Summary: Under a black canvas sky, Life holds Death's hand.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sleepy Hollow.
the hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. which of these two is better only god knows. –socrates
She watches the stars with wide-eyed wonder — tiny pinpricks of light shining through a velvety black canvas, illuminating the otherwise dark forest beyond Sleepy Hollow. The moon isn't out tonight, and she sort of misses it.
She grips his hand tight, fingers laced between hers. She is strange, this one. She likes the little things.
(like staring up at the sky to look at balls of burning gas or smiling at a man with no head who, logic says, cannot see the way it brights up the forest more than those stupid stars ever could)
She doesn't fear him, which is strange — and she doesn't hate him, which he'd completely expected. She is tolerant of him, almost nice to him, all bright smiles and sweet, shiny naiveté.
(he thinks he might have fun, breaking her)
She has followed him throughout all of Time, lingering after him, dancing in the trails of fire he leaves behind and replacing them with beauty and peace. She has laughed and walked between the worlds, offered comfort in the wake of the tragedy he leaves behind. She has cried over a broken body; felt the pain of love lost. She is everything he hates and everything he admires about this world's fragility.
She is a beautiful, desperate lie; he is the bitter, terrifying truth. Two sides that cannot exist without the other.
(for now, anyway.)
She giggles, beautifully, lifting a hand to trace the lights that make up Orion. Blonde hair falling over twinkling gray eyes, pink lips pulling up into a glorious, glorious grin. So innocent. So sweet.
(when the End comes, he thinks he might enjoy ruining her, just a bit)
A/N: you may or may not recognize this from Tumblr. Don't worry, I'm not plagiarizing, this is my own stuff. I'm reposting it here upon request.