The Prophecy

Boredness messing with me...telling me to write random things, and of course, I must obey. It's just a short musing type thing...one of the few that is in the slightest bit worth posting. Anyway, hope you enjoy....

-random-candle (see the name fits)

This story takes place a thousand years after the binding of Orannis as written in Abhorsen. Orannis is rising again, but as it says in the Prophecy, which only one being knows, called The Lasting, someone is always there to stop him. This time, the one who can save it all has just killed herself, the pressure of realizing she has to save the world to great, and feeling alone. The Lasting, who was supposed to protect the Current Prophet, mourns.

All people, myself included, make mistakes. It is only natural. But none of them have made the mistake I believe I just made, and all of them will suffer the consequences.

I loved her, I realize that now. I would have given everything for her, and her alone.

The wind howls at my feet, taunting me, it's whispery voice telling me to remember. Remember what? I loved her, and I believe she loved me. Did she know how I felt for her? Did she realize that night after night I would dream about her and wonder why I was not with her?

Why was I not with her?

What have I done? What will happen now? No...I musn't lie to myself. I know what will happen. They will come for us, and just like what nearly happened over a thousand years ago, They will attempt to slaughter us, and then bring us all back. No, not attempt. No longer will they attempt.

They shall succeed.

There is no stopping them now. Our one hope, our savior, is gone.

It's funny how life works. You can live for a long while, but that doesn't really matter in the end, because you die, and once you die, there is no true way of coming back; of living as you once had. You can live for a hundred years and die in less than thirty seconds.

That would be bliss... for me.

I have lived for over six thousand years, watching as every millenium they come for us, and every millenium they have failed. But like I said. Now they shall succeed, and I am unable to die. Unable to follow her, unable to relieve myself of the torture that shall come.

It's my fault she's dead. I wasn't there for her. I was trying to avoid her, trying to hide myself behind whatever was there so I would not have to face her.

I tried to stop myself from loving her.

I should have told her more gently. The burden was great, and I knew, but I was selfish, and didn't try to comfort her. To tell her that she was not the first, and that there was really no way of messing it up. Of failing. I suppose she did what was expected. I just hadn't been paying attention to her, I didn't notice how she stopped singing to herself, how she stopped laughing. How she stopped coming to the bar every day to see me, to talk to me in her voice filled with joy and love. Part of me has died with her, although that seems wholly impossible, for I cannot die.

Her body lies on the ground, and she looks peaceful. She looks happy. I kneel down and kiss her forehead, her skin pale and eyes covered in a glaze.

Her body is already cold.

Now I must walk away, must try to forget that I loved her. I must try to forget everything. Screams ring in my ears, coming from a long way off. They have come.