Loss is a painful thing.
And Mirajane is painfully reminded of it, every year on December the twenty-third, sitting at her sister's grave in the cold – no, freezing – winter.
She squats in the snow, unmindful of the way the wetness seeps into her jacket and creeps up her spine, and brushes gently the fancy letters that make up Lisanna's name on the gravestone.
"Oh, Lisanna," she whispers, "why you? Why couldn't it have been me?"
It should have been me, she thinks to herself.
Doesn't dare to say it aloud, to share it with the world, because this loss is meant to tear at Mirajane's heart only. No one else deserves to shoulder the guilt and blame for her sister's death but her.
"I can understand you," says a deep, but still feminine voice, and Mirajane turns quickly, almost falling into the snow in shock when she sees who stands there.
Erza Scarlet, of all the people, is behind her, bending down so her eyes meet Mirajane's.
"Wh – what?" Mirajane says, still stunned by the sudden appearance of her rival-turned-friend.
Erza's beautiful eyes become serious, and she squats down next to Mirajane, looking carefully at Lisanna's grave.
"I can understand," she repeats, and takes Mira's gloved hand gently, stroking the cloth-covered fingers with her own pink mittened palm. "What it's like – to lose. And it never gets better, not really." Her voice shakes a little, and Mira wonders briefly if Erza is about to cry.
But she is Erza Scarlet, and so she soldiers on.
"But it is easier when there is someone who has known loss with you," she continues, voice softening to a whisper.
And then she clenches Mirajane's hand in hers tightly, and proceeds to say, "I know that it's painful. But please, let me be there for you,"
Mirajane is taken aback for a second.
Yet, her face soon relaxes into a sad smile.
Loss is a painful thing, and it never gets better completely.
But maybe it is easier to bear when you are not alone.
Maybe she will not grieve alone this year after all.