~~~Terminus~~~
In Hell, high in mountains of ice, there is a statue of a girl.
It is a secluded, peaceful place, with crystalline flowers growing all about it, reminiscent of the tranquility that she sought in life but never attained. Once every lunar cycle, two demons visit this altar; they take the long path, travelling on foot. It is a couple days' journey, but it is the least they can do to honor the one who sacrificed her life to save them.
Along the path, there is another altar, one overlooking a deep valley cast in shadows and darkness. It is not the chaotic, destructive darkness that is often thought of by mortals, but rather it is a faint, deep reminder of the void, reminiscent of the grand, infinite cosmos. They stop there to honor the other one who gave her life to save theirs - one who suffered from neglect, one who only ever wanted the simplest things - solitude and the faintest understanding.
Their younger sister, who they had failed to protect, who had been another casualty of war... the cost for peace.
In this melancholy valley, they spend a day, staring down into the darkness as she liked to do, and memories resurface - painful, torturous memories, but ones that they are forced to bear. They are reminded that it is the curse of the living to carry on, no matter what pain they must suffer; the only peace belongs to the dead. Neither of them need show any emotion to know what the other is feeling - no words are spoken, but they both know what this loss entails.
And so they spend a day, no more, no less, before moving on.
Atop the high mountains, the hooded statue stands, shadowed from the light. Its face is upturned, looking toward the sky - she was one who thought a lot, one who liked to ponder about the world around her; she was often depressed, and yet at once the most hopeful person either of them knew. One who refused to give up and incessantly fought for what she believed in.
And yet one who was decidedly uncertain about everything. Fighting for only what she felt was right at a given point, whether it was saving her people in general, or fighting for a specific person - a loved one. Perhaps she had been wrong about some things, but there was a certain strength of character to her resilience that both of them had, if not admired, respected.
She is gone by now, long gone into oblivion along with the other sacrificed souls, but she is not forgotten. Not neglected - she had never been - but often shunned, ostracized, disparaged, when all she had wanted was understanding.
A hybrid between a human and demon, a decidedly unique being, but one who suffered because of what she was. Feared and hated in both worlds, or if not that, then disparaged for being weak, for being an abomination... and yet she had still persevered. In complete solitude, friendless, without help...
In the end, she had found a semblance of happiness, at least. In the end, she had not been completely miserable. Perhaps, for her, that had been good enough. When life was naught but suffering, the slightest reprieve... they hoped it had been enough for her. She had not deserved to suffer the way she did, but life was often unfair, and it had given her the worst it had to offer. But now, at least, she was at peace...
They spend another day here, in the company of the statuette, looking at the sky, mulling over the events that passed, about all of their regrets, about everything... they are immortal demons, after all, so they have time to just sit there and think, philosophizing about the world. As they knew she would have done.
Ultimately, they come to no conclusions, but uncertainty is the law of the world, and they have already accepted that. So they just sit and think, remembering what was lost. And every month, when the full moon shines, both of them leave a gift at the statue - usually a piece of chocolate, which she had loved - before leaving her in peace again.
In Inferno, deep within the most remote regions, where normally even demons do not tread, there is a hidden grove filled with life. It is unusual, given the typical barrenness of the land, but the grovekeepers have worked hard to foster life from the dead ground. Here, enormous trees grow from the ground, bizarre plants with thin, slender trunks, and wide branches, stretching out to shade an enormous area from the hot suns above. They are a curious shade of violet, and upon them, indigo flowers grow, decorating the air with a fragrance that belies the usual stink of sulfur in the air.
In the center of the grove, there is a small fountain that bubbles with water, a rarity in this realm, especially water this clear and unpolluted. In it, the flowers float about calmly, their petals glistening with tiny drops of dew, reflected perfectly in the mirrored pool.
The path to this grove is treacherous - dangerous enough that most ordinary demons are wise enough to stay away, but once a year, on the first day of the new year, six brothers undertake the journey to the grave of their fallen sister.
Their youngest sibling, their most powerful one, at once the most sensitive but the strongest among them. Among demons, the bond of kinship is usually weak, and her being their sister does not mean too much in itself - no, instead, she has earned their respect with her tenacity - her stubbornness, her power, her resilience. They know they may not have cared for her enough during her life, and it is a great regret, but at least now, now they can honor her memory.
At least now, she is no longer shunned; she is accepted as one of their kind, one of the greatest, for what she had accomplished - what she had done for them, even when they had done nothing for her. Though, they know that she never cared for such titles. They know that all she wanted to was to be accepted as something more than an aberration - as another equal. And now, only after she is dead, has that happened.
They know she cannot see them now, caring for the grove of trees that represent her grave - to them - but it seems right to give her at least this much...
Every year, a journey to the violet grove, where they pay their respects to their lost sister. And they remain there until several days later, a flock of birds - a flock of ravens - returns. Back to their homes in the violaceous leaves, the silent sentries of the graves of the fallen, the ravens grace their mauve surroundings with sleek, black wings of crepuscule. Twilight descends again, and the six brothers leave, with the watchful eyes of the ravens following their backs.
In the hills, overlooking a sprawling metropolis, deep within a shadowed forest, there is a plain, unadorned gravestone. It is not the usual grey kind, but cast in a pale lavender, unmarked, save for wreaths of flowers that are placed on it every day.
It is unmarked, but the people who visit it daily never forget who the grave is for.
Through rain, snow, heat, and storm, they visit the placid area of deep forest, where everything is secluded, away from normal life. No matter what, they stop to visit the grave, if only briefly every day.
Sometimes they replace the flowers decorating the gravestone. Sometimes they bring gifts, little sweets, books, sometimes they set a cup of steaming tea at the gravestone. Little gestures of friendship... the friendship that she had deserved but not received in life... a pity... that only after she was gone, everyone began to pay attention to her.
Guilt often clouds the air, but it is not undeserved - they know this. There is definitely a measure of guilt for the way they treated her, cast her out as a pariah, shunned her when she needed someone, anyone to help her in her melancholic solitude... they often regret it, knowing that they did nothing but hurt her, and yet she still saved all of their lives. Regret that they could not see past her emotionless mask to the sensitive, depressed, extremely shy girl underneath. The remorse... knowing that she was merely misunderstood; yes, different from them, dangerous as well, but mostly misunderstood.
Perhaps she did not share their values. Perhaps she was more destructive than they, attuned to darkness, but she did not deserve the treatment that had been dealt to her. And they, certainly, had not deserved her help - the aid she had lent them... her life, which she had given, to save them all. She was different, they recognized that, but now they begin to understand - only after her death - and try to reconcile themselves with her. It is too little, too late, they know, but going by her credo, they must at least try.
Often, they remind themselves of just how tenacious she was. How, struck down over and over, she somehow pulled herself together and continued fighting. Without hope, without even support, completely alone. Stricken, but refusing to give in. They know that fighting without hope is one of the most difficult things to do, and having fallen prey to hopelessness before, they only wonder how she managed to get up and continue battling on - without even a single friend to support her. Forsaken by everyone, by everything... yet never broken completely.
It is one of her traits that they admire.
Admittedly, there were some aspects of her that were rather difficult to deal with. The moodiness that hung about her like a cloud; her biting, sarcastic wit; apparent lack of sympathy - which was completely false; her lack of trust in others... but, thinking about the other side of her, they know that pointing out her flaws is foolish. Nobody is perfect, and despite being half-demon, she had turned out to be a much better person, even by their standards, than any of them were.
They grieve her loss, but they are reminded, as well, of the example that she set for them, and in some aspects, what they should strive for. Understanding, even of people who are apparently nothing but evil, because the world, truthfully, is not cast in black and white but in shades of grey. Resilience, never giving up, fighting even without hope - and loyalty... to cherish the friends that they have because not everyone is so fortunate...
It is, perhaps, a naive way to look at the world, but it is good enough for them, and so they leave with those thoughts.
~~~Renovamen~~~
However, there is one person who always leaves later than the rest of them.
A girl, a strange girl, with pink hair, and pale, greyish skin. A girl, who still wears a mask of happiness for the most part, but here... here, she cannot help but hide the melancholy that permeates her core.
She cannot possibly forget, because the grave's owner, the girl whom it belongs to, was her best friend - and still is; and not just that, but a confidant, and a lover... their savior, collectively, and her savior, because they had understood each other when nobody else had. They had stood by each other, and though their relationship had not always been smooth, in the end, they had been willing to die together.
It still puzzles her, that they had not died together - because her friend had sacrificed her life - but she understands, in some part, why that violet eyed girl had done what she did. She still remembers that last look that they had exchanged, and the wordless feeling that had passed between them - and she remembers the voice that she had heard, through the storm and void...
I love you too much. And that's why you have to live.
Sometimes, she cannot hold back tears, but other times, she wills herself to remain strong, just as her friend did. Depression still hangs about her, immutable, but she remembers that her friend would not want her to suffer. And she reminds herself that she does not want to waste her lover's sacrifice - it still hurts, it hurts more than she can bear if she thinks about it, but she knows she has to bear it.
There is so much to think about. Too much to think about - and for her, a person who usually just goes by what she feels, it is unusual. But she cannot help it - memories surface up, the brief time that they had had together, two kindred souls in a world that had shunned the both of them as monsters. She thinks about how similar they were, both people struggling to control the powers that they had been cursed with, both people who tread the thin line between heroism and villainy, but in truth, she knows, such terms are meaningless.
The world is cast in shades of grey - it is cast in a rainbowed hue of colors, it is cast in shades of pink and violet...
She closes her eyes, no longer thinking, merely taking in the feeling of the air around her.
She is alone again - everyone else has left. But then, she has always been alone. They both had been.
It is a little bit cold, and she realizes the sun has begun to set. But then again, she does not mind the darkness nor the night - if anything, it brings back memories of sitting together with her friend on the beach, bodies pressed together warmly as they looked up at the night sky. If anything, the night is a welcome feeling, because she does not really like all the gaudy light of day anyway.
Above her, the tree leaves rustle with a soft breeze, and the fragrance of flowers fills the air.
Soon, it begins to rain, just slightly, and the sky darkens as night begins to fall. At twilight, the brink between bright sunlight and sheer darkness, everything is misted over with tones of grey, veiled by the curtain of falling rain.
She does not mind getting wet; she remembers, instead, how rain was their favorite weather, how they both enjoyed its peaceful pitter patter and cooling droplets, cascading down from the clouded heavens.
It feels a bit bitter now, now that her lover is gone, but it is still a sweet reminder of everything...
She looks down at the gravestone, pink eyes hidden partially beneath her eyelids.
She still wishes that they had died together. She still feels like she should not be alive... but things turn out the way they do and fighting against the universe is a daunting task. They had done it together, but now alone, she knows it takes more than a little bit of good luck to drag a soul out of the void. She continues staring, head bent down as her wet, pink hair forms a shroud over her face, and she wonders why their positions had not been reversed.
... if it is any consolation, she knows that life is not endless and that one day, she will die and rejoin her friend in the void. And they will be together again. Or perhaps, one day, they will both be reborn and their reincarnations will have a life to enjoy together. One day... perhaps. She does not dare to hope, but it is a passing thought that she holds onto in the back of her mind. It keeps her sane, at least, and it makes it hurt a little less.
Suddenly, there is a soft cry in the air and she is brought out of her thoughts. She looks around confusedly - there is something familiar about that low, smooth call, and it is mildly unsettling.
On the ground, a shadowed pair of wings mirror the wings of crepuscule, floating in the sky, and her eyes pick up the slim figure of a bird, soaring through the rain as it descends toward her.
She blinks a few times, and it is gone from sight, vanished into thin air, and she feels a strange sense of disappointment.
But then, there is a rustle in the trees and she cast a look up again.
And perched peacefully on a tree branch, staring into her pink irises, is a solitary, violet eyed raven.