Chapter 25: Revelations
It's... hard to remember... exactly what happened, and what happened when, and how it occurred in the beginning. My fingers ache from such prolonged clenching... but all the same I'm sure these fists weren't used against anyone, well, anyone other than myself—my mind. To try and find determination, something, within me. Anything. Right?
My heart thumps and thumps hard in my chest... like even so, nothing has ended, nothing will. My head... pounds. Like rocks. Rocks thrumming against my ribcage, rocks soaring through my skull. But nobody sees these rocks: of course, only I feel them. And they don't leave much of a physical impact. But I am shaking. If nothing else, I am shaking.
A... little cold. A little bit.
Stella, teeth drawn, shakes out her fluffy head, snorts. The fur that was sticking on end begins the slow process of flattening itself: her cottony white self returns to its grace, albeit somewhat rumpled. Her lilac orbs offer a haughty stare to the one beside us. "So it's Marshall now. Why Marshall? That's so confusing... first it was some unknown name given by a family you must not remember by this point, then the ridiculous Sir Ton, then nameless again... No really, why Marshall?" A huff; a snort.
"Mmmmm." The quagsire by her side rolls his eyes. "I like Mmmmarshall. Also, as a bonus, it mmmmmatches with Mmmmary. Which I think is immmmmportant," he goes off, then, batting toward the horizon with a floppy hand.
"Oh, dear. Mary won't recognize you. Your name's different. She'll think someone killed you and took your place."
A gasp, a hand on the chest, a fake attempt at looking insulted. "And who's to say I'mmmm not?"
"Shut up." Stella grimaces some, her tail flickering behind her. "Let's deal with your ire later. I think we still have a ragtag team to recollect and reconcile with. You know... make sure nobody's gone off and died while we were busy. Plus... I don't know, There might be lonely." Pause. "Ooh. Or Herb. Yes... yes, let's go now." And like that she struts on.
Marshall reaches for my face with his, the laughter building up in his eyes. "Her tongue's getting sourer n' sourer by the day. Soon enough, she'll be Gerald, mmmh?"
"Shush, you. I heard that."
Pause. "You know that only further proves mmmmy point." And maybe because she's tired of him, or maybe because she stopped caring, but either way Stella doesn't raise her barbed lips in conflict again. My dear friend keeps herself ahead of us as we move, but not too far. Just footsteps away, an arm's length forward... so close.
With their settling, I whisper, "Did anyone else come? Or was it just you... and There, and Herb?"
"Well..." Pause. "They didn't quite understand my attachment to such a world, a highly-mortal world in a highly-mortal scheme of things. So no. Just us. Although my father didn't mind so much... at least I don't think he did... mmmmh."
"I bet he did."
"Marshall."
"I'mmm just sayin'~"
"I would much appreciate it if you stopped 'just saying'."
Oh, how on it goes... and on it goes. Life's wheel turning, the quiet serenity nigh baffling in comparison to the storm that was just here. Air breathable, open and clear... I suppose I don't need it, but I feel like I do. And it's nice, just having it. From somewhere just ahead, the tall and angular green figure of a certain single virizion forms itself, and just by it lies a more cream and smaller one.
When I lift a hand and wave, their heads bobble. Acknowledgment. Good... good. They trot toward us, slowly, purposefully, their hooves softly shifting with the soil beneath. Ungrounded. Like all of us, everything. But... oh, but they've come this far. They've... made it. Vivi, somber grin and all, takes her place by one side, Kyo straying just by her. His shy, glassy blue eyes dart toward me, then over Marshall, then like a deep breath they close. And then open again.
With a weak and battered yet living murmur, Vivi leans in: "Is that... did we..?" She trails off. Her face is a mess of feelings. Broken, healing, sprayed and flattened. Breathless and breathable.
Stella's pearly white fur shivers in a small batch of wind. "Why, yes. I believe we did." By far she displays the most strength in the moment. The most upheld feeling and relative calmness. Strong lilac orbs mirror Vivi's cracked and living. "I believe... we did."
More footsteps. As they approach, our silence peaks, as if to speak would blow away the hushed murmur of survivors. After Vivi and Kyo came Espa and Umbre: another duo, alive and healthy, or as healthy as they will be in such a time, such a place. Espa's one lavender ear sticks to her head in a mess of blood, the other one just about decimated. Her mate's caring gaze, red like roses, red like love, threads over this, his ebony paw patting at her one remaining ear. Some of the dried, caked blood loosens. Her head twitches. He sneezes; and then she does too.
"I'm... um." The espeon swallows; the ruby betwixt her eyes shimmers weakly. "I'm... okay. We think that I'm alright now." Shallow breaths, deep breaths. "S-Sorry." Umbre's thick and languid nodding; his corroboration suggests a slim if no error. There is peace, peace stricken in their faces. A strange sort of estranged sort of peace, but still a peace indeed.
Quiet again. Then another footfall, this softer. The blue-tinged body—my heart jolts in my chest—only no, it's not her it's Cheeka. Still a relief, and such one. Her waves of cyan hair lay in matted tangles about her, but I doubt any of us care: she the least. That tiny, tiny heart in her thin chest must beat so loudly: and beat it does, her pale cheeks flushed but flushed with life. What a thing... what a thing to see.
The world around us... there is color to it. A sky spilled over, opened and spreading its layers, its warmth. I raise a hand again: palm open, palm out. From somewhere in front of me a silhouette, a shadow spreads, and connected to the shadow are feet. Brown... feet. A light brown, a soft brown: was it darker by a little I'd think I'd be seeing things. Seeing a dead timburr walking toward us. But no, Burr was darker... but who could it be, then..?
When I pull my thumb aside from the figure, the head bears itself for me. Fluffy, with that curl above the eyes—the stricken sea-blue orbs. Just as scratched and matted as the rest of us. Red streaks like highlights, unnatural highlights, in the fur. Highlights that will melt away come rain. Such angles and fur, so tall and... and I almost wish... I didn't recognize that face so easily. It's... obvious, though. The soul behind the body—it's so obvious who he is. I swallow.
Closer he still comes. There is something in his eyes, something more than the strife and trial, something more than the battle, but he raises himself more than I can see. Even when I crane my neck back, then he'll turn, catch Vivi's eyes, go onto Kyo. If I move, it's like... he's hiding from me. A-Again.
Somehow I get the feeling this is a good thing.
If I saw his secret now... perhaps I would snap wide open... an open that could not be healed so easily... perhaps not fast enough before I find some... way to... end... my... w-we-well.
A good thing...
With a heaving sigh, he speaks: and I recognize the voice, too. Deep, throaty, low... sad. Soft. "Llana, there's... something I need to show you." Another breath. Deep, and long, and slow. I don't think he wants to tell me; at the same time he has to. "Just... Llana. I-I don't think... you all need to see... such a sight."
With a pleading question in his posture, murmurs float about the slowly-reuniting group. Small nods, affirmation. While they speak without speaking and think without thinking, I turn back and find scales a dirty yellow and smile soft and hard, a certain dunsparce by the side of the timburr. Pain. Like a claw, like a thorn, like any old stone just sharp enough for it, lines of pain have been gouged into that face. Painstakingly, brutally, mercilessly. Without a care.
Cough. Swallow. His eyes find mine. "Ah. Um... hey, Llana." Just a little smile, a little Bay smile. A small candle to hold in the darkness. "You know... Tim saved my life all kinds of times... just a little while ago. He's... very... good." Curt nod, and slowly he makes his way toward some of the others. I watch him...
Because he asked for me, and because they had no digressions, his hand meets my shoulder and he pulls me, just slowly, so tenderly, the way he came. I toss my head over my shoulder; they stand so sadly there. Grave faces cast in a new light... When Stella's purple orbs meet mine, her own feelings suck from her expression and she merely nods. Tells me without speaking: go.
Maybe they will wait for us, maybe they will begin to leave as well. Tim... I-I'm sure Tim will find them... so long as I want to when we go ourselves. What is it, I wonder, what is it he would like to show me? Already it's palpable in the air, in my head, that this is no such good thing. This is no such good news. Oh, no. If such would be... well.
Nervously I follow the timburr. By the way of the sun, his shadow constantly clashes over me. I don't... move... out of its way. My breathing is heavy, almost as heavy as... his. What sorts of thoughts... are going on in his head? When did he... when did his fur... his eyes... when did they come so... gentle? When did the color change? And his... claws... kept tucked in his hands... smaller, docile. Small like Burr's. Burr... I miss Burr. He was sweet, a little salty, mostly sweet.
Zoey's kind of like that too... ah. Zoey...
My feet find themselves nestled into a shoreline. The ocean waves, salty and divine, hungry, eat away at me. Waves and waves, waves of dread plow into my pale toes. And I stand. And I wait. Will I fall? Will I break? Will the ocean take me away and eat me alive? I don't... know yet. But it's coming. There is still something waiting ahead... waiting to see... if I...
I bump into Tim's halted figure. Rub my nose. "Ah, sorry," he mutters. Nervous as well. "Llana... I... I just wanted to tell you... that you..." Deep, deep breath. The exhale like the crashing of the wake into the sand, the one threatening to blow me away. "You can blame me. If you want. You can hate me, and hate me... and I would kill you, if you want me to, but I don't know if I can any longer.
"So I am sorry if that is what it comes to."
We stay like that. And then he moves on, his hand on my shoulder, and I dutifully follow.
The sun grows brighter, the further we come from my friends, from Stella, and the further we go to where Tim wants to show me. Grass rustles beneath our feet; not like a trail but like a sea: endless, serene. Alive. Such a strange feeling... after all this time. It grows brighter and brighter, as my throat goes tighter and tighter, for it's only more and more obvious to me and everyone the closer I come what he's about to show me.
So when we finally get there, I need a moment to stare at it before I fall to my knees. I... Ahh... I kind of... kind of knew... this was what... what it was... going to be... but... but it still... oh, it still hurts...
Her neck, I note, shaking, is but a flower, a ripe red flower splintered into fleshy petals. I want to touch the flower—no. I want to kill the flower, to stuff it all back together and will her cold, dead body to life again. Those eyes of hers have already been closed—by Tim. By Tim... A sharp bite of a laugh and I'm silent again, silently shaking.
Tim sits beside me. His body is warm.
Mine is cold. Like Zoey's.
But he is warm... very warm... and strangely, fur so soft and nice... strangely comforting. I'm not quite sure why, but I find myself plucking his hand and wiping at my snotty, teary face with it. So warm...
He tells me the story in pieces... with gaps. Gaps where we just sit there, quietly, me wiping indiscreetly at my messy face. He has yet to take his hand away... I'm grateful for that. Something as small and as stupid, as insignificant as that. I-I can't help it... it's a warm hand... a hand big and soft and gentle... strangely gentle, for a hand that has been used to end so many lives. But the warmth doesn't come from the victim's last moments: it's a different warmth... such a kind warmth... now.
"Zoey was jealous," he tells me, "but so was I." Because, he thinks, guessing with what he has and what he thinks would give more reason to the oshawott and her choices, because she wasn't very strong, and she thought she wasn't on "our level." Ours... But he was jealous too. Because she so easily squiggled herself into my heart, attached herself within my soul.
He tells me, though, this doesn't have much to do with what happened. Not his part, anyways. "She got it in her head that... she wasn't strong enough." That I... when I broke... and she couldn't put all my pieces together... that it made her weak. Unworthy. "Which is stupid. None of us could. It just... took time." But dear Zoey never thought that way, did she? No. Not quite.
So, Tim whispers, voice with disbelief, she took it upon herself that she had to do something, some sort of insane sacrifice to make it all... right again. He doesn't know. "As I... as I was getting better, I learned a bit... too late... that the monsters I'd created weren't on my side anymore."
She took the liberty to take his fatal hit. To die in... Tim's stead. And then he did realize, and he did have the time to keep Bay safe, himself safe, to stop the rest of them from coming through... but Zoey... the flower in her neck... that's all... it's all...
Zoey is gone now. She left for a place far, far away... that we have no access to. She left with Mina and Burr, he tells me. And they went to where everyone else is.
But it's not everyone... not everyone. Not... quite...
I'm shaking horribly now. It's very cold. I'm not sure where this came from, either, the chill and—instinct, I want to say, but I find myself shifting closer to the timburr, pulling his big, warm arm around me. My face is flushed. My face is a mess. Each moment only adds to this.
His is a bit of a mess too. Blushing.
I nearly laugh.
Somehow I find it in me to rise. It takes effort, and all kinds of time, but slowly and methodically I come to my feet. And I stand. Quietly with but a whisper I ask if we can bury her, and he nods. There is a strange look to his eye, a strange light in the hue. And I wonder...
Once Zoey is beneath the earth, safe and as snug as her body will ever be, and the earth is atop her, I ask if we can find flowers. But only a few. And I only want... red ones. Just... red. Peculiar in sight, but still very bright, he nods. And once that is done, I sigh.
It's incredible... how strongly... I don't want to leave her. Don't want to just... just go, walk and leave her body to my back... even if—e-even if she's not even in there anymore... even if she has departed.
My dearly... beloved... Zoey.
Oh... gosh, I'm never going to say that to her. I'll never see her smile.
I'll never... k-kiss her. No... n-no, no... never. A-Ahaha... ahah... no...
Her neck will remain that disgusting red stain, and for a very long moment I'm overcome with the need to crush the flowers we planted above her. But I manage not to.
Because I'm at a loss, and I may lose myself if I stay much longer, I rasp, "What now?"
"Ah." Tim pauses. He's still near me. Very close. Very warm. "Now... I suppose we go home."
"Paradise?" I stare hopefully up toward him.
"Paradise," he agrees, nodding very slowly.
Somehow that adds to the ease in my heart. Maybe because then Mary will join us... and... I guess... we'll rebuild. Start again.
Maybe... we'll rebuild here. In the center of... of Truught. Like a heart, its veins will unfold and paths will always come back to here. And it won't... have to be like it was before we came. Yes. Maybe after we find Mary, and we search the world, and we find whoever else Marshall wants to check for, maybe we will rebuild here.
Then when we come back, I can say hello to Zoey again. But I... I... sh-shouldn't... stay for... t-t-too long. Tim isn't... an escape. I swallow. There is none. I don't quite know... what that means for us... but at least as of now... I'm here, and I can't leave. And for now that's hard, very hard, but I need to... learn and accept that.
Our walk back is slower. His hand is near mine, his hand now crusted over—in spots—with my snot. Just a little bit... Staring at his hand then causes my face to flush again... so I nearly do look away. Then, pulling my breath all into one knot, I snatch it with my own. And I hold it... just softly. I think he whispers my name, but I can't hear much over the pounding of blood rushing through my head.
It hurts... it hurts so unbelievably much, when I think about it—when I think about her. I get the feeling that this wound won't... ever fully heal. This open, airy, gaping hole crunched through my heart isn't going to stitch itself back together, and if it does, I doubt any of my dear friends will live long enough to see it. What... what a thought.
But... Tim... d-does... make it feel... a little better. He's... very... warm. And quiet. And soft. His fur, his voice... his feelings... are all very soft... and precious, in a way.
Did he really go... through all that change... all of that suffering... for me? Did he really change his entire lifestyle... struggle and cry through the birth of emotions, of a true and beating heart... all for me? Did he endure moments of morality, mortality, a deathly mortality he very nearly lost all so fast... everything for me? I want to ask him why, but when I glance toward him, at the strange peace in his gaze, I decide not to.
Like he feels me there, his light orbs flicker, find mine, stay.
He must have gone through so much... watching my best friend step in front of him... my dear, dear Zoey die for him... for him... What a thought, oh, what a thought.
And we walk back.
Quietly, peacefully. My heart hurts... not a lot, but it hurts, when I move. But to stop would be suicide, a mental suicide that would break me. I-Irrevocably. I-I know this, I know this. So I let Tim move me, move me forward with each of his footsteps. And onward we go. Back where we were, with the open clearing in the midst of our world and other little things in little places. I find a certain white-furred creature having waited for us. Blushing, I try for a wave. She hurtles toward us. Gives Tim a very strong look as her paw clamps on the top of my head. But she doesn't move him, doesn't move me otherwise.
"Everyone else already left." She doesn't stop staring, intently, at the timburr. "But Marshall decided after they accost that swanna and check on other things they'll be back. For the best. For the better." She shakes her head fiercely, still staring. "If you'd like, you could still catch up to them, go with the rest of them. Even the kids went. Everyone else went. Well, except for me. And Herb. And There. But you get the idea."
Tim voids the stare of my dear Stella, peering into me. He stays like that. Then, "No... I think it would be better if we stayed. It's... quiet here. Well. Mostly." Stella bristles a bit at that. "But I think staying will give us enough time... to talk about things... as we wait for... er... um..." He blushes again. "Um... our friends... to arrive."
So I nod. Yes... I would... m-much rather that. Tim and I can talk, and Stella and There and Herb can talk too: all of us can. And we can stay here. But I—I won't go... to Zoey. At least, not by myself... W-Well I might in the middle of the night, thinking it to be a grand old thought but... I think I will be safe here. The lady who raised me like a mother, the boy she considered some form of a mate, their childhood friend, Tim, me.
Stella lets him take me a little further away. Her friends, standing about nearby, circle along back. They smile to my presence... perhaps relieved that I haven't shattered. I-I am too... that would be bad.
The timburr leads me just a little further. Still very much in sight of Stella, of There, of squeaky, bouncy Herb. A rock formation like stepping stones to a middle area, one big elevated chalk-white circle, stands in this place. The middle of this, I feel , will be where we... make our homes. There's a bit of a dip here, a comforting one. We just sit on the edge, next to each other.
And we do talk. About a lot of things. Quietly, with pauses, for we're both sore and worn.
About Deth, first. The strange litwick with the black eye and the white one, about how we knew Marshall once. He was different, darker. Like Marshall, perhaps, when he was a younger quagsire with younger thoughts and ideals. And we talk about Darkie, too. I remember, faintly, her seething ownership to the quagsire who no longer listens to her words. Perhaps it was she who... yes. But she is no longer here, although her immortal creature is. Like Vivi's... brother... and the one he took with him—they are gone. Cobalion, Terrakion. Which of course brings thoughts to F, anecdotes of her moments. Vivi said... F didn't mind too much, dying. That there was someone she was waiting for anyways. That brings a bit of peace to the soul.
Hogwash. That is our past.
About Mina, then. And Burr. And Gaurdio, too. Their candle-like souls that led and showed Tim a light for a time in his black-lit life. He misses them. I miss them. They're safe, up there. Which is good in some ways. I ask Tim if he remembers Elijah—he mutters that he's sorry, he tells me he's sorry for killing not only Elijah but now Zoey, in a sense.
So I tell him it's okay.
I'm not sure where that comes from inside of me, but I tell him, and I mean it. Perhaps not completely, for there are cracks in me and pieces missing after everything that has gone on, but I mean it. And I do.
He asks me if I remember those rogues. Zello Hios, Meagan. If I think they're dead.
Did you kill them?
Actually, no.
Then no, Tim, I don't think they're dead.
Somehow the conversation, after turns and twists, ends up about flowers. Tim doesn't quite have a favorite—he hasn't been living life long enough to tell the difference between them just yet. But he likes them. I tell him that roses are pretty... that sure, everyone likes them, but they are pretty.
Stella overhears. She adds that Tim is a big stupidhead. Tim tells her to stop. She doesn't. Herb suggests a very long name of a flower that starts with cryssomething; There smirks. I ask him why. He splutters something about not knowing flowers. Is a blackberry a flower? No, There, a blackberry is not a flower. Oh, he mumbles, dumbfounded.
Although, Herb adds, a lot of things start out as flowers. Some fruit do.
And some things end as flowers. Beautiful things... only truly beautiful things end in such a way...
Many days pass without sign of our surviving friends. We pass the time talking. And walking, sometimes. But not too often. And never alone. We stay in the middle of the big stony area for the most part. Bring in moss, other soft things. Hay. If there is any—not much. Some. It takes time and our burning willpower for the stench of death and Darkie to begin its withering decay.
Now our home smells of Herb's sweet, succulent plants. And honeysuckle. Apparently it's her power—plants. And honeysuckle. She loves honeysuckle.
It also smells just slightly of farts.
I dare not ask which fluffy one contributed to that.
We celebrate in a soft and gentle way when they all arrive again—one big piece, plus Mary. The swanna hugs me, relieved, to see that I haven't fallen apart. As do the others. And they accept the timburr, too. He isn't much on hugs so they don't attack him in that form... but there are doffs of the head. There is understanding, and a warmth in such form.
Espa and Umbre, their relationship even further strengthened. They've decided they want to try again... to have more children. They share a knowing smile at this. Vivi has bolstered her light anew. She doesn't want to watch over Kyo now—but everyone. She's excited for the upcoming children in our big strange family. As is the keldeo, unwavering by her side. I wonder if he wishes to ask something to that effect with her...
Jen survived. Her amber orbs have lost their puffy redness; if anything, her largest difference is that she's cut her braids. Her beautiful, long, tidy braids: now a curly heap of silver, a bob about her head. Still beautiful... but different too. Dear, shaky Cheeka, while terrified of what is to come, all the same is ready to take on whatever comes our way next. Determined, brave... terrified and yet brave. Her pink orbs shine brightly. The children we do have, Nayomi and Olive, share a face of great responsibility placed upon their little shoulders. But laughter, too. They haven't been completely worn down... having lost their parents and their big brothers... they stand tall. And small. Together.
Bay came back brighter, as he always does. Perhaps in pain of our past events; he still glimmers, still hopes, still adheres to the world ahead of us, and to the day when he will join his best friend in the world above. And Marshall, as always, he leads. Knocked and hit however many times, he still takes the head of our group... and I think he always will.
Does he and Mary... does their little duo include us now? Tim and I—being... immortal to a sense. I wonder.
How will we all change in the extent of it all? It's... quite... a wonder.
But it's safer now. Here. It's not so scary. There are times when I want to hide from everything, when I feel like I really can't take another step and I really don't want to go on anymore... but those times pass. I think we all struggle with sleeping. It's... a given. But little by little, one by one, time after time, it gets easier. And harder... sometimes. And easier again.
So we talk. A lot.
I don't think I've ever been this close to anyone, in ways, not like this.
Stella stays with us. I doubt she wants to leave our side again. And with her stays the broomstick-brown There and the flower-loving Herb. Sometime her father—Chieftain—visits. I think he's proud of her.
Constantly the name of someone no longer with us will come up in conversation. Ember—F—Frigid Outspring... Zoey. Elijah, even still. After everything. Sometimes there is a pause after so, or a sour little grin. Or an exhale. Release.
In the end, it is finished. For better and for worse.
There comes a time, after we have settled, after the veins of the heart, this center of our world, have begun to spread—instead of a tiny pinpoint in a tiny town where nobody knew us. We meet new creatures. Some join. Some don't. Some hate us. We don't hate them. We just laugh. It's a pleasant little thing... and there comes a time after this as well.
Espa was pregnant with her next child—the first after Iuniper. They've deliberated on keeping names like that. After fruit, berries, plants, but changed a little. Maybe this one would be Shandelion. Or Marppil. Or Thorn—no, they said Torn. They liked that one. Or Shard, maybe, that sounds kind of like Torn. But nicer. Maybe a boy, Torn, and a girl, Shard.
It's at this time when his big and soft brown hand took mine, and he led me somewhere new. A hill—not very far away from our home—but far away enough. His eyes have grown softer. And his fur. And his feelings. He feels insulted quite easily—which admittedly some—like Stella—use against him. Nothing serious, never serious. They just like his reaction.
It is... a little cute.
There is still a shell of ruggedness to him, a shell that I think he will always have. I think I'll never lose my poor decision-making when it comes to me, when it comes to helping others. I'll be too rash, too hasty with it. Too ready for the wrong things.
But that's okay. Sometimes I like being reminded of those times. Only a little bit.
He'd asked me quietly something that must have been tugging on his heart for a very, very long time. The first feeling he'd ever had, a tiny seed buried into the dirt of his battered and practically nonexistent old heart... the one that caused him to kill Elijah, to try to kill the others. The feeling that brought him to where he is now, so gentle and sensitive.
And he asked me with that deep and sweet rumble of his, "Llana... I've said this so many times, and I will never stop, and I understand if you never will in turn, but...
"I love you. And I want to ask if... will you ever love me?"
It caught me in my heart. I was blushing... I was so nervous... everything picked up and swooned with this warmth inside of me...
I remember stuttering at first. He thought I was rejecting him. I wasn't. I don't think.
Why is it so easy to turn yes into no, and so hard to turn no into yes?
Because I meant yes. I meant yes, and I still do... I still mean it. Because I did... I fell in love with Tim. After everything, I did love him... and I do.
I think telling him that burned out the last of the darkness he was born with. The last of anything ever starting again... I think my yes ended it.
And I think that... no matter the ages and the time to come and go, no matter when everyone we know will grow old... I think that he's going to be there with me now. Like Deth and his wife... like Marshall and Mary... I think that whatever it is, this eternity, this world... I think I'll be happy. Even so.
I'll miss everyone, whenever that time comes, far and far into the future... but I'm thankful for it, too. For having them, having them to miss. I need to enjoy them until the future arrives... to enjoy all of it...
To smile, when I'm happy. To cry when I'm sad. And everything else in between... I want all of it.
I want this life... for everything I'll have in it. May we keep the monsters that took such hold upon this world never stomp us out again... or at least never fully. May there be candles that cannot go out, candles to brighten whatever things will come and go. May this heart, in the middle of the world, stay beating so long as we live here.
And may, most indubitably, may we live through the rest of our days.
Wow... it took me awhile to finish. I guess because... you don't want to put the last word down... and then you don't wanna put down the wrong last word... but I... hoof, I think I'm done TTwTT
Well. Other than a couple of oneshots I have planned. One for Zoey, just a few chapters (she'll be dead in it, that means Burr and Mina and Elijah and everyone else screentime!) and I was thinking of some with just the characters and cute/random moments... we'll see.
So... the end. Wow I've been through a lot to get this far, haha... Thank you for reading this far, and everything else. The end!