the first thing he notices about the sweet hereafter is the inherent wrongness of it all. it was less like eternity than eternity’s waiting room, a great white void of lost souls and unfinished business. even the paintings on its alabaster walls had an incomplete quality to them, like the artists had passed on just before placing final touches on their work. over the last few months, nick had spent a great deal of time pondering sabrina’s fate -- holed up in her bedroom with tomes and titania vying for space in his lap, salem simpering in an inky puddle at his feet -- and, of all the possible backdrops he’d toyed with, this much too literal interpretation of liminal space had never crossed his mind. it was offensive. it was wrong.
it doesn’t take long to find her. the only thing brighter than his colorless surroundings is the familiar glow of her hair, as if she was the sun this place was designed to orbit. approaching from behind, nick merely watches for a spell, a fond smile touching his lips as her head cocks to the side. from his vantage point, she appears to be examining a 12th century giotto, and he could imagine her gnashing her bottom lip in concentration as she tried to will its subjects to move. but the moment is short lived, because for the first time in far too long, he doesn’t have to picture her face -- ten more steps and he could see it, twenty and he could hold it in his hands. sucking in a breath, he quietly closes the distance between them, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. “ is this seat taken ? ”
