Open this FUCKING DOOR

Amalia I took the stars from our eyes and I made a map I knew that somehow I could find my way back Dead. She is dead. Amalia does not move. Edy does- she runs and bumps and screams and flames, and though these things should bother Amalia, they really and truly do not. Her heart does not beat; her breath does not stir. Her blood, once hot and heavy and ready to rush at the slightest provocation, sits and stagnates within her veins. The sunlit girl is going dark. Or nearly. Somewhere deep within her, something flickers. A synapse fires; a muscle twitches. A dream, perhaps, of what life is supposed to feel like- or is it a memory? A deep voice, a warm hand, a pair of vibrant eyes. Mother? No, her mother would not be here. Sentimental deathbed visions were never Rishima's style. Grandmother? In the darkness, a face, crisscrossed with laugh lines, brown and worn. It hurts to look at (or is she feeling it? Tasting? Smelling the familiar crusty bread and fresh tilled earth, jasmine flowers and wood?), yet she cannot turn away, cannot think or dream or yearn for anything else. A voice - her voice - calls out in silence. "Nani? Nani, shut the door, I'm cold-" No, the voice is not hers- or it isn't hers as it is now. It is her as she was: young, hopeful, full of youth and vigor and curiosity and life, always on the woman's heels, always ready to help. She can see that child (she is that child), standing in the bitter cold, her grandmother a silhouette in a darkened doorway. Why is it so dark outside? "Nani, please, don't go-" "I have to beti. I'll be back soon." A hand on her arm. A voice in her ear. She pulls against it, and in the real world her body moves, a spasm of electricity stimulating musculature. Life? Questionably. It stops quickly as it occurred, but it's something, something more than nothing. She pulls again, and the hand comes loose. The door is empty now, swinging open, but it isn't dark. It glows, pulses with a red halo of warmth, a promise, a whisper, a haunting and tempting song. It calls with a voice - her grandmother's voice - and Amalia takes a step toward it, yearning. "Nani?" she questions, tears on her tongue. Beyond that door is everything she has ever wanted. Peace. Happiness. Family. Love. Beyond that door is her grandmother, her mother. Beyond that door is death. Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you