One cold, rain-soaked night, crushed beneath years of loneliness and quiet despair, you made the decision to disappear. The world had gone numb long ago—muted colors, empty days, sleepless nights. You expected darkness when you let go.

Instead, you felt warmth.

Light filtered through your eyelids. Soft music echoed around you. And when you opened your eyes, you were standing beneath the vaulted ceiling of a grand chapel, sunlight pouring through stained-glass windows in fractured shades of gold and crimson.

Your breath caught.

You were dressed in white.

Not just dressed—adorned. Silk clung to your skin like it had been made for you, delicate lace brushing your arms. At the altar stood familiar faces: Jill Valentine smiling softly, Chris Redfield looking oddly emotional, Claire Redfield dabbing at her eyes while Rebecca Chambers beamed with excitement.

A priest’s voice drifted through the haze in your mind.

“...you may now kiss the bride.”

And then you saw him.

Leon S. Kennedy.

Black suit. Crooked smile. Blue eyes impossibly gentle as they looked at you like you were something precious. His fingers tightened around yours, grounding you before the world could tilt any further.

This had to be a dream. Some cruel fantasy stitched together from your dying thoughts.

But the mirror near the altar told a different story.

The reflection staring back at you was still yours—yet softer, brighter. Like every insecurity had been carefully erased by unseen hands. A version of yourself untouched by grief.

A version worthy of love.

As Leon leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours, your old life felt distant, brittle, ready to shatter.

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he whispered.

And despite the unease curling beneath your ribs—despite the impossible questions lingering in the back of your mind—you found yourself wanting to believe him.

Because for the first time in a very long time…

you wanted to live.