, marveling at the perfect peace on her face as she dozes in the sand.

I don’t deserve her.

It’s the same thought Juleka always has. Rose is everything bright and lovely, and Juleka is…not. She’s gloomy and pessimistic and fearful and shy. She can only drag Rose down, but for some reason, Rose doesn’t mind.

It took many, many years to believe that.

Rose sees the good in everything. Her small hands can pluck golden strands of light out of any landscape, and when Juleka is near her, the world is a beautiful place, full of color.

It's nearly their time. When the sun rises, they'll hold hands and say a temporary goodbye to each other. They'll forget the decades that have bonded them together, but all the love will still remain. So the Ocean assures them.

Juleka holds a small, potent fear that it won't be the same. What if they wake up and Rose no longer looks at her with love? What if they are merely strangers who will part ways and lead separate lives?

What will it all have been for, if that happens? A hundred years of sorrow and grief and killing—but within them, thirty-six years of forbidden happiness, then twenty-two more of unbridled affection. Will it be like this after all those memories are gone?

Rose smiles in her sleep, then blinks slowly and looks at Juleka with plain, undeniable love. Permanent love, welded so deep into her bones and muscles that not even the Ocean could dislodge it.

"Stop worrying," she says. "I'll love you in every lifetime."

The moon is there, full of all their hope and apprehension, tracing soft light on their features. The Ocean whispers soothingly only yards away, an unexpected ally in these final years. Juleka rolls her body to fit into the curve of Rose's embrace, and together they await what will come.

Two women awaken on a beach under the glow of an early morning sun. Hands clasped, their eyes open simultaneously, meeting first in confusion, then in recognition.

"I know you," says the taller one, and the little one giggles.

"Of course you do. You're half of my whole."

"I've always known you."

"Yes."

"And I always will."

"Yes."

Ah, thinks the taller one. Life is beautiful.