Fleeting Moon Flower
Sitting against the coffin in the corner, the Undertaker twirled a blossom in between his long and lean fingers, pausing every so often to catch its beauty. He knew that in just a few hours it would wilt and begin to fade, its pink petals trying to catch the long gone moonlight. Nevertheless he smiled at the bloom, happy that it was able to live, even if only for a little while before he had gone and plucked it off its stem.
If a Shinigami ever had a heart, the Undertaker surely would have felt it rip a little farther. He knew what the Moon Flower meant; it was almost that time of year.
Even after a hundred years, years that passed in the blink of an eye of a Shinigami, it was still- how could he say it? – painful to think of her. Even with seeing her four times a year did not bring the comfort he wanted. What he wanted was a far-off dream, a power even Gods of Death were not granted. He's tried; even demons knew that, to get what he wanted. No matter his legend, no matter the price he offered, they wouldn't allow him to bring her back.
The Undertaker had argued that it wasn't her time; she was only a young woman when it had happened. That it wasn't fair. But he knew that his argument was weak- people die all of the time, especially of unfair circumstances. All that mattered was that he was there to take her soul. She was marked to die for sure, and there was nothing he or they could do.
"Amber," He sighed, "How are you doing today?" Not hearing an answer, he never expected one; he stood and made his way to the door of his shop.
Making his way through the streets the immortal watched young lovers walk by hand-in-hand. Happily he thought about how it wouldn't be much longer and one of them would be buried by him. The Undertaker really did love his job, burying people was fun! He never understood why people seemed disgusted by it. The Undertaker merely put their bodies back where they should be, in the ground to start new life that will be cut down and buried again and again. It was a never-ending cycle!
Of course, there was one point in time where even the Undertaker did not want to bury someone.
A wide grin on his face hid the emotions boiling within him as the Undertaker walked past the last house in town and turned onto a dirt pathway. The path was long forgotten and overgrown with bushes that snagged at the Undertaker's robes, making him stop every so few feet to make sure that the fabric would not rip. It was an awful pain to sew rips caused by branches, so he found the extra time worth it. The path led into a forest, and still he continued on.
Farther along the path the harsh thorns thinned out, giving way to the pink petals of more moon flowers. The Undertaker let a real smile creep to his face, the scar on his face twitching painfully for a moment before fading away. The flowers were Amber's, no one else deserved to be called the owners of such a beautiful flower. They were hers; and hers alone. Every petal, every leaf, every grain of pollen was Amber's.
Suddenly the forest receded, leaving the Undertaker in a field of moon flowers. Smiling fondly at memories spent here he laid down after removing his hat, staring up at the sky through the flowers surrounding him. It was peculiar to be around so many things that were living, as he spent most of his days with the corpses of humans. His hands slowly made their way through the flowers, caressing each petal as if it was Amber herself.
The Undertaker closed his eyes, trying to force back memories of the day that had ended his heart truly. Sky-high flames that pushed against glass and flowers, tearing anything in its path. His own labored breath as the flames bore down on him as he ran through the burning hallways, desperately calling out Amber's name. A shard of glass exploding from the heat and scarring his face. And then coming across the body of his love.
Swiftly pushing back the moments after discovering her body, the Undertaker tried to focus on the positive memories. Even after so long, it was still painted fresh in his mind. The days he watched her tend her garden, the mornings when he'd show up at her door unexpectedly, and most of all the looks she gave him. Each and every look was cherished, from the stubbornness when pulling out a weed to the gentle smile she'd give him in the afternoons during tea.
Amber had never known the Undertaker's current profession, and was one of the few who called him by his name. It was a name he would have forgotten had he not treasured the moments she would call out for him. After a year, the Undertaker had told Amber what he was, yet she showed no fear to the fact that he was by far many years older than her and may end up deciding her fate. Never was there a moment when Amber showed fear, except for maybe the time he had finally managed to steal a kiss from her sweet lips.
The Undertaker could still feel her lips against his, how soft they were compared to his ever-chapped mouth. She had uttered a squeak when he had pulled her against him roughly, tired of waiting to kiss her. Amber had reprimanded him later, but her heart wasn't in it. Her lips were just like the petals of a flower, red like roses but without the dreadful thorns that came with roses. Instead, they were more like the sweet moon flowers that were always in her garden.
Sounds entering his senses the Undertaker sat up just as a gust of wind caused petals to fly. The Shinigami turned to face his love, a gentle smile on her glowing face.
"Hello dear," Her voice was happy. It was always happy. Even when she was dying she sounded happy.
Emotions burst in the Undertaker as they always did; happiness, love, guilt, forlorn, but most of all sad. "Good evening Amber," His voice was low and quiet.
The spirit of Amber came and sat beside him, holding her knees, "How are you doing?"
Chuckling, the black-clad immortal looked at the glade. "I'm not sure. Every day is something new, but it just isn't the same as it used to be." He looked forlornly at the evanescent figure, "I met a demon who told me a marvelous joke, but it just wasn't like yours were."
Interest piqued, Amber leaned forward. She had always loved a good joke, and the trait passed on from her to him. "Really?" Eyes wide with glee she asked the obvious question, "What was it?"
Not wanting to displease his love, the Undertaker recited the joke back to her. Within seconds the large peals of her laughter were flinging from one side of the forest to the other, causing the Undertaker to smile widely. From the moment the butler Sebastian had told him the joke, the Undertaker had been waiting to tell Amber.
"That was a really good joke!" Amber cried, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes from laughing so hard. "What else has been new?"
Hesitantly the Undertaker began to speak about what has happened since he's last seen her, not sure how to dodge around how he dealt with dead bodies on a daily basis. He wasn't ashamed of working with corpses; it was his passion, he was just afraid of what Amber would say when she found out. "But the Lord Phantomhive lost his auntie quite recently, so he's been all down in the dumpsies!"
Amber's mouth fell a little bit, "Poor boy! Lost his parents and now his aunt! I wish I could bring him a bouquet of my flowers and adopt him right on the spot!"
Smiling slightly, the Undertaker was used to this. Whenever he and Amber would go into town Amber would see one of the urchins and immediately want to adopt the poor soul. Every time he was somehow able to persuade her out of it, though the various reasons had faded away with other memories. "Amber, you can't adopt him. He's a Lord! A noble! And a very serious one at that! Every time I see him he has such a somber expression! Makes me want to pinch his cheeks into a smile."
Nodding solemnly Amber added, "That's true. From what you've said, he sounds like a very unhappy soul." She tried to touch his hand nearby, only for it to go straight through. Sighing slightly Amber returned to her happy nature.
Amber and the Undertaker sat there for hours, occasional conversation surfacing, but mostly in silence. They were just happy to be able to see each other. Amber leaned onto the Shinigami's shoulder, although she didn't really. It was more for familiarity than actual contact. Both longed to be able to touch each other, to hold hands and kiss again.
"How long are we going to be like this?" Amber questioned quietly.
Turning slightly the Undertaker's lips tried to make contact with her hair, but only air was present. He sighed forlornly, "Until you either let go of me… or I die." Truth be told, he had been wondering the same thing.
"Since both of those are never going to happen… what is going to become of us?" Her voice had a trace of fear in it. It was to be expected; forever was a very long time as Amber was starting to figure out. Although she wouldn't show it, she was tired of only being able to see and talk to her love. She missed his lips on hers and the gentle touches he would give to show his love.
"I don't know Amber my love. No one is sure of the life span of a Shinigami. The last Shinigami to die was roughly a thousand years ago, and that was because of a demon that got a hold of his Death Scythe. Then again, Devon was pretty air-headed. The only known way to kill a Shinigami is by using their scythe against him… or her."
Amber took that in, "How old are you? Exactly I mean."
Scratching his head the Undertaker had to think about that, "Let's see…?" Normally for Shinigami, you had to add about a thousand years on top of what you remember. "I'd say well over fifteen thousand years or so, before humans thought about documenting the years."
Amber's jaw dropped, "You really are old! How are you still around?"
He laughed at that, "I'm immortal dear, if I didn't last for at least nine thousand that would be a sad thing indeed!"
Eye's crinkling with her smile, Amber took the joke. "How have you managed to live so long?"
The Undertaker paused, "I'm not entirely sure what you mean."
"If lived that long, I'd be really lonely."
The Undertaker felt a bit of loneliness pierce his heart, "It is lonely. Many Shinigamis go insane and we would have to lock them up and take away their Death Scythes. If one of us goes insane with a Death Scythe still in our hands, it causes massive amounts of death. Like the Black Plague, that was caused by a crazy Shinigami. I'm sure he's still around, hidden behind a door in the Shinigami Realm." At this point he paused again, not sure whether to continue on or not. "Before I met you I felt the craziness coming up. I would have these thoughts that told me to kill every living thing in sight. One day when I was trying to suppress the feeling I met you in the woods. Well, I saw you."
"And then what?" Amber was obviously worried, a crease in between her brows.
"For a split second I wanted to kill you. But I stopped myself when I saw what you were doing. You were taking care of a rabbit that had got its foot caught in something. Rather than kill the poor creature and eat him for supper, you took him out and tended to his wounds. You gave life." The Undertaker spoke fast, wanting the words to leave his mouth. "I was… I was astounded. I wanted to learn how to do the same thing; give life rather than take it. In a sense you kept me from going insane. Then I fell in love with you."
Amber smiled and attempted to encircle her arms around him, "My poor Shinigami."
"It's okay Amber, there's no need to pity me. Thank you for keeping me here. I just wish I could make you happy."
Shaking her head Amber replied happily, "You've already given me so much happiness!"
The Undertaker smiled, "And it'll never be enough."
"Of course it'll be enough!" Amber's eyes widened and she looked at the sky.
Finally noticing why Amber's eyes reflected desperation, the Shinigami looked at the brightening sky. "Morning already?"
Their eyes locked, knowing that in a few minutes Amber would be gone and the Undertaker would be alone again.
"I love you Amber." His voice was fast, a lonely smile across his face.
"I love you more!" Amber called, before whispering his name. "And I'll always be waiting!"
"I'll be waiting too Amber, until the day we are together again."
Amber's face faded as she tried to continue telling him how much she loved him. As the Undertaker watched his love disappear once more in front of him he bit back the pain in his heart. Slowly the moon flowers closed their faces as the sun rose; hiding their faces until next they meet.
The Undertaker stood up, looking over to the crumbled ruins in the middle of the field where the moon flowers originated. He knew in the courtyard in front of a crude headstone was the last moon flower, refusing to close its petals. He turned his back on the scene, wading through the flowers once again to head back to work. Before he exited the glade however, the Undertaker whispered to the listening ear that he could not see:
"Until next time, my love; my fleeting moon flower."