adagio.

The sun was setting, she noted. Always so dramatic, a ball of flame painted against a nectarine sky with wisps of sandy alabaster for clouds.

At least, that's how she thought it as she sat on the beach.

Other people, other couples gave her the odd stare as they passed by, hand in hand. Tourists. The locals were people she had grown up with and watched grow up, and they treated her with respect and admiration as a savior – which she was. The damned tourists probably had no idea they were openly staring with revulsion at a woman who had gone to the end of the world and returned, carrying a burden greater than the sun.

Maybe it was the black. Yes, she had gotten stared at for the dress she always wore, but now more than ever she had a reason for it. She did not need to explain her story to every person who passed her by.

Then again, she had never told her story to anyone. No one had ever dreamed of asking, and she respected them for that. Her silence was openly accepted, and that was why she would never leave her beloved island.

However, every now and then there came along someone who knew she was not just a normal woman, and wanted to know her story. They were as rare as red anemones, though.

But now there was one.

"Hello, ma'am? I'm looking for someone named Ashe... you look an awful lot like this picture of her. Oh, you are her? That's wonderful... look, can you answer some questions of mine?"

Those cursed reporters. She knew what answer she would give her – nothing. The simple silence she had entertained for more than two years, ever since.

So here she was, hiding out on the beach with her violin and receiving too many stares to be comfortable.

But now she was used to it. The world was too full of ignorant people, as common and as stupid as dust mites, and they would never know. It was better this way.

She picked up her bow and settled the instrument under her chin. Since they had gone, she had taken up violin simply because she had always wanted to. Now, she had nothing else to do but play.

How far back should I have to go? Tell me

She could hear the words singing from the violin as she played to the beach and to the sunset.

This was her mourning.

Everything is so painfully vivid

The high-pitched cry weaved its way into the air from the strings, becoming its user. She had sought music as a sanctuary, and, hidden inside it, had managed to become apathy.

She was nothing now.

So long ago, I threw away my brightness

Up, down, up, down. The slow song of a death, a lament for a faded fire. This was her melody.

And like the light of the morning sun, it can never return.

"Ma'am?"

The bow sprung off the strings in surprise. She froze, debating whether to simply extinguish this person with a spell or just kill her outright.

"Ah, Lady Ashe... I'm reporting for the Times, and I'd like to know if you could answer some questions of mine...?"

Oh, dear God. She could not do this. She could never tell such stupid people the truth behind their deaths. And it was true, for she knew her mind and heart would break if she plunged back into the past, when she had felt such strong emotions.

Like anger. Like hate.

Like love.

She picked up the bow again, ready to charm away the memories, to chase them away like crimson butterflies.

It lies beside this cold heart, frozen

"Um, ma'am...? Lady Ashe?" Maybe, even, if she played enough, her requiem would chase away this reporter as well.

So completely mindless that it persists forever

She could see the scarlet butterflies that haunted her dreams now, drifting around a field of red anemones and around her crying violin, as red as the setting sun, as a fading fire, as his hair.

She played harder now, more abruptly, with sudden changes of pitch, like an insane tremolo. But still she could hear the tears in its strings, and the wind in the claret flowers.

Numbly, I gather up the remnants of my emotions

"Excuse me... can you even hear me?"

She felt the tapping of an impatient finger on her shoulder, a finger untouched by the feel of death and the true pain that lay beyond it.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had dropped the bow and grabbed that hand, feeling how warm and soft and alive it was.

"Ah! Oh... ummm..."

She knew she must feel like ice, but that was what she was, so it mattered not to her. She could tell the woman didn't really want her holding her hand anyway.

She smiled a tiny smile that barely reached her face.

"Do I truly look like Death?"

She rarely spoke, but she had to know. She could tell what the woman thought by her face, and by her hand. Oh, how she must look: a silent celebrity in a black dress, with such long black hair, sitting in a sunset, playing a violin, and now grasping this strange woman's hand, boring into her soul with the famous red eyes. She would have been scared too... a long time ago.

Two years ago.

And searching for redemption

The woman was silent. It was obvious that none of her practiced scripts, her acted movements, her false feelings had prepared her for this. She smiled her little smile again, knowing now for sure that this woman could never understand the truth of a faded fire and a crying violin.

I'm beginning to learn the designs of sorrow

She let go of her pure, ignorant hand. "Go." The woman scampered, obviously unnerved by the apathetic soul that played a weeping violin.

So long ago, I threw away my brightness

She took up the bow again, letting the rare smile fade back into the darkness as she played her elegy to the dying sun.

To the faded fire.

And like the light from the morning sun, it can never return.

AN: song is ending of Witch Hunter Robin, "Half-Pain" by Bana. just for reference, "adagio" is a musical term that means "very slowly". and, just for fun and because I never provided a definition, a "requiem" is a song of mourning. sort of like a lament or whatever. anyway, now I have to write the other chapters (because all up to now were written in advance), so the next update might be in a bit. ah well. ciao, dahlings!