A low wind picked its way through the wilting leaves, casting these last vestiges of life from the branches. The glare of the bleeding sun seeped its gory path around the falling leaves, pouring its ominous tint on a small company crowded around two slabs of precious crystal below. Upon a large emerald studded grave was a single epitaph.

A Hero died as she had lived

Sacrificing herself so the world survived

Free forever, scattered to the wind

Forever more, let the scent of wind, of her remind

Buttercup

The sun shone through this and a sapphire studded twin, turning the sparkling gems into vessels of blood, gore dripping out in sheets of death, coating the forest with an eerie glare. On the broad dying trunks, the words in the sapphire shone with the blood red that vanquished their beauty.

Here lies Bubbles, caring to the last

Her demise of the world brings an end to laughter, alas

Her laughter will echo in the halls of tales

May her memory, ever more, our sadness quail

The banisher of nights of triste, Bubbles

Around that point, a small group of people wept, as the world wept. Staring into the blood tinted graves until they could bear it no longer, then bowed their heads and sobbed a melancholy moan of despair. The grass wilted from the tears of the mourners and the heavens roared in empyreal grief. Finally, as the blood of the sun turned into the blackness of night, and the graves lost their gory glow, instead transcending into empty blackness, one by one, the mourners drifted off, to continue their eternal mourning. The Professor placed a fatherly hand on Blossoms shoulder, wept again as he saw her unreaction, then trudged off into the night, leaving her there in her sole vigil. Blossom kneeled down in the dark, staring at one patch of darkness that somehow seems darker and more futile then all the others. The stars did not come out, the moon clouded with doubt. Finally, Blossom shifted. She pulled out the single bottle of Imperium she had picked up from Mojo's lair and remembered the Imperators final words. "a bottle of Imperium can turn molten rock into life, what can it do to those once alive."

She uncorked the bottle, held it poised over the grave then faltered. She could not risk creating a monster like the Imperator; she looked at the graves, remembering the carefree frolics with Buttercup and Bubbles, then turned her head; whatever the cost. She threw the vial into the air, unleashed a single prick of light into the air, and watched the bottle explode, disintegrated into nothingness from the laser blast. Then she lay down on the graves, and cried herself to sleep…

Abysmal poetry, eh…

This is the end of imperium,

Hairy Gregory: About your site, do you want me to keep on sending stories. For some unknown reason my computer can't see any tripod pages, but I'd like to post them on. Could you just give me a brief summary of what I have up there so that I'll know what to send, thanks. Oh and about the fave author thing that was mentioned in WOTD reviews. Just because you're on my fave list does not mean that you aren't classed very high. I was just pointing out that the only well way to see if I liked a story are frequency of reviews.  Anyway, thanks for all the reviews.

Zoe Rose, Kathryn, Raskolian Phoenix, and Spitfire1: thanks for the reviews as well. If I have missed anyone, tell me and it will be amended.