Chapter Text
The room had fallen into a tranquil quiet, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside and the rhythmic sound of David and Katrina’s slowing breaths. The sheets clung to them, damp with the lingering sweat of their past carnal connection. The air carried a trace of warmth and musk, the scent of sex, of life itself. David lay on his back, one arm draped lazily around Katrina’s waist, his chest rising and falling in tired but contented rhythm. Her body was curled against him, her blonde hair a soft tangle across his shoulder.
Behind her, unnoticed, Elizabeth lingered. She was lying close, her form pressed in the shadow of Katrina’s curve, mimicking her posture, her hand resting inches from David’s outstretched arm. Though she didn’t breathe, she felt the same post-storm stillness as they did—the quiet after the storm, the fragile peace that followed the rush of life and desire. Her chest ached with emotions too tangled to name: warmth, envy, awe, love, and an unexplainable serenity.
She could still feel faint echoes of their shared energy pulsing through her. Each heartbeat, each satisfied moan resonated in her like the distant vibrations of a drum. She had no body, no nerves, yet something deep inside her hummed with a lingering sense of connection—an afterglow that was emotional rather than physical.
Katrina was the first to break the silence. She shifted slightly, the sheet sliding across her shoulder as she turned to look at David with a drowsy, satisfied smile. “That was…” she murmured, her voice still rough from breathlessness, “incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that in sync with someone before.”
David blinked, his lips curving into a tired but genuine grin. “You were amazing,” he said softly. “It’s not just… what you did. It’s how you are. You read me like—” he hesitated, his throat tight with emotion, “like you already knew what I needed.”
Katrina chuckled quietly and traced a finger down his chest. “Maybe I am just that good...or maybe you’re just easy to read,” she teased, her tone carrying that low, playful sultriness that had drawn him in earlier. “Either way, I think we made quite the team.”
David smiled faintly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You have this… way of pulling someone out of their head.”
Katrina gave a low, amused laugh. “You say the sweetest things, David.” She propped herself on an elbow and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “And you? You’re full of surprises. There’s more to you than you let on.”
Her tone carried a teasing warmth, but the affection underneath was real. Elizabeth watched the exchange, feeling an echo of that warmth rise through her. It wasn’t jealousy this time, but something more complex—something she couldn’t name. Her voice came softly, tender and full of awe.
“You two were… beautiful,” she whispered, her tone reverent. “I could feel the energy between you, flowing like light. Thank you, David… for letting me be part of it, even in spirit.”
David’s eyes flickered toward her, startled. His lips parted, but no words came. For a few seconds, he only looked at her—his face unreadable, caught between guilt, affection, and wonder. Elizabeth smiled faintly and lowered her gaze, not wanting to intrude on the closeness between him and the woman beside him. She decided to stay silent, her expression soft and reassuring and very much thoughtful not to shatter that fragile peaceful moment.
But Katrina, perceptive as always, immediately noticed the momentary distraction. She followed David’s gaze across the room, her eyes narrowing in quiet curiosity before settling on what appeared to be empty space. Then she turned back to him, her voice gentle and teasing. “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?...Elizabeth?”
David froze, then swallowed hard. His gaze flicked briefly to where Elizabeth lay behind her, her doe eyes full of empathy. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Everything’s… all right with Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly at his careful choice of words, her gaze tender.
David hesitated, then added, almost reverently, “No—it’s better than all right.” He turned back to Katrina, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You’re remarkable, you know that? Most people would think I’m out of my mind right now.”
Katrina’s lips curved into a slow, confident smile. “Maybe you are,” she said, amusement glinting in her voice. “But then again, so am I.” She tilted her head, studying him with a thoughtful expression. “I’m not the jealous type, David. Never have been. I’ve never believed love is something you can own or fence in. If there’s someone else in your heart—someone you’ve lost—then she’s part of what made you who you are. Why would I want to take that away?”
Her hand rested lightly on his chest. “And honestly,” she added, her voice dropping to a softer murmur, “I don’t care whether she’s a memory, a ghost, or just an idea. What we shared felt real. That’s what matters.”
David blinked, speechless. He let out a shaky laugh, half disbelief, half admiration. “You really are something else,” he said. “So unbelievably open-minded and compassionate… you make it sound so easy.”
Katrina smiled knowingly. “It’s easy,” she said. “At least for someone like me....”
Behind her, Elizabeth’s expression softened. “She’s a keeper,” she whispered playfully to David, a glimmer of affection in her voice.
That drew a small, involuntary chuckle from him. He glanced briefly in her direction, shaking his head as if to scold her for teasing. Katrina caught the amused look on his face and grinned, though she couldn’t see what he saw.
David fell quiet for a while after that, his fingers tracing idle circles on Katrina’s arm. In the quiet, his thoughts drifted between the two women—one tangible and alive, the other ethereal yet achingly real. Should he tell Katrina the truth? Would she believe him if he did? The idea was absurd—and yet, given her openness, maybe it wasn’t impossible.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking once more to Elizabeth. She met his eyes with a look of understanding that transcended words. She seemed lighter now, almost glowing faintly in the dim light—a spirit both at peace and still curiously tethered to the living.
David’s lips parted as if to speak, to thank her, perhaps—but he stopped himself. The moment was fragile, perfect in its ambiguity. He simply smiled instead, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
And as Katrina shifted in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder, Elizabeth lay quietly behind her, gazing at them both. She didn’t feel like an intruder anymore. The ache inside her had softened into something almost serene.
For the first time since her death, she didn’t feel trapped between worlds. She felt connected—to them, to love, to life itself—and as the night deepened, she let the warmth of their shared breath lull her into the quietest, sweetest peace she had ever known.