Whispers tumble among the leaves, and a light breeze pushes through the branches, covered in brown decay. The sky hangs overhead, an ominous dark gray that stretches past the bounds of imagination. A large iron gate, rusted from years of neglect, swings on its hinges, creaking and slamming into the chipped brick wall lining the cemetery. In the center lay Elizabeth, lounging casually against a blank tombstone surrounded by wild bushes and white bulbs. The whispers hit a crescendo, then cease as Elizabeth opens her eyes.
“I was but a haunted shell. The poltergeist of doubt has risen and left me, thanks to Hira Izumi, to whom I owe a debt of immense gratitude.” Elizabeth leans forward and scoots back, sitting upright in the dirt.
“They told me you were the light, and I believed them. You proved it ever so wonderfully at Lights Out. I could not have asked for a better introduction to Union Battleground, and now, I know what it feels like to understand the dark.” Her voice is jubilant, but there is a undercurrent or irritation, as if her throat is hoarse. She does not allow this to stop her.
“Mr. Izumi answered the question that lingered amongst the ghosts: can I come back? Is it possible? A resounding yes.” she grins but for a moment before pouting.
“My only regret is that I have come, riding the death rattle of Season Two. After Coup de Grace, I will have to wait the entire offseason until we may meet again…” She sighs.
“I am not one to make many promises, but those I do make, I keep— rest assured, dear viewer, Season Two will not be buried by her lonesome.” Overhead, lightning crackles through the clouds.
“Erik, sweet Erik… Whatever brought you to me?” She cocks her head, constricted pupils staring directly forward.
“I called out and you answered; I drew you from your safety, that stagnant circle of championship reigns. ECWF, FIW, Elysium… where haven’t you been christened?” Her eyes grow hungry, and she reaches out to caress the white, vase-like flowers that dangle nearby.
I called out and you answered, your voice carrying like thunder, You stand before me a beacon of hope; You stand before me a lighthouse in a storm; You stand before me a shine of success. And now I must defile it.” She licks her lips before giggling.
“They speak of you as if you are a legend, and I believe them. Your merits shine among a crowd of mediocrity, so it pains me to say I’m afraid you will not find such comfort here. Erik, I will keep this brief…” She trails off as more lightning strobes overhead.
“Men, like you, have tried for years to put me to an early grave; To be honest, I have tried myself, but even I am unable to put to rest the inevitable.
Kira had no answers, and I worry you will suffer the same. You have come, and I fear that the wonder is an illusion.
Please, Erik… Prove me wrong.”
The wind picks up and blows forth a summer storm. There is no sprinkle, only a avalanche of rain blowing fierce in all direction. Elizabeth does not stand. Instead, she peers up at the heavens and closes her eyes. The makeup upon her face, once perfect, bleeds down her cheeks, leaving a spectral outline. She reaches forward and snatched an Angel Trumpet from its bushel and clutches in in her palm.
The rain keeps tumbling until Elizabeth disappears behind the wall of water.
