Lost Voice

Lumiere. 67 years since the fracture.

It is the day of the Gommage. Far in the distance, the Paintress sits beneath the monolith that glows with a stark, luminous number: 34.

Gustave looks on, dreading the arrival of this hour. Today, his longtime love, Sophie, must face the Gommage. They shared a love that could never truly bloom; in the world they inhabit, love is not meant to thrive, it only births agony.

Gustave goes to meet Sophie one final time. He carries a single rose for her final journey, hoping perhaps to say the things left unsaid, or to hear the words he has never heard.

They meet, their eyes lock, words remain spoken.

With a silent nod, they agree to bid their true farewell at the shore when the ritual begins.

The Paintress rises from her latent stance. With a fair swing of her brush, she wipes out the 34 and paints 33.

As the light takes hold, men and women of Lumiere start to dissolve into delicate rose petals, drifting and disappearing into the sky. Sophie remains for a moment longer, tears shimmering in her eyes, her gaze still fixed on Gustave. As her essence starts to fade, she is afraid, yet she is happy to be standing beside him in this final transition between life and death.

She whispers her last words: "I’m here." "I know," Gustave whispers back, watching the love of his life turn to dust and petals.

Gustave’s own Gommage is only a year away; they both knew it. He joins the Expedition today, to seek and destroy the Paintress on the distant continent of horrors and haunt.

He couldn’t tell her he loved her, not today, on her last day, knowing his love had no power to save her. Sophie, too, could not say the words; it was all for naught and all too late.

Two people, fated for a journey into the unknown, separated by the Paintress’s hand.

Two lovers, one unspoken truth - a love that lived in the heavy quiet between their hearts.