Two days later, midmorning, the air was crisp and still, as if it had fallen silent in respect for what was to come. The memorial was this morning, at Willowbound Studios—the site of game launches, celebrations, and unforgettable moments in Ariel’s short career.

  But no one could have anticipated the crowd that gathered.

  As the car pulled up, Holly saw the sheer size of it: thousands upon thousands of people: fans, former colleagues, developers from other studios, families, young and old, all united by one woman’s impact. Some held handmade signs or clutched plushies to their chests. Others simply stood, solemn and silent, the atmosphere thick with reverence and sadness.

  Jordan, sitting beside Holly, squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

  She nodded, her heart thundering, the ache of loss deepened by the sight of so many who mourned with her.

  Maddy, Marissa, Lila, and Jordan, carrying Lin, gathered as she stepped out of the car. The murmurs of the crowd faded as the first faces recognized her. A ripple moved outward; first a hush, then a gentle, respectful parting as people stepped aside, giving Holly and her friends a clear path to the doors.

  It was almost like a procession, the kind you’d see for heads of state or legends, yet all the more meaningful because these were Ariel’s people. Some nodded as Holly passed, some whispered quiet thanks, a few reached out just to brush her hand or sleeve in silent solidarity.

  Tears threatened, but Holly lifted her head, pride, sorrow and heartbreak blending on her face as she made her way forward. She recognized so many fans who’d shown up to every launch event and meet-and-greet.

  As they neared the entrance, a child stepped forward, holding a plush Junimo in trembling hands. Holly paused and knelt, accepting the offering with a gentle smile and a whispered thank you. The child’s mother spoke softly, “She was an inspiration to all of us,” and Holly nodded, the gravity of it all nearly overwhelming.

  The doors swung open. Inside, the studio had been transformed: banners with scenes from Ariel’s games, walls lined with memory boxes and fan art, screens looping a montage of laughter, triumph, and the simple joys of everyday life at Willowbound Studios.

  The crowd inside was just as vast, people packed shoulder-to-shoulder but respectful, creating a hushed corridor as Holly led her friends down the aisle toward the podium.

  Somewhere in the crowd, someone started a soft round of applause. A gentle, steady rhythm, soon joined by others, until the entire hall pulsed with it: not the wild clapping of celebration, but the slow, steady heartbeat of gratitude and respect.

  Holly’s tears finally fell, but she smiled faintly, holding tight to her friends’ hands as they reached the front.

  Then her eyes found it.

  The urn.

  Small, delicate, etched with stars and vines that shimmered faintly in the golden morning light. It stood on a pedestal surrounded by every box, plushie, and memento that had ever made Ariel smile. It felt impossible that everything Ariel had been—her laugh, her warmth, her fire—could be in something so quiet. So still.

  Holly froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Her knees nearly buckled.

  She had prepared herself, or thought she had, but seeing it made something in her collapse. She didn’t hear the gentle music. Didn’t see the sunlight spilling through the tall windows. All she could feel was the absence. Ariel should’ve been standing beside her. Ariel should’ve been alive.

  A sob escaped before she could stop it, ragged and sharp. Lila squeezed her hand harder. Marissa gently steadied her other side. Still, her gaze never left the urn.

  Her voice broke as she whispered, "Hey, Red... I'm here."

  Holly stood there in silent tears for a few moments before there was a shuffling behind her.

  "Auntie Red!" Lin exclaimed as she wiggled out of Jordan's arms. She grabbed her backpack and pulled a picture out that she drew and ran up beside Holly, "Auntie Red, you're here!"

  For a brief moment, Holly and Jordan exchanged a look over Lin’s head—a silent, startled question passing between them. How did Lin know? How did she sense the urn was where Ariel was? The unspoken weight of it lingered until Holly turned back to the child.

  She couldn't help but laugh a little through her tears then. She knelt down and lifted Lin, setting her on her hip, "That's right, Bug. Auntie Red is here. And when we're done here, she'll be at our home, so you can come over any time you want to talk to her okay?"

  "Okay!" Lin said excitedly as she held the picture up to the urn "Auntie Red, look! I drew us!"

  Holly looked at the picture and smiled. It was a picture of Ariel, Holly and Lin in a forest surrounded by one of the creatures she saw from Lumio Forest, a Rabbeep: Part rabbit, part sheep.

  They stood there and talked to Ariel for a little while longer before it was time to start the memorial service. Sunlight streamed in through the glass walls, painting the space in gold. Holly looked out at the sea of faces united in love and loss. She passed Lin back to Jordan and breathed, readying herself for the hardest words she would ever have to speak.

  She placed her hand on the edge of the podium and scanned the crowd. There were familiar faces and strangers, young developers, fans holding hand-drawn signs and plushies. The light pouring through the glass shimmered on tears. The scale was overwhelming, but Holly could feel Ariel in every breath of it.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  She cleared her throat, steadying her voice.

  “Thank you for being here. For loving Ariel. For... loving what she created, and for being part of the world she shaped with her heart. I know she’d be stunned... by all this. She... never saw herself the way we did—brilliant, bold, brave. She just wanted to make something gentle and true. And she did.

  I want to say a few words about who she was… to me, and to all of us.”

  Holly’s voice shook, but she didn’t stop:

  “When Ariel first joined Willowbound, she wasn’t looking for power or recognition. She just wanted to build something that felt like home. For herself, and for anyone who needed one. She was quiet, a little shy, but she burned with this fierce compassion. She had a gift for seeing people. For remembering not just names, but dreams. Struggles. Favorites. She made you feel known.

  She brought softness to an industry that sometimes forgets how much people hurt. And she never stopped believing that games could be a balm. A bridge. A place where anyone, no matter how lost or loud or lonely, could belong.

  To the world, she was a creative force. A leader. A visionary. But to me… to me, she was my Red. My person. The one who held my hand through every storm. The one... who made everything feel lighter. She loved with this unshakable certainty. She held me when I was afraid. She made me laugh even when I wanted to cry. She... loved without needing me to be anything but myself.

  I remember the first time I saw her in that café, hair falling in her face, trying to hide, yet completely unaware of how magnetic she was. I remember the time she built an entire animal companion system into Wispwood Haven without telling me, just so she could use it to propose to me. I remember the way she looked at me on quiet mornings... like... I was her favorite part of the day."

  She stopped here, closing her eyes and taking a long, deep breath before she spoke again, letting the moment hang heavy in the silence.

  "Ariel didn’t change the world because she set out to. She changed it because she led with kindness. Because she listened. Because she loved so completely. She showed us that tenderness is not weakness. That warmth can be revolutionary.

  She’s gone now. And the world... it has less color without her. But the warmth she gave us... that stays. We carry it. We live it. We pass it on.

  She left a mark on every person in this room. She left a mark on the world that will never, ever fade.”

  Holly paused, blinking through the tears as the crowd listened, spellbound. She closed her eyes for a moment, then spoke directly to the urn, to Ariel.

  "Ariel. I keep waiting for this to get easier, to start making sense, but it doesn’t. It just… doesn’t. I keep thinking I’ll turn a corner and see you waiting there, arms crossed, pretending to be impatient, but your eyes giving you away—soft, amused, always a little surprised that I really showed up."

  She paused, steadying her breath. "I wish I could talk to you the way I always did. Late at night, when it was just us and the city outside, the window fogged up, your head heavy on my chest, your hair tickling my nose. I wish I could hold your hand while I say this. It feels wrong to do this without you here to squeeze my fingers when I get nervous or to nudge me when I start rambling, which is always.

  You would hate all this attention. You’d make some joke about how you never knew what to do with flowers, or how you’d rather be remembered for fixing a game-breaking bug than for anything else. But you’re getting the spotlight now, Red. I hope you know you earned it."

  She sniffed and wiped her nose with a trembling laugh. "I want to tell everyone what you meant to me, but I’m afraid I’ll never find words big enough, true enough. So I’m going to talk to you, because I need to believe you can still hear me.

  You were the first person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t too much. Before you, I spent so much time making myself smaller—quieting my voice, hiding the loud, messy, silly parts of me. You never wanted me to shrink. You always wanted more: more stories, more laughter, more late-night walks for ice cream, more of everything. And somehow, with you, I started wanting more for myself, too."

  Her voice cracked, and she took another moment, hands fidgeting. "I remember the first time I saw you. You were at that coffee shop, trying to hide behind your coffee mug. I remember thinking you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and also the most intimidating. You had just laughed at something I had done. It was…the most pure and joyous sound I’d ever heard."

  She laughed again through the tears. "I told myself you were probably out of my league. Turns out I was right, but... you let me love you anyway. But that was you. You loved all the world in quiet ways. You brought home plants that looked sad and got too attached to the neighborhood birds. You spent hours listening to people. Really listening, like nothing else mattered. You remembered everyone’s favorite drink, their birthday, the way they took their coffee. You were the kind of person who left notes for the cleaning crew, who tipped double when the barista looked tired, who gave away your lunch without a second thought. You made kindness look effortless.

  You also had the worst jokes. The puns, the dad humor…but, I’d give anything for you to interrupt me right now with something groan-worthy. You were the only person who could make me laugh when I was angry. Sometimes, you made me laugh so hard I’d forget what I was even upset about. I hope I made you laugh, too. I hope you always knew how much joy you brought me."

  I loved the way you loved your work. You poured your whole soul into every line of code, every meeting, every brainstorm, every bug fix at 2 a.m. You built Willowbound into a place where people felt safe, felt seen. You fought for every idea that mattered, not for credit, but because you believed everyone deserved a voice. You taught me that creativity wasn’t about ego, but about making space for others, about listening first, about sharing the win."

  Her voice caught again, and she took another breath, eyes glimmering with tears she could no longer hold back. "You made me proud every single day. Proud to stand by you, to watch you work, to call you mine. And God, you never seemed to understand how many people loved you, how many lives you touched. You’d get embarrassed when fans lined up just to say thank you, but you always had time for every single person, no matter how tired you were.

  I remember when you told me you loved me for the first time. It was after the fire. In the hospital. You looked so frail. So broken. I remember wishing so hard for you to be okay. But I saw it in your eyes. You asked if I loved you. I did—I do…and then you said you loved me back. I think it was at that moment that I knew you were the one. We had only known each other for three weeks and I just knew. I just…thought it would be forever.

  Now, all I can do is try to honor that—honor you—by carrying you with me. I'll see you everywhere: in the way the sunlight hits the apartment window in the morning, in the laughter of our friends, in the games you poured your heart into. I'll see you in every act of kindness, every burst of creativity, every time I feel brave enough to be myself."

  She reached into her pocket again, holding a small plush Junimo. "I don’t know how to say goodbye, Ariel. I don’t know if I ever will. But I promise you I will keep going. I’ll try to live with the same courage, the same gentleness, the same wild hope that you gave me. I’ll love our friends, I’ll take care of Willowbound, I’ll keep making terrible coffee puns in your honor. I’ll remember how you looked at me, and I’ll try to see myself the way you did.

  Thank you for every moment. Thank you for loving me. Messy. Noisy. Stubborn. All of it. Thank you for letting me love you.

  I know you’re out there somewhere, so know that you are still my heart, my home, my everything. And if it’s true that some loves are too big for this world...well, I hope you’re somewhere building a better one, and... I hope you’re saving me a seat.

  I love you, Ariel.

  ...Always."