Fallen

There had not been a time in need of greater change; for change itself had erupted so delicately and dangerously that it shook the hearts and tainted the very beings of all those who called themselves as different as they say. It was known that no one deserved a pain that was hopeless to heal, chiefly two most diverse, twisted souls who longed for nothing but peace…However, this was a time of change.

And in change, anything is possible.

In the midst of a raging, inner war, it seemed, most valid to describe and begin our tale, there was a yearning for the future's acceptance and comforting embrace. There was a need for warmth during a time of trial. For every age, there was an unspoken secret that lingered in the air. The leaves that were hanging onto their reminiscence of a forgotten age were soon turning a bitter gold, and the fading trees were presently loitering the redemption of a bloom. The soft leaves descended from the trees fell like gentle snowflakes. Spring had come and gone, and the wistful days of summer had passed over, and the land was quiet.

Cold winds blew across the dying land. There was not a soul that wished spring would befall, would burst in to a blossom of heedless blush; not a mortal soul, not an animal…There was only a lurking loneliness, enduring in tranquil desperation, fighting every moment to close their eyes and wish sleep would overtake them…

For the story of those two throbbing hearts sharing a pain so immense thickened and wandered throughout the final and first days of the season of death, told of a parable that few were meant to know.

It was a gruesome, silent existence in the simple moments that would so easily pass and creep by within the hour, that it was often wondered if time itself would soon engulf their spirits as far away from the somberness that was drowning in their eyes…There were hardly any words when the deadly silence would reign, when their breaths grew shallow and piercing.

The longing that they held in the palm of their hands controlled them, forced them to the edge of despair…and nearly pushed them into the angry current of questions, mimicking disasters that had long taken place before but were solely chosen to be forgotten.

Fate could easily set lives in motion at the rise of heartbreak. So many countless nights the ghosts had come back to haunt them in their dreams, the inner demons that were prolonged to be dead.

But, you see, death had already intertwined itself within their fingers. They were already dying inside, dying of every moment that awful silence would take hold of them.

She would push the thoughts away with each ambition of strength she held within her, trying to fight off the sense of loosing someone she had deeply cared for…a friend, a classmate, an inspiring companion who had undoubtedly turned his back on her and everyone else. Everything else he once stood for. She had been left broken and utterly alone. Even if she had the heartfelt warmth of another's arms around her, even if the days would pass with extended moments that whispered comfort in her ear…She still could not conquer the pain. Loss. Fear. Anger. Despair.

He had already lost too much in his life to even think about his past. The quietness that was slowly overtaking his soul with each passing night. Each night, when he would wake from a horrible nightmare, turn to the other side of the sheets and search for the one he loved for solace, he would find only an empty nightgown, bearing no trace of the woman he had loved so dearly.

Her ghost would come back to whisper in his ear as he slept, saying careless things that only ones so tender can imagine. Her fingers would brush against his cheek, her hair falling out onto his face like a heavenly cloud. In those brief moments, he would find bliss, wishing that she were there, there to hold him and never let go…

But the dead did not work in a way that we often wish, for they often deceive our minds in an act of devotion and worship. But her touch was only soft for a diminishing instant, and as quickly as the dream began, it slowly died away, descending like the changing leaves that would fall from the withering trees, or the petals falling from the attentive clasp of a rose…Her hands would turn icy. Her fingertips would wrinkle, and her voice which had sounded like a strange, sweet song now altered to a raspy, distant cry.

The memories of those nights would remain with them to the grave; When Grace would take them home to an eternal infinity with peace, and the knowledge that their loved ones were safe and restful. It was a hard, long process…to get used to life without them.

When the long weeks of the first Fall had drew nearer, and the golden leaves were shaping to form a crimson shade, then time itself had changed briefly, long enough to let an entire moment of extravagant peace wash over them both in their absent slumber. The silence would not even enter their hearts for that one concise second. Now, they could understand what they both wanted, what they both craved for, desired: Freedom. Freedom from the dreams, from all of the pain that was constantly knocking on death's door, from the agony of waking and finding the sun had not touched the rim of the grass and dead roses. For a moment, the tide had turned. They were untouched by fear.

The darkest dreams that troubled them were sadly left behind them, and they savored the relief of their pain. The return would only be too quick to measure; it was a moment when time had stilled.

She had trailed out of the mansion that day, heading up onto the meadow hill just above her private paradise. The land was smooth for as far as she could see, and the rich wheat danced in the rays of the sun. She stood atop the peak, the rushing wind licking her face softly, an unexpected warm wind that blew her hair off of her face and revealed the beauty of her deep, sad eyes.

And she stood there, waiting for the silence to return, but it never did. Could it be magic? A trick? She had assumed she was always doomed to remain in the Hell of it all, to linger upon her friend's death, to never forget the pain it brought her. She pushed her hair behind her ear, listening. But all she heard was the soft whispers of the wind, and then, shortly after, heard the murmurings of a troubled, heartrending man. She turned, looking down among the wheat, and saw a man approaching her.

A handsome, familiar man, a long-time friend of hers, a friend who had seemed so distant since the death of his womanly love. It had been the same for both of them; either refused to tread under the sunlight, for it all reminded them of what they had lost.

He greeted her with a smile. A small, sad, withering smile that would soon weaken under the fadeless beauty of the woman who stood before him. "Marie," he said. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and he found a trace of a smile. Perhaps they were meant to laugh again, to live again. He said hardly anything more, and he hadn't needed to.

Marie reached up and touched his shoulder. His skin was warm, heavily heated by the sun, and the breeze that passed over them made the still durable. Could they live through another day, another moment, without that horrible silence? Tears would sparkle in her eyes when the moment came to step back into reality; she knew they would, and then they would become all the more distant, slipping away. Marie had vowed not to let that happen. Not in a time when the darkness bound everything in its wake.

"Scott," she whispered when he lowered his eyes. He looked at her, and there was an unbearable feature in her deep, beautiful eyes, those eyes that were the window to her soul.

A tear - alienated and resented - slid down her soft cheek.

Her face was motionless, but her eyes were troubled. It was like reliving the day of their loved ones' deaths all over again. Too much sacrifice.

"I…I've missed you, Scott…" Marie admitted honestly as Scott brought his hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He wanted to wipe her tear away. But Marie wasn't immune to his touch. He smiled gently at her, his red protective sunglasses shining the in the sunlight.

He was not the only one with regrets and doubts in himself; Marie knew that he was fighting a darkness that was all too well known. She could hardly speak the words that were trapped within her. There was too much tension, too much lust for answers that it nearly destroyed her that very moment. It was as if she were living an eternity in that one minute his caught hers, and it wasn't accidental.

His coming atop the hill to meet her was not accidental, they both suspected and soon knew. It was like getting caught in a raging thunderstorm, only to find brilliant sunlight at the end of it all. His equal of loss. Empathy. Redemption.

"Marie…" Her name slid off his lips delicately, smoothly. They would have been speaking a different language in gestures and beckons, but could still understand what the other was feeling. He saw Marie smile a little, and her eyes looked away from him.

It was funny - Any woman who had been through what she had been through - a life of hatred, of sorrow, of non-existing joy…had the courage to smile. Her smile made him think of older, happier times, when he had the one woman he loved beside him, before his lover drowned. Water was all that had killed her. Marie's dear friend had gone away, abandoned her.

It was a totally different situation, but the feeling of the same loss remained, and it burned with them, between them, as if they were meant to be drawn together this very instant - and when he took her gloved hand in his own, her smile widened. He would give anything to preserve such beauty.

The nightmares still haunted them. All too well. All too strongly. It was overwhelming. The tears she had been fighting back for so long made her glorious smile fade, and the moment was over.

Tears spread across her eyes and rolled down her cheek. Impulsively, Scott pulled her gently into a warm embrace, sheltering her with his arms as they stood their in the meadow atop the hill, the wind blowing the wheat like waving flowers on a summer's day. But it was in the season of death, and Scott guessed that smiles were meant to fade along with the trees and the leaves and the flowers. He wished they wouldn't. Marie did not deserve to descend into her tireless pit of wake and misery - he did not want her to.

"I've got you, Marie," he assured as he calmly ran his hand over her back. She cried against his heart, softer than she needed, but she cried. Marie let out her anger, her frustration, her sadness to him through her tears. She could hear his heart beat. Something strange, terrifying, and wonderful at the same time. "I'm here," he whispered into her ear, and she touched the wet spot on his shirt where she had been crying, on his chest. She looked up at him with slightly confused but adoring, devoted eyes.

"Please don't leave me, Scott," she pleaded more so in a whisper that only he could hear. His arms did not loosen around her as she buried the side of her face on his chest again. He looked ahead, rubbing her back still, and soothing her with his calming voice. All time stopped.

"I won't ever, sweetheart," he replied, leaning over and kissing her hair. "I'll protect you." - When he said those words, she looked up. She gave him a look that told him what her heart truly felt. Empathy.

Marie wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her painted lips to his ear. "Thank you."

At that, he lifted her into his arms. When he felt her muscles tense as the wind picked up, he soothed her lovingly, enfolding his arms securely around her. One arm was wrapped behind knees, the other holding her back - she could not have felt nor been more protected. And all the memories of John's departure faded from her, and she guessed that it was the same with Scott: he stopped thinking about Jean when he held her.

"Relax," Scott said to her. "Let go. Drift." She rested her face on his shoulder and kept her arms linked around his neck - it was such a warm feeling, so warming, to feel him hold her like this. It was like they were the only two people left in the world. It felt amazing to them both.

Even as Scott carried her down the hill, the wind picking up and sending multi-colored leaves scattering at their feet and the sky turning overcast, the moment had not ended. The dream had only just begun.