Disclaimer: I do not own Tithe or Ironside.
Leaves Into Gold
It was easy to turn leaves into paper gold.
Years had passed since Kaye had learned her craft from the kelpie. Magic came with ease now; it swept over her fingers, prickling like shards of glass, waiting to be twisted into what she desired. Over time, she had gotten what she wanted, had learned to balance worlds and duties and magic.
Kaye was an anomaly in the mortal world; unchanging, unbending beneath her glamour. The years did not mark her, they passed quickly, sliding by without acknowledgement. At some point, somewhere along the line, she had lost touch with that human urge to count seconds and mark hours. Her hold had become superficial. It meant nothing, time. But the lines on the faces of her friends, the gray in their hair, did.
Granite was not made of magic, but it did not change. It scarred and weathered but remained. Kaye's fingers dug deep into the pockets of her coat, curling into silk as she surveyed her mother's grave, waiting.
"You're always here, aren't you?"
The voice was thin, fragile. It floated through the air. Kaye turned toward it.
Kate stood several paces off, her black coat curled around a too thin body. A bouquet of blood red roses hung in one her gloved hands.
Kaye wondered when she would get used to seeing what time had done to her sister. She wondered when she would get used to the guilt.
Kate strode forward, leaning heavily on a cane. "You didn't have to come."
"She was my mother."
Kate snorted and put her roses down. The red shone against the snow. "Right. I forget."
Silence stretched. The two women stood side by side, the sameness of their faces a trick of magic. The hands curling into their palms, leaving nails to cut, was not.
Kate was beautiful, Kaye thought. Even now, years past middle age, with all of her wrinkles and white hair.
"This is what it means to be mortal, Kaye," Kate said.
They looked down at the grave.
--
--
It was cold. The leaves fell.
The coat was black again, the boots knee high, touching the edges of a skirt.
Morning came and bled into afternoon.
The rays slid from granite slowly, lighting two bouquets of roses.
Kaye stood alone.
This is what it meant to be immortal.