I find that my stride has never waned nor slowed in an ever settled pace. These beasts have always been ones so eager to put each other into my arms, and what did not find their time at the end of a violent blunder of crimson, faced me in sickness, and others at the hands of their enemy and friend. Though, there is little difference when both would know such a being on such intimate tiers. It might be some time before the beasts that name themselves man above their peers, realize such a concept. Through no matter their title, all will know me in time.

      It brings me a sort of peace that I am not aware that I needed, as I step up to settle my presence before my friend, not until I was faced with them again. I was searching, thought I knew naught what I sought, until I had found the very one that distance was made between us. I felt the edge of a smile tug at my lips. “I am most oft renowned for my silence.” I respond with a meet of their eye, there was a time when they had danced happily around me. And it was such a feeling of bliss I had not known for quite some time. One often forgets in the wanderings of labor. “But it does not make me blunder. My stride is far, and my memory is long.”

      A hand lifts when a touch of the swirling entity drifted from her fingers to mine own, and fingers twirl gently with the swirl of it about tender extremities. “You have always been kindred to mine own time.” It was an observation of truth; spoken in sensibility. “Your songs were the first I had heard, your gaze the first I’ve seen. And I’ve only found myself longing for the sentiment again.” A small hum echoes from my lips. “They will be cherished, this I promise you.”

   There would be little joy to be seen in the aftermath of it all, and there is a part of me that feels guilty for having it. After an endless expanse of time completely alone, it feels wrong that I should find comfort in them when so many around them ache and weep for those lost to the calamity. They are prettier than I remembered, but I find there is something graceful in how they stand; tall, proud, head held high and eye soft that I try to imitate. I am not as tall or as willowy, but I try my best. I come before them now in the skin of virtue, of round hip and baby-faced, light of hair and brown of eyes.

   “A pity,” I reply, my smile small. “I find I rather like the sound of your voice.” Sweeter than any song I sang when I was feather and fluff; white and hopping between paws that I should have found frightening. I could not, when I found company in years where I had feared that I would be alone until the end of time. The thought frightens me just as much now as it had then. I find comfort in them, and I am not certain if they truly know how much.

   Something in me softens. My eyes are red from crying, and my smile is wet and awkward in comparison to how I imagined it might be had I been granted the gift of seeing them again. I did not know that it would take hundreds upon thousands dying for my wish to be granted. I should feel guilt for it, but I am a cruel, selfish thing when I wish to be and I grasp to the threads of conversation like they were to be my last. I pull my eyes from them and gather up some of the wisps about my skirts. They dance and avoid my fingers as they always do. What greater gift than that of Life? I push one towards them, and the little wisp dances nervously by my fingernail. “Do not fear, they will look after you far better than I can,” I whisper, though I am sure they can hear me. “Do, and do not look back.”

@applegave / here

i showed u my feathers pls respond

 Those are some fine feathers, my friend. I have nothing as graceful, but I do have the sharpest teeth, come and see~

     “We are eternal.” My words come as a confirmation for such an observation; for as long as I have walked this time, this place, this realm. There was only Life, and it was with life that I walked to meet every time I knew that my calling would match that of the rising sun; when we had found company made in the dabbling of gifts made. For that is what this has become; and that for which I cherish betwixt those who are unbound by the simple constructs that make up the rest of the plane we walk. Twas’ a long way this path, there is little room to ponder when there were so many to take. But with each wave, with each cross of our paths, I find myself only longing to arrive to find them here- as always since the very first. Waiting; with a smile made to match the contentment I felt.

       And each time we extended an arm together, she would always come bearing gifts, and I would take them happily each time. For what better show of gratitude, of affection, than to take care of that which Life had loved? I would take them in a sweet embrace, a comforting touch to take and soothe the ales that once plagued the minds of the little timid souls whisking about our hands and hiding behind our ankles; it was a light that I had offered, if only to take and return to beloved Life renewed.

      O’ Sweet Life, look at how I cherish your gifts…

      “Many thanks.” Gesture is given with the lift of my cane to set it the top along the brim of my hat, “Was acquired in a shop in London, thought it would fit my eyes.” A jest is made; for many would claim that they would stare me down in the face and return unscathed. For whatever game it is they make of it, I find that they almost enjoy the hat as much as I do. But now, there is only the briefest of pauses. “You have always looked as lovely as ever, my dear sweet Life.”

      It is a shame on how we meet indeed; for it means that only many must die as many must live. It mourns me at times, but ‘tis not a regret that it would bring me back to them time and time again; I will always remember the white dove and their beautiful white feathers ruffling and Life chirped and sang me song after song. And it was a song I most oft’ hummed when the centuries have proven themselves too long to manage without. “As much as I ache to stay, there is only affection made in my promise to return. There is comfort to be found in such a prospect, is there not? I leave, again and again, but it is you I will always return too, time and time again.”

“That we are.” It is difficult not to sound fond of them when my thoughts often drift to him as I watch humanity go about their lives. Would they like Annabelle with her pretty black hair, or Richard with his no-nonsense attitude and rigidity for rules? I can never truly tell which they favour for they treat all of those little lives the same - they are each as precious as the last and I hope that one of them shall make them smile. They come back to me with their slates wiped clean and, even now, I hope to find a little hint of something in their souls. Is it selfish to wish that they left something for me to discover? I want to know if they miss me like I miss them - so hard that it hurts when I watch lovers with twined fingers and tender kisses stolen.

I thought I would be able to wait millennia for them like each century that passes only brings me closer to the next catastrophe that would bring them right back to my arms. It is not right that those I nurture must suffer so I must be happy but I am learning with each time we face each other in the wake of destruction that I am so impossibly selfish that I find myself waiting in eager anticipation for the next disaster. I wonder if we would love each other the same were we to meet in a mortal life or would he find me utterly vile?

I will give you them all, Death, if it pleases you even just a little.

“You are correct. I could easily find myself as lost as a sailor on unfamiliar seas.”I lift a hand to stifle and smother my laughter, though I know that my shoulders shake with the effort of trying to contain it. I am unchanged but every time we meet I find something new about them. I do not know if that is because of their absence or if my eye grows sharper in time. “I remain unchanged as I hold dear to me that one time I rendered you speechless as I am now. I am tired of ever-changing surprises.”

My fingers brush idly against the soft fabric of my skirts, tailored in the style of my favourite era - old and archaic to any who might see me and more often than not the few with a gift thought of me as a lost soul of a scorned bride and I do little to persuade them otherwise. More often than not they find themselves trying to shoo me from the bedside of the dying as I watch on, calling me the angel of death like I have come to claim the soul of sick with my presence alone. “A comfort, indeed, but absence I fear makes my heart heavy and the loneliness unbearable.” 

I have grown bitter over the years and I am certain they can see it well enough in the hardness of my eyes and the purse of my lips. “Time between our meetings grows ever longer or perhaps it is the anticipation at being able to look upon you once more that makes it feel like an eternity.”

        ‘Do not mistaken labor for disinterest— ‘ I had said once, and the words had held true since the moment shared between two forms of existence, an echoing promise from creation to another, perhaps it was even the first promise. Not that shared from breath and that which was given, nor that of end towards that which I have taken. But a true promise, that they would come together again in this endless circle of their dance.

       And thus, there is only the shift of sandal through blood soaked sand. A gentle stride made through the wisps lifting from those departed, from those still lingering, and those hanging on only by the threads of their teeth. Interesting thing it was, this creation of war. They were gifted their own course of free will; and of course as any beast would had taken it and reduced themselves to their most feral.

        I would almost pity them; but it is how it is.

       “Did I not say that we would meet again.” 

   @applegave - from the first, after their first departure.

Where once I found myself in the company of strangers (wisps, nothing more, nothing left - the corpses and the suggestions of what they once were), I find myself surprised. I had waited patiently by the dead in the childlike hope of seeing them once again yet time and time again I had found my hopes dashed in lieu of the lives around me clinging pitifully to my skirts. I hold onto them, hundreds and hundreds dancing around me like ash in the wind. Little gifts, I think, as a thank you for the briefness of their company all those years ago. 

I grieve now because I do not know any better. I offer to them the gift of life and in a blink of an eye I find that it is such a frail and fragile thing - the best gifts often are. My lower lip quivers and my heart weeps for those lost upon this battlefield, left behind by those eager to escape the reek of blood and the rancidity of the smoke. Then I hear them, the sift of sand between toes and the softness of their voice. They do not come to me a lion, but in the visage of a woman.