ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

Iris wasn't sure how long it took her to find the courage to do it. It was a frail little thing nestled inside her, cowering in terror in the gaps between her ribs, but it was still there, begging and pleading desperately to be heard.

Iris would say to it, "I worry about you, sometimes."

It would reply, "Don't."

It sounded an awful lot like Lyra sometimes.

She wasn't sure how she'd willed herself into wanting to do it in the first place, but choosing to move on was way beyond the bare minimum of healing, so that would be something she'd be patting herself on the back over once she found her way to the original timeline. If she could find a way of returning, that is; Lyra was adamant that she could, while Iris had some doubts and conflicting emotions over the whole ordeal.

In a way, it comforted her and filled her chest with warmth to know Lyra had enough faith in her to blindly trust her and believe in her potential; after all, not every person on the planet was able to bend and rewind time whenever they chose to, even if it came with great risk to the world population and to the user (Iris' nose would not stop bleeding at times, not to mention the permanent lightheadedness and chronic migraines that left her barely able to leave her dorm room to attend any lectures).

On the other hand, it struck her hard right through the chest, like Lyra was trying her hardest to get rid of her, to make her stop interfering with her life. It wasn't nice to feel unwanted or unneeded, especially when you'd spent your whole life doing so chronically, physically unable to stop being ready and available to drop everything to help other people. However, like rewinding time to save Lyra from herself, from Iris, from the world, from any possible harm, there were needed risks and sacrifices.

Though it was agonizing to admit, Lyra was right. Iris couldn't make those decisions by herself, neglecting Lyra's own input in the matter, and that was without mentioning the entirety of the world's population and how Iris' poor decisions had impacted them without their consent or knowledge.

Lives had been changed, multiple timelines had been created, and their relationship was still unsalvageable, regardless of her being alive. Keeping her alive had been the goal all along, but she didn't want her to be miserable, either, so she'd found herself at a crossroad with poor visibility.

The only good thing about being left to her own devices so often (no longer a danger to herself or to others! What a miracle!) was that it gave her space away from Lyra to come up with a plan. She needed to explain to her what needed to be done, but she also needed to find a way to approach the subject, carry on a conversation with her without it resulting into a fistless argument (even though, if she succeeded, said argument would've never happened—not like the one that had finally tore them apart) or without suffering a mental breakdown, and find a way back to her life. Her real life.

Her life without Lyra.

Lyra's radio silence was getting on her nerves, though. She spent most of the time complaining to a dead phone, ironically ("pick up the damn phone," she'd grunt, only to be met with static), but it also allowed her to place her memories on each respective shelf. Realizing she didn't know Lyra anymore reminded her there was a chance she'd always been so hyper focused on what she thought she knew about her lover that she failed to consider all the ways things could be different if the circumstances were different. Lo and behold, as soon as the train ran off its tracks when Iris started making mistakes and altered history, but never the destination, it had become clear what she had to do.

When Lyra finally showed up, she agreed. No suspension of disbelief or argument needed—she, too, agreed Iris only knew the version of her she'd left behind and wanted to preserve all along, the one untouched by the cold, suffocating grip of death. The version of her in this timeline carried the responsibility of having to be better than that, but all she could be was herself, and Iris had deemed her not good enough.

How ironic.

Iris had rewinded because she thought it was her duty to shoulder the life of a girl who was destined to die. Iris had rewinded because guilt had settled into every crevice of her body, every corner of her mind, and had wanted her to exhaust every possibility, every outcome before deciding there had been nothing for her to save all along. Even if there was, even if Lyra made it out alive, they never would.

You love me, and it's ruining both our lives. Iris knew that better now than ever, but it also meant she knew how to go back. She had to agree to move on—no matter what it took. No matter how she'd feel about it, how willing or unwilling she'd be to leave the past where it belonged; she could never have it all. Lyra could never be happy while trapped in a state of life she wasn't supposed to be in.

"Save the girl or save yourself from the girl," Lyra muttered, as they laid side by side on Iris' bed. Under the dimming sunset lights tiptoeing through the blinds, she was already fading, but still the golden girl. She'd let it all go to waste. "It's your move."

It was her move, yes, but she knew she would never be able to do it by herself. Consumed by grief, moved by a heart that refused to stop beating for the one person it couldn't love anymore, and fueled by a deep desire to bend the universe and time to her will, Iris found herself powerless. By attempting to fix things, by deciding she was the one who got to decide what had gone wrong and where, she'd become the architect of Lyra's destruction, and it had taken her an heartbreakingly long time to see things for what they were.

Nothing about the present reality was real.

They were both alive, sure, but it wasn't real. It would never be the real thing, fabricated by the delirious machinations of a brain perpetually stuck in mourning—of what had been, of what could have been, of how she could have changed it all, how she could have been better, done better, love better.

It had cost her everything. The one thing she'd ever wanted had brought her nothing but damnation, and she had dragged Lyra down to the bottom of the ocean with her.

Even if she stayed, even if she somehow kept Lyra alive long enough, they would be out of each other's lives. Initially, Iris hadn't cared, believing that an alive, angry Lyra would be infinitesimally better than one who had died in peace, but the latter had never been true, either.

Lyra would die screaming. Lyra wouldn't die poetically or beautifully. She would just die.

No amount of pretty words or striking butterflies or time rewinding would be able to change that; fate was always lurking right around the corner, awaiting the best moment to strike, and Iris would die trying to prevent it from happening. She would die, Iris would die, and the world would not care.

She would. But she would also be dead.

Going back would mean moving on. Staying would mean nothing would ever change, no one would never heal.

"I'm sorry," Iris whispered. A lone tear rolled down her cheek, soaking the pillow beneath her head. "I'm sorry I turned my back on you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Lyra exhaled. Softly, this time, and her breathing then steadied. It would be as quick and easy as falling asleep.  "I'm sorry for chasing you away. I'm sorry for not being brave enough to let you in."

"That's the thing about bravery, isn't it? They never tell you how much it sucks having to be brave all the time."

Lyra hummed, then snuggled closer to her. Heart shattering into a million pieces, Iris leaned her head against hers, just in time for a single blue butterfly to flutter towards them, oh so tempting, and it beckoned Iris to make a decision. She stared at it. Then back at Lyra.

She was so beautiful in the light, with the sun leaving gentle kisses across her skin like Iris wished she could. She envied the sun now, for it got to touch her that way, always knowing when to be kind and delicate or when to amp up the intensity, whereas Iris had only known how to love her in shades of red—deep, burning red, then purple, then blue.

Then gray.

It would be okay. Iris would learn to love someone the right way, in whatever colors it would be, and she would be loved, too.

Iris opened her mouth, let the butterfly in by luring it into a trap with her honey tongue.

Then, she swallowed.

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

WE DID IT FAM ONLY THE EPILOGUE LEFT

wc: 1536 (docs) // 1507 (wattpad)

total wc: 39064 (docs) // 38610 (wattpad)