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The piece of Gideon Nav’s soul that knew how to love and the piece of Harrowhark Nonagesimus’s soul that knew how to be loved sat together, in the dark.
Gideon was mostly elsewhere, and Harrow was mostly elsewhere, but here they were together, and Gideon held her with the same firm hands she had in life, so it couldn’t have been that bad, really.
And Harrowhark said to Gideon, “I will never forgive you.” And Gideon said to Harrow, “You will never forgive yourself.” And Harrow wept.
The water they sat in was cold and cloyed with salt, illuminated dully by some long-ago dead phosphorescence smeared along the sides of the walls.
And Gideon said to Harrowhark, “I have loved you.” And Harrow said, “I know.” And Gideon wept.
Once the weeping was done, Harrow said, “I think that we’re inside of me.” And Gideon said, “Damn, take me out to dinner first, Nonagesimus.”
Neither of them were looking at the coffin floating in the middle of the pool. It was there just like they were there, and sometimes the Thing inside of it would scream. This was not held against it. Harrow could use a good scream herself. Gideon had screamed. She was never one to control her impulses.
Gideon had her hands on Harrow’s waist, Harrow’s face in her neck, feeling the jackknifing of Gideon’s heart in her cheek.
The Thing in the coffin began to cry, soundlessly. But they knew it was crying.
The bottom of the pool was tiled in chubby baby bodies. Gideon did not let her look at them, anymore.
Sometimes, when Harrow looked at Gideon, she saw God. Sometimes, when Gideon looked at Harrow, she saw herself. Sometimes, they simply did not look. Gideon had her hands on her waist, her heart in her breast.
Harrow did not speak about the things that she saw through her own eyes, and neither did Gideon.
Gideon had been holding her, and holding her, and suddenly she was pulled back and Gideon looked into her eyes and began to choke on blood. She doubled over, convulsed, began to sink. Harrow Looked, and the Thing in the coffin thrashed, and she said, “Fool. You’re killing her.”
It was a whisper; it was a shout.
They were fine, really.
Gideon said, “I miss you.” And Harrow said, “I am here.” And Gideon said, “I will miss you.”
The Thing in the coffin said, “I love.”
Gideon said, “Harrow, I love you.”
Harrow said, “To the exclusion.”
And then waded over to the coffin, rapped smartly on the lid and said, “Good morning.” The coffin was gone like it had always been gone, just as it had been there like it had always been there. There was someone knocking on the doors to the pool.
Harrow said, “I’m here, Gideon.”
Gideon said, “One flesh.”
Harrow said, “I miss you.”
Gideon said, “I will miss you.”
Harrow opened the doors.
She woke up in Hell.