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Death's Kiss
"Some things, you just can't plan."- Black Ghostly Curse.
~O~
It was not his plan. He did not decide this. This was simply a foolish man's scheme that had got him here where he is today. For a long time, sadness had lingered in his heart driven by sorrows and unfortunate circumstances to which he lead it to. A man could only go through so many deaths until time was not in his hands nor could he free himself from a chain that was previously locked and hidden unseen to the eye. Midnight blue robes furled and unfurled, rippling as the wind blew gusts tearing through the trailing fabric. The silver moon crisscrossed pale crescent shadows on his face. Arms folded behind his back, hands clasped Dumbledore's eyes didn't leave the nights ever present darkness.
An unforeseen twist, unexpected, but I suppose a man's misdeeds will eventually catch up to him somehow. I'm an old man, tired yet not defeated. I have surpassed many others, equally good and bad. I have no doubt when I'm gone my past discretions will be there on display for everyone to see, mocking me, unravelling a part of me that I had kept hidden for so long from the public eye spread out before me like a token of trust borne from lies and carefully convoluted secrets. I cannot express the regret and shame I feel. After given so much trust, such utter devotion, dedication, admiration and respect, all will be blown out the window. I feel the honour that which is bestowed upon me will be a living memory. For all my faults I have loved with a compassion that not even my family were fortunate to see or feel.
A weary sigh left his lips chased away by cold bitter wind bearing a mournful song, trembling and darting its eyes to the heavens shedding a single forlorn tear. Time passes so quickly, you don't even get a chance to breathe before you know it your swept off your feet facing a conundrum you hadn't clue would come your way.
I don't expect any welcome gifts, my hand prints are all over it. Power I learned long ago was a forgotten dream so easily perished. An off-sight if I ever heard one. Love is a terrible and beautiful thing, it can give a man hope or it can destroy the beauty of such innocence. I've seen love build bridges but I've also seen it burn. Thoughts as often as they do come to me, a reminder that if love existed in a shape I could clarify I wonder if I would be worthy of that kind of love. I keep thinking is it better to become the enemy than become someone you so deeply despise.
Enamoured, he didn't think, taken, by a sudden weakness he couldn't predict. Lost to madness, some would think an old man's tale, not to be taken to foreground. Many don't know this but Dumbledore is not brave, he himself could not face a terrible end that spoke of horrors not even he could dispute of. He hadn't the audacity to put up a fight if he so desperately wished. A shrill of chilling laughter split into the overreaching air following bursts of red and green light alerting him that he had only minutes left. He was not afraid. The cool stone wall pressed into him.
I cannot fathom whether it was greed or simply my chance to exonerate my choices, either way; I hoped I left enough pieces that I will be excused if not completely appeased from my duties. Darkness can be familiar or it can be foreign. I'm most familiar with one often fraught with fear, to succumb to an unknown source leaves me frightened of what I will discover and have yet to unveil. I fear now my end is coming. The irony isn't lost on me.
At the fast approaching footsteps Dumbledore turned. Death's kiss never looked so sweeter.
The beginning to my end. A wise old man's wicked tale. Both my undoing and penance. I'm not too worried; after all, death is but the next great adventure.