Page 89 of Where Light Cannot Follow

My breath catches, solely from habit, as I take a step toward it. I've never tried, if I'm honest. There's nothing about it that compels me. I don't feel the lightness, the joy, the freedom others sense within it. I'm not drawn.

But perhaps Dante is right.

Perhaps I am trapped by the limitations of my own mind.

He said he believed he was here to free me. Perhaps he is. Perhaps I needn't face Satan's torment after all. Needn't wander endless swamps of misery again. Perhaps I find the light, perhaps I find Dante within it, and my soul, whatever it becomes, will recognize his there.

I look back at Dante. He's watching with tears streaming down his cheeks. Unblinking and unashamed. He offers me a smile, which I return.

Then I turn and reach a hand toward the light.

I gasp as my fingers meet it and press against something solid.

I can feel.

I walk closer, spread both hands over the surface. There's a barrier there, something holding me from stepping through. But it's the first true touch I've had in endless time. I spread my fingers wide, relishing the sensation, cool and smooth, like glass warmed by sunlight.

Reality crashes over me, and I freeze.

I was a fool to hope.

I was never meant to enter this light.

I turn slowly to face Dante. He's staring, mouth open, brow furrowed, hands outstretched as though trying to reach through the barrier on my behalf.

"I'm sorry, Dante," I whisper.

"No." He crosses his arms, straightens his posture. "No," he shouts this time, then louder still, "No, this cannot be true."

"I cannot carry my soul elsewhere. It doesn't belong to me."

"I can—I can go speak with Satan. He offered to transfer your vow to me. I could⁠—"

"Dante." I step as close to him as I've ever stood. Then I offer the same gesture he gave me, brushing my ghostly fingers along a dark curl, down the line of his jaw. I wish I could feel him, just once. The softness of his hair. The warmth of his skin. The rise and fall of his chest with breath.

“Your time has come," I say gently. "You've broken your loops. You've traversed hell. It's time to go now."

Tears fall in a steady stream down his cheeks. "Not without you."

"Yes. Without me." I release a slow breath. "I know it hurts. But soon you won't feel any more pain. You will be free."

"And what of you?"

I chuckle softly, but tears spill over my cheeks despite myself. Because what is there to say?

"I will be as I've always been," I offer, slipping back into the guide of antiquity. "But full of new memories that will act as light in the shadows. Thanks to you."

He drags a hand across his face, composing himself with visible effort. "It wasn't enough. I wanted your salvation."

"But you are no god, Dante. I say that not as a rebuke—it's a compliment. You're a soul. A free one, now. And one of the most beautiful I have been fortunate enough to meet on this journey."

He keeps glancing back at the light, at the peace pulling and beckoning him. He's fighting it to stay here with me.

"I want the same for you, your salvation,” I say softly. "But the difference is, it's within your reach. Go into the light. And know it has been my honor to lead you to this place. Knowing you've made it, it's enough for me."

Dante stares at me, mouth agape. Wind on the mountain ruffles through his thick dark hair, and the light, even from behind him, shimmers over the tears on his face. He is utterly undone.

And the most beautiful I've ever seen him.