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“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
—Top Ten Homoerotic Quotes, by Some Clickbait Article Probably
Riz grows up believing there is someone out there waiting for her.
No—this is not a feeling constrained solely to belief. It is a fact, a truth so certain and enormous it might as well be engrained into the very fabric of the universe. Riz Hawkwood knows there is someone out there waiting for her (a girl with a heart too kind for this world, and a fate too brutal for any human to bear), with a certainty as irrefutable as the sun rising in the east.
(it is the only force that drives her from bed some days, when the pain of being the scorned daughter of the Visconti grows too much to bear, and she longs for the warm hugs and listening ear that she took for granted in another life she has never experienced before)
Perhaps that is what subconsciously inspired her Wish to Kyubey, for all her talk about restoring honour to the Hawkwood name. (her love was and will always be a hero, no matter what the heretics say. she will do anything to guide her love to step into her destiny, and so she shall become the one from which a true hero springs)
She travels Europe in search of her lost love those with the potential to grow into heroes, convincing the talented girls she finds to contract with Kyubey. She spends time with these magical girls who contracted under her name, despite knowing none of them are the one she’s searching for, until one by one they are felled by witches or become one themselves.
(the thing is, she has never trusted Kyubey. their relationship is one of mutual exploitation. it doesn’t mean her heart doesn’t sink, the first time she witnesses a soul gem blacken and crack—the egg from which a witch emerges.)
(but that doesn’t mean she stops sacrificing magical girls to satisfy the Incubator’s gluttony, either. all in the name of a love she does not remember.)
Eventually, Riz stumbles upon a rural village in France, saving two sisters from a witch. She lays her eyes on the older of the pair, blonde hair framing green eyes that are frightened yet determined—not for herself, but for her little sister. Riz knows before Kyubey speaks that this girl has incredible potential, that she’s the one Riz has been looking for all along, that even when the heart forgets the soul remembers, and—
Ah. For the first time in Riz’s life, the restlessness in her soul settles with contentment.
Once upon a time, an orphan girl and a faithful child lived in Domremy.
The orphan was raised by the parish, where she was forced by the nuns to spend much time in the chapel , though she had no love for a God who let parent s die so easily. It was there that she met a faithful girl who came to church to pray every day.
The faithful girl was kind, and although her family was not rich, she brought food for the orphan girl each time she came to pray. The gentle spark in the faithful girl’s eyes intrigued the orphan, while the orphan’s quick and dry wit impressed the faithful child. Though both girls knew little of romance and piety, the orphan girl silently pledged to remain with the faithful child for the rest of her life.
The orphan girl was christened Elisabeth by the nuns. The faithful child called her Lise, and in return was known by the orphan as Jeannette.
Riz Hawkwood—calling herself Riz Visconti—becomes a guard at Domremy. She tells the village she’s only staying for a while—but that one month becomes two, becomes one year and two and then three.
(she hasn’t remained in one place for so long since she first made her contract with Kyubey, and even before that she was barely tolerated in the family estate, choosing to spend her time out of sight in the surrounding countryside.)
(she’s forgotten what home feels like.)
Riz does not leave. (she will never leave, she promised her love so in a different childhood using a different body) She does not find the need to ask herself why.
(she never stayed so long for potential magical girls before. either they contracted or they didn’t, and Riz would leave those who did not desire their destiny to their chosen fates. there will always be other magical girls.)
(but there will never be another love of her life.)
Between beating up soldiers and pillagers and village boys who think themselves better, Riz teaches Tart (for that is what her love calls herself in this lifetime) and her sister Catherine swordsmanship.
Catherine is athletic and talented with weapons, and way too enthusiastic about stabbing people for someone who’s blood-related to Tart. Kyubey muses, more than once, what a pity it is that Catherine doesn’t have enough potential for a contract.
(secretly, Riz is relieved. perhaps in this life Catherine will not die for her sister like Cathy did.)
And then bandits attack while Riz is away escorting a village merchant. Riz returns to Catherine’s cooling body, and a Tart determined to never allow such tragedy to befall again.
She will never understand the growing knot of dread in her abdomen, watching as the Incubator draws Tart’s soul from her body. (she knows too well that this is the beginning of the end) This is what Riz set out to do, after all—create a hero so great her light will shine upon all who arrive after her. (no; she just wanted to find the one who showed her kindness when nobody else would)
Tart will certainly succeed where Riz’s previous companions failed. (for she has already done so once, and Jeannette died for it) Through Tart’s cooperation (she wishes Tart wouldn’t cooperate, that she would live blissfully in Domremy for the rest of her days, but just as she can’t bear to see Tart marry a villager’s son, she also cannot imagine tearing Tart from the greatness she is due), Riz’s Wish grows closer and closer to fulfilment (but that isn’t her actual Wish at all, is it?), so then why does she feel so dissatisfied?
Bandits attacked one day, killing many villagers and stealing their cattle. Lise only learned of this—stuck in the orphanage as she was—when a despondent Jeanne confessed to Lise that Cathy had sacrificed herself to save her.
Lise stuck close to Jeannette, afterwards. She had come so close to losing her closest and only friend, and didn’t even know about it until Jeannette herself told Lise! It was only thanks to little Cathy that Jeannette didn’t disappear like her parents.
This wouldn’t happen again, Lise swore to herself. She would grow strong and powerful enough that nothing would be able to hurt her Jeannette.
But then, Jeannette began drawing away from Lise. A week later, she claimed to the village priest that an angel had been speaking to her, visions soon recognised by the parish.
Lise didn’t believe her. Jeannette had always shared every little secret with her, and now that something like this had happened, why would she not tell Lise about her divine visions?
So one night Lise snuck out of the orphanage to Jeannette’s house. She found Jeannette in a nearby clearing, speaking to a floating…being of some sort. An angel.
The angel, dressed in red and black, called herself Tikki. She explained that Jeannette had been Chosen, given the duty of delivering France from war. Lise begged to help, and the very next night, she found a void-black ring resting upon her bed.
They bid Tart’s family farewell, and set out for Vaucoleurs.
When Jeanne went off to war, Lise followed close behind. For every lady must have a loyal handmaiden, and every knight a squire.
“There is nowhere you can go that I won’t follow,” Lise once told Jeannette, as a small child who should not know the gravity of such words. But she did know, and she meant it.
Tart doesn’t realise how charismatic she is. Her kindness draws comrades to her like moths to the flame.
They are joined by two other magical girls, Melissa and Elisa. Kyubey is pleased.
(privately, selfishly, Riz wishes that she can keep Tart all to herself)
Jeannette’s angel granted her the ability to perform miracles. She could summon weapons from nothingness with her Lucky Charms, and call forth an army of the Virgin Mary’s sacred insects to heal the injured and revive the dead.
Lise’s own demon gifted her with far less impressive powers. The ability to break, where Jeannette could repair.
(Creation and Destruction, Plagg called them, two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole. Lise was fine with that. she shall become the shadows from which Jeanne’s light sprang, a silent but steady support as Jeanne burst forth to achieve the great destiny which she was due.)
The Lucky Charms that Jeannette summoned were invariably banners or swords. The size and style of the swords varied greatly—at least in the beginning. With every Lucky Charm Jeanne summoned, her swords grew shorter and lighter, perfectly balanced for a girl of her stature, until she eventually ended up with an arming sword engraved with five crosses.
It took one glance at the red-spotted weapon for Tikki to look up and say, “I know what your Lucky Charm is trying to tell you.”
They found the sword exactly where Tikki said it would be, buried behind the altar of the church of Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois. It was a holy weapon that once belonged to a close friend of her past holder, and now it was about to become Jeanne’s.
Calling upon Plagg’s power to her form, Lise excavated the rusted blade with her claws. A whisper of Cataclysm sent the rust crumbling easily from the sword. Lise made quick work of the remaining dirt by wiping the sword on her black tunic, revealing a silver blade engraved with five crosses. Aside from the colouring, this sword was identical to the ones Jeanne had been summoning for the past few weeks, down to the length and weight of the blade.
Kneeling on one leg with the blade balanced upon her palms, Lise offered the sword to her knight.
“This sword is known for its loyalty,” Tikki explained as Jeannette accepted the sword with a huff of laughter, pulling Lise to her feet. “Although it may change masters after the previous one dies, it will never forget those who held its pommel to protect, and were deemed worthy in return. Even if the master forgets, the sword never will.”
Pernelle Flamel gifts Tart a sword, promising it will help her channel her enormous magic reserves.
Riz knows the design of the sword before she sees it, can almost feel its weight and power in her hands. For all that Tart has barely received her sword for a day, she wields the weapon with a familiarity that bespoke of years of experience, as if the sword is an old friend who has guided her through years of battles.
Later, after the army set up camp for the night, Tart allows Riz to examine her sword. Riz brushes a finger across the flat of the blade, tracing the five crosses engraved upon the sword. The tempered steel tingles beneath her fingers, as if there is magic trapped within the cold metal responding to her touch.
Riz imagines the sword whispering to her, hello, how are you, I’m sorry things ended the way they did, bringing this sword to her is the last thing I can do for the two of you, please take care of my chosen now that I cannot, but beware of her Destiny if you do want wish it to end in flames—
Riz jerks her hand back from the blade, mouth dry. She returns the sword to Tart, her blood pounding in her ears. She does not allow herself to ruminate on the why.
They were joined by comrades and enemies alike. The Butterfly and the Bee, on their side. The Peacock, Turtle, Fox and Dog, on the English’s.
Four kwamis, one each side of the war.
(Jeannette’s eyes had widened in disbelief, the first time they met enemy miraculous holders on the battlefield. Lise wasn’t particularly surprised. why would the divine favour one side of a mortal conflict over the other?)
(but Jeannette’s red-spotted banner inevitably unfurled in triumph over every battlefield, scattering into a loveliness of ladybirds that brought back each casualty in the conflict. “blessed by the Virgin Mary herself!” exclaimed the soldiers who knew not of Lucky Charms and miraculous cures. Lise believed the only reason Jeannette could wield Tikki’s magic so effectively was because of her own hard work.)
Tart is an incredibly lightweight drinker. It’s a well-known fact among the troops, which is to say nobody is shocked when Tart gets drunk from half a tankard of beer. Elisa snorts as Tart drapes herself across Riz’s arms, their chests pressed together as she clings to Riz.
Tart’s emerald eyes are wide and shiny as she peers up at Riz. “I really, really like you, Lise. Riz.” she says earnestly, “Let’s go home together after the war. We’ll build a house in Domremy, and then we can be happy forever…”
One of the men hollers. “I’m jealous, Hawkwood! What we wouldn’t give to have La Pucelle invite us home after the war!”
Riz’s mouth is dry.
“…you’re drunk again, Tart.” she says gently, prying Tart’s arms from her torso. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Riz pulls Tart into a bridal carry, which Tart acquiesces ‘only if she can put her hands around Riz’s neck’. They return to Tart’s tent amidst thunderous applause, like this is all a joke to them, as if those words didn’t just pull Riz’s heart out and smash it on the unforgiving ground, only for Tart’s earnest smile to stitch it back together and stuff it back where it belongs.
Tart’s head is already lolling against Riz’s chest by the time Riz pushes open the flap of her tent. True to her words, Tart’s arms are still wrapped around Riz’s neck.
“Goodnight, Tart.” Riz whispers, tucking the girl into her cot, “Tomorrow morning you won’t—” you won’t remember.
Riz swallows. That’s probably for the best.
She exits the tent, only to halt in her tracks. Melissa is standing outside the tent, arms crossed next to the tent opening as if she is standing guard.
Riz raises an eyebrow.
Melissa nods in greeting. “You like her back, don’t you.” It isn’t a question. It doesn’t need to be. “I saw your face when she hugged you.”
So that is what this is about.
Riz scoffs. “What does it matter? France shall be doomed by a woman and saved by a Virgin.” she says, reciting the prophecy that has been circulating the countryside and done so much to boost morale in the army. “A Virgin,” Riz begins, then stops. Nothing she adds can make her feelings any less damning.
Melissa smiles sympathetically, “There can be love without physical intimacy, you know.”
Riz shakes her head. Even if it were so, Riz can never do anything that might endanger Tart’s position. She loves Tart too much to be selfish.
Maybe in their next life. Ha.
Cats liked high places, Plagg had once told Lise. It was that sentiment which Lise clung to as she camouflaged herself among the leaves, empty-handed save for a piece of wood. She wasn’t fleeing from Jeanne’s ridiculous popularity among the soldiers, that would be absurd. She was simply practicing wood carving with her claws, like Jeannette suggested earlier that day.
Distracted as she was, Lise didn’t realise she had company until the Butterfly was right beneath her tree.
“You love her, don’t you?” the Butterfly asked without preamble. His violet cloak flapped in the non-existent wind as he used it to fly upwards, landing on the tree branch where Lise sat.
Lise’s eyes snapped upwards, her slitted pupils constricting. The wooden statue burst into splinters under the strength of her grip. She ignored the splinters; her transformation would protect her. “Why do you ask?” she replied, sharper than she intended.
The Butterfly smiled, not unhappily. He sat down next to Lise, folding his cloak around his torso like a poor imitation of butterfly wings.
“Because I love him.” he answered, shooting a glance at the heart of the encampment, where the Ladybird and Bee were dancing in a circle of soldiers, the life of the party. “And even if I were a girl, his family would never let us marry. People like them are destined for greatness. People like us should be content if they deign to permit us as their servants.”
Lise tilted her head. “But you want more,” she assumed.
Just like the dark part of her heart hungered, a wild predator feasting upon everything Jeannette offered but still yearning for more .
“But I want more,” the Butterfly agreed.
They sat together in silence. Lise brushed the wooden splinters from her gloves, watching Jeannette twirl around the campfire from a distance. Her short black hair caught the light of the campfire flames whenever she moved, as if there were a thousand stars woven into her hair. She looked beautiful.
Jeannette always looked beautiful.
France would be doomed by a woman and saved by a Virgin . Lise would never have what she wanted.
They win back Reims, and deliver King Charles VII to his own coronation.
Everything is going so well, and then not, when Isabeau de Bavière crashes the post-coronation party by immolating the party guests. Not even Tart’s most powerful attack lands a scratch on that woman, and Isabeau and Minou leave Reims in chaos, with a newly-crowned king who is quickly descending into madness, and—
Riz hasn’t felt this powerless in a lifetime.
They were ambushed at Compiegne.
It was a trap, with the four cut off from escape paths by the Turtle’s shields, and kept from finding out until it was too late by the Fox’s illustions. The Dog’s ability to retrieve whatever her weapon touched was single-minded and inflexible, but more fearsome than Lise could ever imagine.
The Dog managed to get inside Jeanne’s guard, and then—
All it took was a metal orb clipping Jeanne’s shoulder, for Lise to lose her Jeannette forever.
Jeanne realised what was lost long before the rest of them did. In her last moment of freedom, she threw her sword to the ground, pulling her miraculous from her ears. Jeanne pressed the earrings into Lise’s palm, and then—she was gone.
The last memory Lise had of Jeanne were of fearless blue eyes and a determined smile. And the last news she heard from her love was that of her death.
(what happened to remaining together for the rest of our lives?)
(Lise should’ve been there. if not to break Jeannette free, then to at least follow her into death. Lise would’ve been there, if not for traitorous teammates who Paralyzed her whenever she tried to leave. who left Jeannette for dead , who didn’t even try to rescue her, who did their best to keep Lise alive in the months that followed but what was the point of being on this plane of existence if Jeannette wasn’t there? she didn’t even need to have Jeanne by her side she just wanted Jeanne to live )
(Jeannette, please, never go where I can’t follow.)
(she would never forgive them)
They are ambushed at Compiegne.
Riz sacrifices herself to save Tart. (as she always should’ve) She willingly walks into the Gates of Hell, dragging Lapin inside with her. The Gates slam shut behind them with a resounding finality, severing Riz from the love of her life.
Lapin’s soul gem cracks into its witch form only for the shadows to tear Enfant Terrible apart, leaving behind only Lapin’s body at its core. Despair accumulates almost instantly, the pink crystal on Lapin’s neck blackening to match the shadows restraining her, and Enfant Terrible bursts forth from Lapin’s soul gem once more.
Riz watches a few iterations of this brutal cycle before she turns away. She can do nothing to save Lapin from this infernal suffering. Lapin brought this on herself the moment she refused to stop threatening Tart.
The shadows whisper across her skin, murmuring songs of comfort to their master. Riz cocoons herself in their cold embrace, imagining them to be Tart’s warm hands, then immediately berating herself for the thought. She chose this, will choose this again a thousand times over, if it means protecting Tart. (helping her, delivering her to her great destiny, even knowing it will only end in death) And yet—
Riz already misses Tart.
It’s so strange. Riz left her soul gem in Tart’s hands, a parting memento of Riz’s love, though Tart will never know it. Separate from her soul in another dimension, Riz should’ve lost consciousness a long time ago.
Maybe Tart is keeping her soul alive. Won’t that be something? Riz isn’t prone to bouts of romantic delusions, but for Tart, she’ll make an exception.
She already followed Tart from one life to the next, from one universe to another. What is a little more of chasing after impossible stars, after everything that has occurred?
There is no difference between the sight beyond and behind her eyelids, in this realm of shadows. Everything is the same suffocating shade of black. And yet, when Riz closes her eyes, she imagines a grand, final battle between the English and the French, with Tart at the head of one side and Isabeau at the head of the other.
She imagines Isabeau turning into a witch, a monstrous being who cannot be defeated by mere magical girls. She imagines herself by Tart’s side, both on the precipice of despair yet clinging desperately to a thin thread of hope. She imagines battling against Crepuscule de La Reine, together, her soul wrapped around Tart’s body like a cloak.
She imagines them winning, against all odds.
The last thing Riz feels is Tart pressing her lips to Riz’s soul gem. A parting kiss ghosts over her temple, warm breath caressing her ear as a kind voice whispers “thank you”, and then Riz is shattering into a million pieces—purple soul shards scattering across the blood-stained battleground, only to be painstakingly recollected by a Goddess whose kindness is second only to Tart’s—
A pair of hands reach through the depths of Hell for Riz, translucent skin glowing golden with warmth that beats back the freezing cold of the shadows. Riz reaches for those hands, that golden warmth reminding her of autumn sunshine falling through the chapel window as she laid her eyes on the love of her lives for the first time—
The Goddess pulls her out of Hell, away from the shadows that plagued her for two entire lifetimes, and they ascend—
Riz opens her eyes to a realm of eternal golden sunshine and gentle warmth. And she…she remembers.
She remembers being Elisabeth. Lise. It figures that Riz would end up with a name so similar, yet so different. (a life so similar, yet so different)
Oh. So it was all real. Riz managed to stand by Tart one final time, before her soul gem shattered and the Goddess delivered her to a higher plane of existence.
The war is won. Riz only wishes Tart will get to live happily ever after, this time.
But it is mere days after Riz’s death that Tart rises to heaven on saintly dove wings.
Right before Riz gathers herself to greet Tart, she weeps for what could not come to pass. She once told Jeannette that there was nowhere Jeanne could go that Lise would not follow. Past death, across universes, to a different yet identical destiny. Why did she not suspect that the reverse held true for Tart?
(in the end, she failed to change anything of importance)
(she failed to change Jeanne Tart her love’s fate)
(what a waste of second chances)
Tart dies without regrets.
(but if she could’ve gotten a third second chance at life, she would’ve spent the rest of her days peacefully as a village girl, her family alive and Riz by her side. Melissa and Elisa probably wouldn’t live with them, but they would stop by the village from time to time, and there would be neither pillagers nor plague in their quiet corner of the world. there would be neither Kyubey nor Tikki nor Plagg, for though she loved them, their presence heralded greatness, destinies that would tear her from her peaceful village life. she would live simply, and die simply, her legacy forgotten to all but those who matter. and she would be happy—)
(she doesn’t regret her choices, all her accomplishments and the results they sowed, the people who will live long and blessed lives thanks to her—)
(but—)
(won’t a life of anonymity be a nice change of pace?)
Tart dies, her soul gem cracking under the heat of the flames. Her soul rises beyond this world in fire and smoke, and just as Tart is about to vanish into the ether—
A divine figure appears before Tart, gathering her soul with swift, gentle hands. They transform into a dove, Tart and this being who is undoubtedly the one she worships, soaring into the sky soft grey sky—
And they ascend—
“Hello, Tart.” A soft voice whispers by her ears. (familiar, a voice she never thought she’d hear again)
Tart opens her eyes.
She is sitting on a rolling pasture, the green grass shimmering in iridescent colours under golden sunlight that is always the perfect temperature. The ring on her finger is gone, not even a slight indent remaining of its presence. Her middle fingernail, lacking a pink cross, is as pristine as the carefree days before Catherine’s death. (before she opened her arms and embraced a destiny that could only end in tragedy.)
Tart glances up. Standing before her is a house she hasn’t seen in six years—her childhood home in Domremy. And surrounding her, smiles bright but tainted by the reality of her presence before her time, are the people Tart missed like a lost part of herself, even though she always knew she would be reunited with them upon death.
“Catherine! Father! And—” she swallows.
Lise—Riz—the love of her life kneels before Tart. She takes Tart’s callused hands into her own, and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Welcome to heaven, Jeannette.”
“Riz.” Tart whispers. “Lise.”
Maybe she should’ve stopped at that. There are so many other things she wants to say to Catherine (who died for her not once but twice) and Father (who passed away during her military campaign, something she didn’t find out until the letter reached her weeks later). But they are resting in heaven now, the destination at her journey’s end, and will Tart ever get these words off her chest if she doesn’t do so now?
Tart glances at Catherine and Father. Understanding immediately dawns in Catherine’s eyes, and, with an enthusiastic grin too wide for her own good, she drags their bemused father away by his arm.
Riz turns her head around, blinking at Catherine and Father’s retreating figures. She turns back to Tart, “You sent them away?”
Tart nods. “I think…my memories returning made me realise just how much I feel—just how important it is to say this to you.” she takes a deep breath, then says without preamble, “Riz. I really, really like you. Remember when I asked you to go home together after the war? Can we finally have that?”
Riz startles. Her hands slip from Tart’s palm, so Tart immediately grabs them to ensure Riz won’t let go. “You remembered that?”
“Of course I did.” Tart giggles. Even though she’s a light drinker (has been a light drinker for two lifetimes), she has never been one to black out completely after drinking. That would be rude of her.
“You never answered me, that night. And afterwards…we had a war to win, with Elisa and Melissa and so many good men depending on us—it never felt like the right time to breach the topic. But…” Tart smiles, sorrow and relief rolled into one, “But all of that is behind us now. I’ve completed my mission, so I can finally ask this of you with an unburdened heart. Come home with me?”
“I.” Riz’s voice cracks. Her purple eyes are wide with astonishment. Silly Riz; Tart has never been blind to Riz’s devotion to her, why would she not believe Tart cares for her the same way?
“But.” Riz swallows, “You’re a Virgin. You can’t—I’m not supposed to—”
Tart tilts her head. “…so? I don’t see why that affects how much I care about you.” she pauses, frowning, “Unless…is that why you never made your feelings known?”
“I—” Riz blinks again. Tart has never seen her look this bewildered before—either as Lise or as Riz. It’s kind of cute. “…I didn’t think they would be welcome. I’m not supposed to—to love you the way I do.”
Tart can’t help it—she giggles. Riz’s cheeks turn rosy at the sound. “Don’t be silly. How can I ever refuse anything you give me?” she squeezes Riz’s hands, “So…will you? I’ve—we’ve finally fulfilled our destinies, and now an eternity of peace lies before us. I want to spend this eternity with you, Riz. So will you come home with me? To me?”
Riz’s eyes shine with two lifetimes of emotions left unsaid. “Yes.” she whispers, “Yes. I’ll come home with you.” she pauses, then corrects. “To you.”
Tart beams. Even discounting every person she helped and each friends she made on her journey, Tart will not regret a single thing in her two lifetimes—not if every moment of suffering brought her closer to this moment. To Riz.
She raises her hands, still cupped around Riz’s, and presses a soft kiss to Riz’s knuckles. “Welcome home, Riz.”