The Last Chill of Summer is in that Lake, like it's Tempting us to Drown

She dreams of water.

The lake extends as far as her eye can see, like a starless sky brought down to the earth. She stands by the shore, feeling the water lick at her toes. She can hear the cicadas buzzing around her. They’re calling for her. They’re singing to her. She can’t make out the words, but she knows they’re for her.

She should back out. She should go in. She should just move.

Mash does nothing.

“Recurring dreams?” Senpai frowns. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had a normal dream in years, so I’m not sure how useful I can be… are you sure you aren’t connected to a servant?”

“I can’t think of any I could be bound to.” 

“Are you certain? Not one you might have made a pact with? Not one you might have a catalyst for?”

It takes active effort to keep her face neutral. “No. Not one,” she says, as she brings her hand to the purse around her neck.

There is something in the water.

She can’t quite see it- the lake is too profound, too dark. It reflects the sky and reveals none of its contents. But she can see the ripples left behind, the changing currents as the water gets dragged by the movements of something big.

She should back out. She should go in. She should just move.

Mash does nothing.

“A lake?” Bedivere blinks, still blowing over his tea. “I have had such dreams when I was human, yes.”

Slowly, he sets his cup down. Then, he raises a hand, and taps it against his silver arm. “I never had confirmation, of course. But I believe… I believe that sword was calling for me. Asking me to return it to its rightful place.”

For a moment, Mash stays silent, drumming her fingers on the side of her cup. “... Were you not scared? When you reached Camelot?”

Bedivere smiles, gently. “Ah, Sir Mash. I was terrified. Terrified of failing my king again. Terrified of denying her the right to live. Terrified of denying her the right to die. But this was something I had to do. This was something only I could do.”

Suddenly, a pale shape breaks the surface of the water. A human arm- a fairy arm. It extends a hand towards her, palm up, expectant.

Finally, Mash steps in the water.

“This is what you want,” she brings her hand to the purse again, “‘don’t you?”

The hand does not answer, for it is merely a hand. It stays outstretched, asking for its tribute. Asking for the last of Mash’s treasures. Asking for the only thing Morgan had left behind.

Mash undoes the string around her neck, grabs the purse, grabs this handful of bones wrapped in cloth, and hands it towards the palm-

“Recurring dreams?” Van Gogh shifts uncomfortably. “I really don’t know… I’ve only briefly dwelled in dreams. Abby would be better to ask for this…”

“Please.” Mash leans forward. She’s trying not to look threatening, but it’s hard to keep herself in check when she is just so desperate. “I just- I need to know. How did Senpai bring you here? How did they bring you with them?”

Van Gogh flinches, a little bit. But there must be something in Mash’s gaze, something that speaks of the importance of her request, because Van Gogh does not try to desist. “I… well… They didn’t let me go. That’s, really it.”

The second the fingers close around the purse, Mash latches onto that hand.

She feels the arm startle under her touch. Try to pull away. She won’t let it. She roots both feet in the mud. The water reaches her mid-thigh. Halfway on the surface, halfway underwater. She’s equally likely to make it home as she is to be dragged down and drowned. She doesn’t care. She won’t let go. She won’t let go.

The arm strains. Pulls. Mash does the same. Her nails dig deep into that pale skin, leaving crescent moons in their wake. Mash pulls, and strains, until-

A head breaks the surface of the water.

It’s Morgan’s face, though the person could not more clearly be someone else. The emotions are painted too clearly on her every feature, surprise and bafflement and reluctance. The stranger opens her mouth, ready to protest.

“Please,” Mash calls out first, “Vivian, please. Let me save your sister. I need her back. I need her back. Do you hear me, Tonelico? Do you hear me, Morgan? I need you back. Morgan, Morgan, Morgan, Morgan!”

Mash releases her grasp, just for a second, just to throw a hand around the woman’s shoulder. Now that she has a better grip, it’s easier to pull, slowly stepping back to drag this body out of the water. “Tonelico! Are you here? Morgan! Are you there? Come back with me! Vivian, you have to help me, you have to help me save your sister. Morgan! Morgan! ”

It is futile, perhaps. Dangerous, surely. This is a dream, a world at the frontier between what is real and what is not. But this, whatever this is- this is something only Mash can do. This is her one chance, her one chance to drag Morgan out of the lake of her fate. This is something she has to do. This is something only her can do.

The Lady of the Lake stares at her, for a few seconds. And then- her entire face softens. A small smile appears on her face. It is so, so profoundly uncanny- to see Morgan’s face, with someone else’s soul controlling it.

Suddenly, the stranger stops resisting. Without any resistance, Mash stumbles backward, caught by the backlash of her own pull. She lands square on her ass, the water pooling around her elbows. 

She wants to get herself back up, wants to keep dragging Vivian out of the water. She doesn’t have the time to do so. The woman dives right back into the lake, swimming to her with the speed of a shark. Mash feels cold hands cupping her cheeks, finds herself looking into eyes both familiar and alien to her-

wet lips press against her own, and Mash-

-wakes up.

The first thing she registers is: there is a weight missing. Her hand flies to her own neck, paw for that purse she held so dear. At its absence, she feels her heart rate spiking. She pats her throat, her chest. Her stomach. It’s not here. It’s not here it’s not here it’s not here she lost the last of Morgan-

She hears someone clearing their throat, and her entire body freeze.

Slowly, Mash flips to her side.

Laying in her bed, right next to her, is Morgan- for this is Morgan. For this is Tonelico. The stone face might not be one Mash is familiar with, but the twitch of those fingers is one she has come to know intimately.

“Pray tell, knight,” she speaks, voice as cold as the lake of oblivion Mash dragged her out of, and Mash has to restrain herself from yelling you’re here, you’re here, you’re alive, you’re here, “what… am I doing here?”