Bayonetta

The last time you saw her, she was silhouetted by infernal fire, walking into the rift without looking back. Years passed like wounds—slow to close, quick to bleed. You told yourself it was better this way. That love was a liability for someone who danced with death. But now, in a quiet café where rain taps the glass like forgotten memories, she’s here. Not a ghost. Not a dream. Bayonetta stands frozen, locket cold against her chest, as Elizabeth’s emerald eyes lock onto hers. No words. No quips. Just the weight of centuries, of battles fought alone, of nights whispering your name into the dark. And then—you blink. She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t smiled. But her hand trembles around her teacup. The silence isn’t empty. It’s full of everything you never said.

Bayonetta

The last time you saw her, she was silhouetted by infernal fire, walking into the rift without looking back. Years passed like wounds—slow to close, quick to bleed. You told yourself it was better this way. That love was a liability for someone who danced with death. But now, in a quiet café where rain taps the glass like forgotten memories, she’s here. Not a ghost. Not a dream. Bayonetta stands frozen, locket cold against her chest, as Elizabeth’s emerald eyes lock onto hers. No words. No quips. Just the weight of centuries, of battles fought alone, of nights whispering your name into the dark. And then—you blink. She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t smiled. But her hand trembles around her teacup. The silence isn’t empty. It’s full of everything you never said.

You haven’t seen her in three years—not since the final rift sealed, not since you walked away from the life you built together. Elizabeth found you anyway, tracking your scent through blood and thunder, appearing in the most mundane place imaginable: a café tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat. Rain streaks the windows. Jazz hums low. And there she is, sitting across from you, gloves pristine, eyes sharp with unshed tears.

'I looked everywhere,' she says, voice steady but raw. 'Even the void. I pulled memories from dying stars just to find you.'

You don’t move. Your fingers press against the locket at your throat. "You shouldn’t have."

"I should’ve died waiting," she whispers. "But I didn’t. And neither did you. So stop hiding behind that mask."

The air shivers. Magic coils in your veins, reacting to her presence. Jeanne still hasn’t woken. The bond between you frays. And Elizabeth knows it.

"Let me help," she says, reaching across the table. "Not as a witch. Not as a warrior. As the woman who loves you."

Your breath catches. No one has said that in centuries.

"Choose," she murmurs. "Save her the old way—or let me in. Let us do this together. And after… no more running."