4. The Peaceful Future
Inspired by: The Song, Soon I will be done
Disclaimer: Oliver - and Iroha's, by default - last name here is Twist. Pardon the pun. I own nothing.
Pairing: OliverxIroha
A gentle breeze blew past fragrant lilac blossoms, whispering of passionate heat from the sun, promising clear blue skies and happy times, of summer.
An old, wrinkled lady, formerly cherry-blossom pink hair now a frail, silvery white, stood behind wide-open windows, basking in the joy of the children of the heavens, a content smile playing on her chapped lips.
Nothing about her looked like the once-childish and cat-obsessed Nekomura Iroha, except for her bright eyes, still as sharp and searching as it was back when she was young and filled with the power of youth.
But it was. The now-senile singer was past the ages of retirement, living alone in a sunny apartment, content to think back to the happy times, when time was nothing but a name, a word that had little meaning.
If only she'd spent it more carefully, enjoying more time with her loved ones, treasured those overly-played memories.
Now, all she had were photographs and videos of her and her golden-haired husband, showing various age stages and faces until one page, when it was back to her standing alone and lonely, no longer young and no longer married.
To a living person, anyways.
After his death, Iroha had been careful to preserve everything that had been a gift from him, had belonged to him, reminded her of him. She even still had the flowers he had given her on their last anniversary, the jasmines and roses brittle and delicately pressed in between papers, sometimes gently taken out so she could breathe in their musty, faint lingering traces of fragrances.
But mementos didn't bring back dead people. They just reminded you, and the harsh reality, no matter how much she missed Oliver, no matter how much she called to him in her sleep as she tossed and turned from her nightmares, wouldn't change.
Mrs. Twist turned away from the window, feeling that the spring sunshine had kissed her face enough. She started to walk to the kitchen, craving a little nutrition, and paused next to the dusty little shelf where many of her pictures were put.
"Happy anniversary, Oliver," she smiled, stroking the glossy glass covering her favorite picture of him and her, where both stood in their teenage years, him smiling brightly enough to put the sun to shame and her own shy, sweet smile showing her happiness.
There was nothing wrong with missing your loved one. In fact, one would be strange if they didn't.