Carnival lights flickered like stars trapped in glass, casting warm glows onto the smiling faces of families and lovers strolling by. The scent of popcorn and caramel apples mingled with the distant hum of swing jazz pouring from a jukebox near the soda stand.
Prim's laughter rang out as the ring she tossed landed squarely around the milk bottle. "That's four in a row," she said smugly, brushing invisible dust off her cardigan sleeve. She wore a soft blue dress, the kind that twirled a little when she walked, and her curls bounced with each step.
Serin rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the smile tugging at her lips. "Are you sure you didn't strike a deal with the vendor?"
Prim winked and handed the blushing man behind the stand a ticket. "I'm just naturally gifted." She turned to Serin and held out a small, plush rabbit with crooked ears. "For you."
Serin hesitated, then took it gently. "This is the third toy you've won me."
"So you won't forget me after tonight," Prim said, only half-teasing. Her voice dropped just a note, just enough for Serin to tilt her head and look at her more closely.
Before Serin could ask what she meant, Prim looped her arm through hers and tugged her along. "C'mon. I want to ride the Ferris wheel before it gets too crowded."
They made their way across the wooden boardwalk path, the carnival buzzing around them—balloons bobbing in the air, record players crooning love songs from nearby booths, and laughter that echoed like a soft lullaby.
As they reached the Ferris wheel line, Serin glanced at Prim's neck. A simple, vintage pendant she had given her days ago hung from a thin chain, catching the light for a moment—just a flicker—and then fading, almost like it was holding its breath.
She didn't think much of it.
Not then.
Then their turn came at last.
The attendant, in his striped vest and bored expression, pulled the carriage door open with a clunk and a wave of his hand. "Watch your step, ladies."
Prim stepped in first, the hem of her soft blue dress brushing against the metal floor. She turned and offered her hand to Serin, who took it with a faint smirk.
"How chivalrous," Serin teased as she settled beside her.
"I try," Prim replied, straightening her cardigan as the door latched shut behind them.
The wheel shuddered back to life, lifting them slowly into the night.
Their carriage rocked gently with the movement, creaking with every few feet gained. Below, the fair unfurled in bursts of color and movement—twirling carousels, glowing booths, children darting between legs with cotton candy in hand. The warm sound of a distant swing band filtered up, like the memory of a song they once knew.
"Look," Prim whispered, pointing to the horizon.
From their growing height, they could see beyond the carnival—quiet rooftops, the sleepy glint of cars on cobblestone roads, a sliver of moonlight on the river. The city looked like a dream suspended in glass.
Serin leaned forward, propping her elbow on the edge. "Feels like we're somewhere else entirely."
"Maybe we are," Prim said softly, eyes never leaving the skyline. "I like to pretend moments like this are frozen in time. Like nothing bad can touch them."
Serin turned her gaze from the view to Prim. "You're full of strange ideas tonight."
Prim gave a small smile and reached for the pendant around her neck—the one Serin had given her days ago, in a little tin box wrapped with twine. She rubbed it between her fingers absentmindedly. The charm caught a glint of light, shining faintly for a second… then dulled.
Serin noticed but didn't comment.
Instead, she said, "That pendant suits you."
Prim didn't look at her. "It feels like it's always been mine."
Their carriage reached the peak.
The world fell quiet. The wind whispered past them. Even the carnival below seemed to hush for a breath.
Then, Prim turned to her with a wistful look in her eyes, something unreadable. "Serin?"
"Hm?"
"It would be nice if this night could last forever."
Serin's hand moved over Prim's. "I think so too."
And in the stillness of the stars and steel and vintage song, Prim leaned in, brushing her lips softly against Serin's.
It was gentle. Warm. The kind of kiss people write letters about, or tuck into the corners of old photographs.
And then—
A sharp jolt.
The carriage bucked.
Screams rose below.
The groan of metal—loud, tearing, unnatural.
The world lurched.
And they were falling
The sky tilted.
Metal shrieked—a horrible, grinding scream—followed by the sharp pop-pop-pop of bolts tearing loose. A storm of panicked gasps rose from below.
And then—freefall.
Their carriage broke loose from the wheel.
Wind howled past Serin's ears. Her body jolted as gravity took them. In that blink, that sharp rush of downward motion, she reached out—found Prim's hand—and held it like it was the only solid thing in the world.
I'm falling again, she thought, heart jackhammering. Will it be the end this time?
The blur of lights stretched into smears of yellow and red. A child screamed in the distance.
Then—
Impact.
Pain exploded. Serin's world spun violently. Her back hit something—wood, maybe?—and then her shoulder cracked against steel. She bounced, once, rolled hard against a beam, and slammed to a stop. The ground felt like fire under her skin.
Silence fell, broken only by the distant sound of people screaming and running.
For a second, she couldn't breathe. She tried to suck in air, but blood came up instead. Warm and coppery, it painted her lips.
She coughed hard, gasping, pain lighting up her chest. Her fingers twitched, scraping across broken glass.
And then—her wounds began to pulse. The gash on her temple, the bruises, the torn flesh—they glowed faintly. Tingled. Closed. Like always.
She didn't have time to question it. She didn't care.
"Prim?" Her voice cracked, throat torn. "Prim!"
She crawled forward through broken beams, ribs aching, blood still slick on her chin. The world was spinning, and all she could hear was the ringing in her ears.
Then—there.
Prim lay just a few feet away, curled slightly on her side. Her blue dress was soaked in dark red. One shoe was missing. Her curls were damp with blood. And the pendant—the one Serin had given her days ago—lay beside her, cracked but glowing faintly, as if flickering through the dust.
"Prim!" Serin dropped beside her, cradling her against her chest. "Hey. Hey, look at me."
Prim's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. "S-Serin...?"
"I'm here," Serin whispered. "I'm here. You're gonna be fine. Just hold on."
Prim smiled faintly, confusion clouding her gaze. "It hurts…"
"I know. Just breathe. You'll be okay, you'll be—"
Prim's head shifted slightly, lips trembling. "Why... why aren't you hurt?"
Serin stilled.
Prim gave a shaky laugh. "You were right next to me... but you're okay. How?"
Serin looked away, guilt cutting deeper than any wound.
Prim's voice was soft. "You're glowing again... just like last time."
Serin froze. "Last time?"
"I don't know." Her breath hitched. "It feels like... like I know you. But I don't. That's crazy, right?"
Serin met her eyes, the weight of her silence unbearable.
Prim's expression turned peaceful, far too peaceful. "But it was nice. I'm glad I got to feel this."
Serin squeezed her tighter. "Don't say that. You're not dying."
"I don't want to, either," Prim whispered. "I wanted more time. More... anything. With you."
Serin buried her face in Prim's hair, now damp and sticky. She couldn't cry—her body was too broken to remember how. Or maybe it was her heart.
"I wish I could meet you again," Prim breathed, her voice a sigh—more a feeling than a sound.
As if called by those words, the broken pendant at her side pulsed once—soft gold, then gone.
And then—nothing.
Prim's chest no longer rose.
Serin didn't scream. She didn't move. She just stayed there, in the splinters and glass, holding someone who felt like home, even if she hadn't known why.
The crowd gathered, but Serin heard none of it. The wails, the sirens, the chaos—it was all muffled, like sound had sunk underwater.
She stayed there, arms wrapped tightly around Prim's now-still body. Her warmth was fading fast. That softness, the spark in her voice, the way she had laughed just minutes ago—all of it slipping away like sand through trembling fingers.
Serin's hands shook. Not from pain. But from the unbearable quiet inside her chest.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against Prim's hair. "I'm so—so sorry."
The pendant that lay cracked beside them gave a final flicker. A dying star, unnoticed by anyone but her.
Serin didn't know if it was the cause or the witness.
She reached for it with blood-slick fingers and clutched it to her chest, where the pain bloomed sharp and deep, like something was breaking—not bone, not muscle, but something that lived underneath.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Just breath.
Just ache.
Just the silence of someone who felt like the world had betrayed her, and now found herself too far gone to make a sound.
Her gaze drifted upward, to the sky where the wheel still turned slowly, its lights blinking without rhythm—mocking the stillness below.
"Is this your punishment?" she asked, voice no louder than a thought. "For living? For healing while she bled?"
No answer came. Only the weight of the night pressing down on her, thick and unrelenting.
"Or is this the price?" she murmured, clutching the pendant tighter, her chest heaving with something too sharp to be grief alone. "For this cursed life you gave me…"
She bowed her head, forehead pressed to Prim's as silent tears traced paths through the dirt and ash on her cheeks.
No more light. No more healing. Just Serin. Alone. Holding a girl who didn't know what she was, only that she loved.
And now, that love was gone.
Next Chapter: The girl who survived.
What's in store for the broken Serin? Another love? Another pain? Another era?