A/N: I suppose this is just to sort of let you all know that I'm not dead...Sorry for the delay on all the fics, things have been pretty terrible lately...Truly, I am sorry. I will make sure to get to them as soon as I can.
The world had dulled into insipid shades of black and white, hope only seeming like a blurred out notion. Within the stiff, lifeless grass stood a grey headstone, the dying flora almost matching its depressing colour. Flowers resembling the brightest days of summer were littered around the grave, being the only things to paint life into the sullen burial grounds. A woman stood, cloaked in black attire fit for a funeral, a charcoal mesh veil hanging limp over her face to adumbrate what would be her tears.
He's gone.
War was an inescapable fate, and Eridan knew that all too well. But when his presence was beckoned, all reference of knowing was shattered and thrown to the side. He boarded the ships and set sail to the war zone, his heart beating solely for his beloved. Once his feet met with mudded ground, his thoughts were erased and he took to the battle field, seeking coverage from the seemingly never-ending fire.
Days past and the rain pelted down profoundly against the earth, creating brown, muddy clay. Not once had Eridan let himself succumb to the darkness and so exhaustion was beginning to weigh down his body like a bundle of irons piled onto his shoulders. Deep within the trench he waited in silence as hours passed by. His cold, clammy fingers grasped his rifle tighter as he let out a shaky sigh, praying for his life, praying for the war to end.
A quiet so deafening was broken by fire as the night lit up with the sparks from guns and blasts of grenades. The shattering sounds of explosions drilled into his ears and he cringed, trying in vain to block it all out.
His violet hues widened as he watched his comrades slaughtered, their scarlet blood painting across the dull coloured earth. No longer could he stand down and with his last remaining strength, Eridan dragged himself from his hide-out and flung himself into the fire. Without much of a warning he felt himself falling, his body joining the morgue of marines.
Alone in his mind he awaited the escape, the feeling of life ceasing to exist within himself. With his last dying breath he uttered a statement, one filled with all the truest love and affection he could muster.
And with that his eyes began to close and his heart slowed, limbs aching no more as he lay sprawled out, dead, across the earth's surface. The words that had surpassed his chapped lips never to be heard as the reapers clutched and tore at his soul.
The war was his grave.
The veil was removed as the woman knelt down, adding to the ring of flowers that rested against the bleached ground in front of the headstone. Her eyes were red and swollen but on her lips she wore a smile, though sad, still held happiness.
He died to protect, not to destroy.
On the wind lingered a weak voice, and as the woman was leaving she stopped to listen, her heart skipping a beat as the words swirled around her before vanishing completely.
"Fef, I lov-ve you."