Resolution

There was a flash of light, and Ginevra glanced up from her desk. In her doorway was a young girl, in her late twenties at most, in flashy makeup and a sequined black dress. She scanned the room in a daze, her distant eyes scanning the room—the porcelain walls, the soft cream couch in the corner, the three paintings of running water—until finally settling on Ginevra and her white desk.

“Have a seat,” Ginevra said, gesturing to the chair across from her. Slowly, the girl shuffled forward, pulling the chair out with a quiet creeak, then sitting down. Nodding, Ginevra leaned to the side and pulled out one of the cabinets next to her, flipping through until she found the proper file. “Here,” she said to the girl, who lifted her eyes from Ginevra’s alabaster suit and back up to her face. She opened her mouth to say something as Ginevra pushed a single form towards her. “Fill this out.”

“Where am I?” The girl whispered, glancing around the room a second time. Sighing, Ginevra pulled out the pen and ink from her top drawer, placing them next to the form, then she tapped the desk to get the girl’s attention. Frowning, she brought the paper to her face and squinted at it. “I’m sorry,” the girl said after a moment, “I don’t remember- “

“That’s alright,” Ginevra said. “Just put what you do know. We can’t get started until you do.” The girl nodded, still a bit out of it, dipped the pen in the golden ink and started to fill in the blanks in large, rounded letters. When the girl handed the paper back, Ginevra lifted in and tilted it back and forth, letting the light reflect off of the shinning ink. There was a slight scarlet tint to the “I” the girl had written in Daina Washington. Misspelling her name—the girl must have hit her head hard. Still, there were no large swaths of red, which was a good sign. Lying on the form rarely worked out well. Setting the paper back down, Ginevra opened her computer: a floating square of light that Dana squinted at in a way that indicated she knew it was odd, but she didn’t know why.  Ginevra entered the information Dana hadn’t left blank, which, admittedly, left something to be desired. But Dana’s full name was unique enough for Ginevra to find her profile with relative ease.

Dana Washington, it read.

Born: 2/14/95 3:36am

Died: 12/31/20 11:58pm

Car crash

Dana leaned forward, trying to get a peek at Ginevra’s screen, but she pushed it down before she could. “What’s the most recent thing you remember, Dana?”

“Uh,” Dana closed her eyes, her hand returning to her temple. “I was at Matt’s New Year’s Party. We had a fight, so I left early, took my car home.”

“And then what?” Ginevra coaxed.

“Well, I-I don’t actually remember getting home,” Dana muttered. “Actually, the last thing I remember, I was turning right at an intersection, but the sun was too bright…” She paused, frowning. “Wait. It was night, I’m sure of it.” Dana went quiet, and Ginevra waited. After a moment, Dana fell back against her chair, eyes going wide. Then she started pulling on her clothes, checking her arms. For injuries, Ginevra thought, with a touch of pity. When Dana finally looked back up, her eyes were no longer lost, but desperately clinging. “Am I dead?”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Ginevra said. As she always had said, for thousands and thousands of years. Dana went still, and Ginevra continued to offer comforting words as she grabbed Dana’s recourse packet from her desk. Muscle memory meant Ginevra wasn’t really listening to the words she was saying, but, then again, neither was Dana, not really. It was the tone that mattered, more than anything. She handed the recourse packet to Dana.

“What the hell is this?” She muttered.

“You lived a very fulfilling life, Dana,” Ginevra said carefully. Dana snorted at that. “You opened a lot of options for yourself.” Dana, who had been staring at the packet unwaveringly, looked up in surprise. “You can choose any of the ones on that list.”

“Any of these?” Dana repeated, flipping through the pages and pages the packet provided.

Ginevra nodded. “I understand it can be a bit overwhelming,” Ginevra said. Though it really doesn’t need to be she thought privately. Most people were satisfied with the first few options. “You can exit and enter this room as you please.”

“But your secretary said I had to make this quick,” Dana said, then snorted derisively at herself. “I can’t believe that’s what I choose to say.”

“Wait,” Ginevra said, her eyebrow twitching. “My what?”

Dana frowned. “Your secretary?”

“…Give me a moment.” Dana looked up in surprise as Ginevra hurried out of her seat, muttering something about waiting on the couch when Dana called for her to wait.

The hallway outside of Ginevra’s room was as colorless as the inside. Or, it should have been, but it wasn’t today. Directly across from Ginevra’s door, like a bloodstain in the snow, was a scarlet executive desk. Rested atop of it were the legs of a woman in a red leather jacket and ripped black jeans. “Ginny!” Lilly cried, wide grin on her face. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, get up.”

“Hey, you should be thanking me,” she said, lifting her feet off of the desk. “That girl was standing around for ages before I told her to go in.”

“That’s- “Ginny started. Then she took a deep breath, and let it out. “That’s the point. They’re supposed to take their time. You know that, Lillian. And what’s this?” Ginny gestured at the desk. “Neutral stimuli only, you know that.”

Lilly shrugged, unbothered. “So, how’s it going?” Ginny turned her head to the side, staring at the walls. “Who’s the girl?” Lilly continued, nodding her head at the door. When Ginny continued to ignore her, she folded her arms and frowned, like a petulant child. “Come on, I know you get bored.”

Ginevra looked away silently, the statement getting on her nerves the way Lilly had known it would. “I don’t get bored.”

“Oh, come on, if that was true, you wouldn’t have transferred departments,” Lilly’s eyes shown with mischief. “What do you think makes this girl a special case, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” Ginny admitted after a moment, her tense shoulders dropping. “Everything she’s done seems normal so far.”

Lillian smirked. “So, no trying to attack you with your own portrait frames?”

Ginny clenched her teeth. “No.”

 “Ha! You totally would’ve been toast if it wasn’t for me.”

“Right,” Ginny muttered, and it got quiet.

“Hey, Ginny?” Lilly said after a long moment. She was staring at the door now. It was a shade of white, like everything else in sight, with the only color coming from the gold 333 nailed to the door. “What do you think she’ll do?”

Ginny sighed, settling her arms across her chest. “Reincarnate, maybe?” she guessed. “Those her age rarely choose to relocate. She seems too restless for it, anyway.” Those were the first two options in the packet. People never choose anything that went past the first few pages.

“Maybe she’ll ascend,” Lilly mused thoughtfully.

Ginny snorted. “Yeah, right. We haven’t had a new guy in centuries, Lillian. And I know for a fact, neither have you.”

Lilly’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, you never know,” she said, defensively. “We could use one.” Lilly’s eyes were still fixed to the door, when she tensed suddenly and her eyes shot up to Ginny. “I mean,” she added quickly, “so it’s not as much work.”

“…Lilly- “Ginny began.

“I’m done.”

Both Ginevra and Lillian jolted in surprise. The door was open now, Dana Washington standing in the doorway, holding the recourse packet out in front of her.

“Oh!” Ginevra said, and hurriedly brushed herself off. “Thank you.”

Dana nodded and took her seat. Not back inside, where she was meant to, but at Lilly’s obnoxious desk. Lilly gave Ginevra a smug look, and she fought the unprofessional urge to roll her eyes. But Ginny’s carefully controlled expression morphed more and more into a frown as she flipped past page after page of inkless papers, right down until the very last box on the very last page.

Other

Lilly, who had been looking over Ginevra’s shoulder, burst out laughing. Ginny spared a moment to glare at her before continuing to read Dana’s writing. It was a long, vindictive and clever description.

“So,” Dana said, when Ginevra had finished. “Can you do that?”

Ginevra bit her lip, thinking. There were limits to what she could do, of course. Limits that differed depending on the person and their deeds in life. But the rules pertaining to write-ins had been repeated to her so long ago, they had almost completely washed away.

And Lilly and Dana were waiting.

After a moment, in that hallway of lace and bone, with no color save for the numbers on a door and a desk like the wax seal on a love letter, Ginny said “I’ll try.”