Epilogue
Early 2015 in a small Scottish town…
The rain pattered against the roof of the quiet Scottish pub. Ichabod Crane cursed as he clumsily burst into the establishment, soaking wet. The walk from his family's crypt to the nearest dry place had turned out to be a short but very wet journey. Luckily, he had the presence of mind to wear his coat today. He protectively gripped the ancient stone against his shivering body, hidden beneath his sodden wool coat.
He coldly examined the inside of the pub. A few patrons quietly stared at him, gently swaying in their seats from their inebriation. Discreetly, he shook the water from his wool coat and wiped the short, wet pieces of his hair from his face. He stiffly walked to the empty bar stools, the sound of his boots reverberating throughout the quiet establishment.
Reverently, he set the ancient tablet on the bar before carefully removing his soaked coat, placing it on the back of his chair, and sitting down. Awaiting the absentee bartender, Ichabod quickly became consumed by his conflicted thoughts, unconsciously tracing the tablet etchings with his finger.
After nearly a year of wandering the Scottish countryside, dependent on the kindness of strangers and the dwindling money he'd saved up from performing odd jobs, he was faced with a predicament. It was this cursed tablet, he thought in irritation. He'd come upon it during his journey to find his long-forgotten family crypt. It had taken him nearly a month to clearly decipher it and now that its message was evident, his mind was at battle with his awakened heart.
"What can I get ye?" The voice of the bartender startling him from his thoughts.
Considering the unproductive day he'd just endured and the fact that he was sitting in layers of cold, wet clothes, he ordered the first thing that came to mind. "A pint of your best, thank you."
The bartender acknowledged the order and turned to pour his drink.
Quietly clearing his throat, Ichabod self-consciously straightened his back before resting his arms on the bar. Though he refused to conform to certain societal expectations, he hated drawing attention to himself. He preferred anonymity, he'd grown accustomed to it in the past few months. He awkwardly tucked his short hair behind his ears as he glanced out of the corner of his eye. The other patrons had gone back to slurring their way through nonsensical heavy Scottish accents, their attention no longer on him. He let out a sigh of relief.
If she were here, her very presence would command all these men's attention. Her smile, her perfectly sculpted body, her melodic voice...stop, he scolded himself, enough. She wasn't here. As much as his heart longed for her to glide through that door and teasingly utter his name, she wouldn't. He secured their fate the moment he ran off without a word.
Pieces of hair escaped once again and fell across his eyes. He irritably tucked it behind his ear again. He was beginning to regret his hasty, self-inflicted haircut. He'd made the cut impulsively, too blinded by grief to pay any mind to his actions. It was far shorter months ago but the length had begun to unnerve him so he began growing it out once again. He'd worn it in a longer style for as long as he could remember. He needed to return to some semblance of normalcy now that he'd overcome his grieving.
It was at an awkward phase, too long to stay out of his eyes, too short to tie it back. He would have to contend with it for now. Though, for some odd reason, he'd begun to consider blonde highlights. A suppressed memory of a moment in his burial cave flashed before him only to fade away just as quickly.
Moments of random recollections had begun to occur with frequency. Thoughts of her smile, thoughts of her lips near his, vows he'd abandoned in the pursuit of closure, filled his mind. The thoughts would haunt him at odd moments of the day and throughout his dreams at night but they didn't linger. That is until recently.
"Here's ye pint."
Ichabod blinked from his haze as the effervescent bubbles floated to the top of his cold, golden brew, a glorious foam spilling over the blunt lip of the mug. He gratefully paid for his drink and tentatively swigged back a giant gulp of the bitter ale. The cold liquid slid down his throat with a refreshing fizz, instantly putting him at ease. He instinctively wiped the foam from his beard with his coat sleeve, a distant memory stirred an odd tug at his heart. 'I can't with you. Come here.'
He inhaled shakily and set the beer down, looking down at the granular tablet. He gently caressed the Sumerian words etched into the ancient stone. Of course, reading a foretelling of their bond would dredge up memories of her. It was simply that. Nothing more.
It had nothing to do with the kiss she almost bestowed upon him whilst he was in a drunken stupor. Nothing to do with the ancient tablet that foretold that their souls were literally destined to be together. No, of course not, he attempted to convince himself. He didn't yearn to know where she was at that very moment or wonder how she fared. His heart didn't desperately flip within his chest in the hope that he would one day hear her voice again. He didn't miss her to the point of physical pain. He wasn't in denial.
"Ye alright then?"
Ichabod looked up, relaxing the fist he was unaware he had clenched. "Pardon?"
The bartender smiled knowingly at him. "There is no mistaking that look upon a man's face."
He blinked in confusion. "Look? What...look?" he asked unconvincingly.
The bartender shook his head with a knowing smirk, changing the topic. "Yer not from around here, are ye? Visiting or finding yer way home?"
He furrowed his brow. Uncertainty filled his heart. His purpose had once been clear but it became muddled in the time he'd maintained his isolation. Loneliness began to set in. Which was why after months of keeping to himself, Ichabod felt inspired, or rather at ease, enough to speak his truth to this seemingly pleasant stranger.
He sighed with the shake of his head. "I…I don't know," he said truthfully.
The bartender nodded thoughtfully. "Well, how long have ye been here?"
He let out a breath of air, quickly calculating the length of his extended stay. "Nine months. Nearly nine months," he clarified.
"Then yer visiting. Only visitors keep track of the time."
He gave the bartender a side smile. "I suppose you may be right."
"Of course, I am," he replied confidently. "So why are ye here? Is it to do with a lass?"
Taken aback by the bartender's plain-spoken yet accurate assumption, he hesitantly replied, hoping to convince him of his denial, "Not-not exactly." He shifted in his seat nervously.
The bartender smirked, clearly doubtful of his assertion. Though he gave him no room for argument as he excused himself to attend to his other patrons.
Ichabod's brow furrowed as he followed him with his gaze. Was it truly that obvious? Were his thoughts truly that decipherable? He drank his ale unthinkingly as his mind returned to the tablet. It made absolutely no sense. He and Abbie were partners, friends. How could they be soulmates? Had he translated it wrong?
"Nine months seems a specific amount of time, if ye know what I mean?"
Ichabod quickly glanced up at the bartender he hadn't noticed had returned to pour him another drink. He shifted once again uncomfortably. He didn't appreciate the insinuation. He glared at him distrustfully as he took the last swig of his beer.
The bartender sensing his indignation, set a new mug of beer in front of him and raised his hands in surrender. "I dinnae mean to pry."
He impulsively shook the damp hair out of his eyes. "'Tis most certainly not that," he said flatly, his fingers once again drawn to the markings on the tablet.
The bartender watched as Ichabod gently touched the ancient stone. "What is it then, if ye dinnae mind me asking?"
He traced the single word that had him questioning himself. "Soulmates," escaped his mouth before he realized it.
He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Ah, soulmates, eh? Aye, that's a fine idea. Someone out there meant just for ye. True love and all that."
Ichabod gave him a cold look. When he thought of soulmates, he did not think of true love. Love was far too easily discarded, capable of being forgotten. Just the mere mention of true love immediately turned his thoughts to the betrayal of his wife. They shared what he thought was true love yet they were never soulmates. In fact, they could not have been more ill-suited for each other. Their bond had been weaker than they'd led themselves to believe.
Moreover, the natural, unconditional love of a soulmate was an invention of man attempting to deny his loneliness. It simply did not – could not – exist. It was as they said nowadays, too good to be true. Soulmates could only be the strongest of bonds, unspoiled by the fragility of love.
He sniffed in derision at the bartender's claim. "Groundless conjecture."
He shrugged subtly. "I dinnae ken about that but there's always stories saying otherwise."
He knit his brow. In his experience, stories, even dismissible folk tales, were based in truth. If legends existed and had attached themselves to this impossible idea, he had to hear them. Perhaps a logical explanation could be drawn from these tales. His curiosity now intrigued, he asked inquiringly, "Stories?"
"Aye, stories. Such as the one about the two Scottish warriors."
Sensing rubbish yet weakened by curiosity, he asked skeptically, "Scottish warriors?"
"Ay, I can tell it to ye, if you like."
Ichabod stared at him warily before he nodded in reluctant acceptance.
The bartender smiled. He leaned against the bar, leaning forward conspiratorially. "There was once two Scottish warriors. One came from a great and fierce clan. The other from a kind and peaceful clan. These two warriors dinnae know it but they held a powerful connection to each other."
Crane quietly sipped his beer as he listened attentively.
"It was said that God himself had created a soul and ripped it in half. He'd placed each half within a warrior and put them on earth. They were born to different clans yet destined to find one another. He called them soulmates."
The bartender nodded for effect, Ichabod mirrored his actions, already too engrossed in the story to notice. The man continued with a subtle smirk. "Despite the odds, despite everything that had been working against them, they found each other. They met and it was love at first sight. But then a great war broke out between their clans. They lost each other. And God, being a vengeful, almighty god, saw this as an act of betrayal. These ungrateful warriors had refused a gift from God himself. As punishment, he denied their reunion for all eternity."
Ichabod studied his gaze intensely, precariously sipping at his near empty beer. When the bartender stared back silently, Ichabod nodded, urging him to finish the story.
The bartender smiled at his ability to reel in his customer with his story. "That is until one day, God was distracted. The two warriors sought each other out in hopes of a reunion. Yet, the instant their bodies touched, they fell lifeless to the ground. God had not only denied their reunion but cursed it as well."
Ichabod narrowed his eyes. Aside from having a gravely unsatisfying ending, the story was blatant hogwash, a tale meant to inspire money from a patron's pocket. It was obvious. In all his years of study, he had never heard such utter nonsense. He gulped down the rest of his beer as the bartender set down another in front of him.
"So the moral of the tale, is if you ever want to get a lass off your back, tell her this story." The bartender laughed heartily as Ichabod glared at him unamused.
The bartender wiped tears from the corner of his eyes, tickled by his dramatic tale. "Apologies, the last bit was joke but the story's something of a local legend. Or as legendary as a story about two soulmates can get."
Ichabod sighed irritably. Though it had been an unlikely story, he couldn't help but remark on the unlikely tale. "She was better suited without him."
The bartender looked at him questioningly. "What's that now?"
"The girl. She could've lived a long and healthy life had he stayed away," he explained edgily.
The bartender tilted his head thoughtfully. "Ye know, there is a missing piece to the story that doesn't often get told."
Ichabod glanced up at him precariously.
"They were meant to die on that very day, regardless of if it was in each other's arms or not. It was the price they had to pay for having found true love in an impossible world."
A thought of Katrina pervaded his mind. Bitterly, he snapped, "The amusement of a cruel god."
The bartender smiled. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you have yet to recognize the value of finding yer missing piece."
Ichabod narrowed his eyes questioningly.
"What is yer name, if ye don't mind me asking?"
Reluctantly, he told him, not seeing the harm in humoring the harmless barkeep. "Ichabod."
"Ichabod, have ye ever loved somebody?"
He scoffed, deeply bothered by the fact that it was not apparent to this stranger. "Of course, I was married."
"Ah, marriage doesn't signify love, my friend. I mean real love. The kind that never fades, that always stays true."
He carefully pondered the question. He couldn't say that of Katrina, considering the rupture their love had endured. He couldn't say that of his parents as they had disowned him when he renounced his allegiance to the crown. His family, the woman he'd exchanged vows with had never expressed that kind of devotion to him. They had been conditional, easily dissuaded in their love for him. His stomach coiled in shame.
Sensing his growing insecurity, the bartender quickly asked, "What do ye do for a living?"
"I-I am, was, a history consultant for the Sleepy Hollow Police Department back in the states."
"Mmm, and did ye ever work closely with someone. A partner perhaps?"
He swallowed thickly, this interrogation was quickly turning down a path of which he desired to steer clear. He cast his gaze to the tablet in front of him. "Yes. She is, was, my…partner."
The bartender continued, "Alright, a soulmate is like a partner."
"How so?"
"A soulmate is someone who makes ye more than what ye are simply by being by yer side. They allow ye to discover the importance of giving, of being generous, of being selfless, and of sacrifice. Not only do they make ye more, ye inspire them to be more as well. 'Tis a delicate balance of seeking and giving love, Ichabod. In truth, a soulmate is meant to become yer better half and ye theirs. 'Tis a love worth any fate."
The two men stared at each other, the impact of his wise words settling between them. After a moment, the bartender shrugged casually as he continued wiping down the bar. "But that's just the opinion of this rumbegging bartender. What do I know?"
Suddenly, a clear image of Abbie filled Ichabod's senses. He could see her, hear her, even smell her. A deep ache in his heart, clenched inside his chest. He inhaled shakily.
The bartender paused as he noticed his patron come to a realization. He asked, "Are ye alright? Ye got a faraway look in yer eye."
Ichabod nodded his head in consternation and rested his hand possessively over the tablet.
The bartender nodded at the tablet. "Looks like those scribbles mean something to ye."
Ichabod looked at the tablet under his hand and admitted, "'Tis my story. My fate."
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Looks old, unlike yerself."
Ichabod responded, "You'd be surprised."
"Is it a good one at least?"
He looked up at him in uncertainty. "What?"
"Yer fate? Is it a good one?"
He blinked waveringly. "I-I'm not sure."
The bartender stopped and frowned at him. "Then why the hell are ye here?"
Ichabod looked at him questioningly.
"You're alone, in a rundown pub, in the middle of Scotland, on a shite of a day, stroking a piece of old stone, talking to me. How the hell are ye going to find out if yer fate is any good if ye aren't out there figuring it out?"
Ichabod inhaled carefully as he pondered why he hadn't gone home. Yes, he'd made a mistake but it was not too late. He could amend it. He could win back Abbie's trust and fight alongside her to defeat the evil that would surely come. They were destined to remain at each other's side. And even if she wanted nothing to do with him, he would have to satisfy himself with what she was willing to bestow upon him.
He nodded at the bartender, collected the tablet, gulped down the rest of his drink, and nodded again. He had to return home. He had to allow destiny a chance.
"Thank you. Your wise words have aided me in realizing where I am truly needed." He hastily stood from the stool, straightening his clothes. "The name is Crane, Ichabod Crane, at your service." He bowed slightly.
The bartender smiled, scratching his head, and said, "Fate, eh? I don't suppose my name's in there is it?"
Ichabod furrowed his brow as he pulled on his sodden coat.
"The name is Isaiah, Isaiah Crane. Perhaps we're family?"
He froze, blinking at the notion that this man could in fact be his family, a descendent fated to help him find his destined path. He straightened up and regarded the ordinary man, a proud look crossed his face. "Perhaps."
The bartender shrugged. "In any case, seek yer fate, Ichabod Crane. Make us proud."
Ichabod firmly nodded and strode out the door, ready to seek his purpose.
Present Day
The breeze gently sent ripples along the grass as the sun gave off its last rays of warmth, signaling the end of the day. Ichabod sat amidst the green patch with his legs crisscrossed, a joyful grin lighting his face. It slowly faded into a contemplative smile. A thought of a long ago, lonely Scottish bar came to mind as he proudly watched his baby daughter take her first unbalanced steps into the outstretched arms of her cooing mother.
That moment in the pub was the flame that reignited his will to find his purpose in life. It was what allowed him to realize where his heart resided the entire time. His heart, his treasure.
Abbie.
He sighed contentedly at her joyful smile as she scooped their baby up and hugged her tightly, peppering her round cheeks with kisses. This fiercely strong, gorgeous woman was his soulmate, his eternal love. He loved her more than what he deemed possible.
How she managed to take that love and divide it equally amongst them and their three children was a feat beyond his comprehension. His heart now belonged to all four of his lovely girls. And, god willing, it would soon belong to another Crane child.
He could almost perceive the round protrusion beneath his wife's shirt, though she would say it was too early for her to be showing. Nevertheless, his heart and stomach flipped in anticipation. Another Crane. What a notion? These blessings he'd been bestowed were not even a glimmer in his eye ten years ago.
Once the tribulations had ended, the end of the world came with it. They were powerless to stop it. It was as the bible foretold. They fought bravely, losing their loved ones in the process, Jenny, Corbin, Abbie's father, everyone. They watched them fall one by one in the final battle against evil. It was an epic battle that led to their own imminent deaths.
However, it was not the end.
They arose to a world destroyed, as young as the day they met, evil obliterated, and very few survivors in their midst. They rebuilt their lives from nothing, adopting survivors into their fold. Fortunately, the only souls they came across were worthy of their efforts. The world had ended yet hope had not been extinguished.
The playful giggles of their twins drew closer behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. One embraced his neck from behind, burying her small face in his long hair. The other tumbled into his lap with a rambunctious giggle. He pulled them into his arms, playfully growling into their warms necks, their curls tickling his cheeks. "No, papa, no!" They yelped and laughed as they squirmed from his arms and continued their playing.
He smiled widely as he looked after his daughters. He lovingly turned his gaze to Abbie holding the chubby hands of their baby as the tiny child determinedly continued to walk with purpose, as if demanding to take part in her sisters' play on the grass though her knees wobbled to find balance.
"This one's as stubborn as you, Ichabod," Abbie called out as she continued walking with her daughter.
He grinned playfully. "Are you certain that is not an inherited trait from her mother?" He unfolded from his seated position and began crawling toward his infant daughter.
"Nope, all you. I'm fairly certain she widened her eyes and held up her finger at me this morning when I tried to feed her that flavorless oatmeal you made for breakfast."
He paused in the middle of his crawl and looked up at her with a slighted expression. "Flavorless? I'll have you know, I sweetened it with honey and a dash of milk."
Abbie smirked knowingly at him before she looked down at her daughter clinging to her hands. "You like your papa's oatmeal, baby girl?"
The baby immediately responded with the word she used to reply to most questions as of late, "Nuh."
Abbie looked up with a knowing smirk. Ichabod narrowed his eyes at his daughter, he slowly crawled toward her. "You take that back."
She smiled and repeated it vehemently, "Nuh!"
He raised his eyebrow at her challengingly. "Insubordination, hmm? Such comportment shall earn you a merciless tickle to the tummy."
He quickly closed the distance between them and buried his face in her tiny, round stomach, supporting her tiny back with his large hands.
"Da-da!" she giggled delightfully, pulling her hands from Abbie's grasp to cling to his long hair.
He carefully laid her tiny body down on the grass as he continued his attack. Abbie giggled against her knuckles as she watched. This was one of those perfect moments she'd never expected to witness, a possibility that should have died with them.
She and Ichabod had expected to meet their end when they discovered their powers. It signaled the resurgence of the tribulations they'd believed were over. Fate, however, had other plans.
When the end of the world came, everything she feared came true. Everyone died. Jenny, Corbin, her father, none of them stood a chance, including them. They fought that unimaginable evil to their last, dying, breath. Then the impossible happened.
They came back to life, Lazarus-style.
When they woke up to this new world, void of the evil that had brought their demise, it had taken her time to adjust to it all. It was a world without Jenny. It was a world without any modern conveniences. It was world ready to be completely rebuilt by two disoriented former Witnesses. Everything she had known was gone. It was a lot to process.
Luckily, Ichabod was there to pick her up from the seemingly permanent fetal position she'd put herself in. He opened her eyes to a world of possibilities with his passion and natural ability to adjust to a world similar to the one of his past. He reignited her hope.
They found other people, developed a better, more conscientious, fair, civilization, and became founders of this new nation. It took time but once they'd finally found some semblance of stability, they immediately got to work on repopulating the earth.
Unsurprisingly, and thanks to their insatiable, youthful appetites, their first try resulted in twin girls, Jenny and Lori. After that child birthing experience, she didn't let Ichabod touch her for a good five months. Thanks to the conscientious populating movement, a natural form of birth control for both men and women was soon developed. Needless to say, Ichabod was the first in line.
Four years later, little Asha Crane was born. And now, not even a year later, Abbie was expecting Crane baby number four. If she didn't know any better she'd think the effectiveness of that birth control was wearing off. Then again, she and Ichabod had been going at it like rabbits lately.
She blamed it on his hair. It reminded her too much of those years that she'd pretended to not be attracted to him. She had to make up for lost time.
Besides, she'd be lying if she didn't say she was ecstatic about another baby. Secretly, she was dying to have a big family, the complete opposite of what she had growing up. She wanted her babies to have lots of siblings, lots of love, and never feel alone like she and Ichabod had felt growing up.
Which explained why her heart felt so full at seeing her baby girl giggling away with her papa. Their babies would always be loved, cared for, and never alone. It was everything she could have hoped for, everything she could have ever dreamed.
Although, after a few moments, the little girl's laughter faded as she batted her father away. She flipped over on her tummy, ready to crawl after the butterfly that had just caught her attention.
Ichabod sat back on his knees with a pout on his face, watching their baby explore the nature around her. "We used to do that for hours," he said forlornly.
"Yeah, well, that's the thing about growing up. Tummy tickles can only hold your attention for so long." She consolingly patted his shoulder.
He sighed, leaning his head against her hip. "They are growing up far too fast."
"Yeah, they are. But I guess that's kind of the point."
"I suppose." He turned to his wife, resting his hands on her ass as he raised up to kiss her stomach. "Fortunately, they are easily replaceable."
She scoffed, looking down at him. "Easily replaceable? Do you want me to smack you upside the head?"
He chuckled as he contentedly rest his cheek against her. "Pardon, I meant a pleasure to conceive." He glanced up at her and waggled his eyebrows.
She shoved him to the ground playfully. He laughed as she slowly lowered herself to the ground next to him. "I can't with you," she mumbled in amusement, reaching out her hand to pull him upright.
He sat up and extended his legs out in front of him, flipping his hair with flourish. "I beg to differ. You most certainly can. Several times, in fact. At night, this morning, oh, and a few times in public with a captive audience."
She wrapped herself around his arm and snuggled against his shoulder. "Those times were all your fault. You were supposed to lock the door."
"As you recall, my hands were full at the time." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
She rolled her eyes. "Well, there better not be any mention of how the founders of this nation liked to get nasty on top of the same table they wrote this country's constitution."
He raised his eyebrow mischievously. "Wouldn't that be a tale worth telling?"
She looked up at him doubtfully. "If George and Martha Washington kept their down and dirty business out of the history books then ours will be, too."
"Oh, but that double jug demands odes to be written in its honor," his hands began to wave dramatically, "monuments must be erected in its glory, laws must be..."
She smacked his arm. "Imma gonna beat your ass if you don't stop."
Ichabod laughed. He gleefully pulled her into his lap, extending his long legs around her as she relaxed into his embrace and laid her head against his chest. They sighed contentedly.
Every moment had led to this. The reason he had emerged from a time in which no luxury or convenience now made perfect sense. It was his knowledge of history and founding a country – built upon Abbie's intelligence on various aspects of law and survival – that allowed them the ability to rebuild their society from its foundations. It had taken years of hard work but their efforts had not been in vain. Ichabod Crane and Abbie Mills-Crane were two of several proud founders of this promising country.
He pulled her against him, resting his lips against her dark, curly hair. They gazed out at their happy children, at their home they built, and the nation they had founded.
"Did you ever imagine this happening?" she asked abruptly.
"Hmm?"
"Us? This? Them?" she said, looking out at their precious little girls.
He inhaled deeply gazing out at his family and home. "Never," he mumbled against her hair.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She thought she was the only one but she wanted to hear his reasoning. When he remained silent, she glanced up at him twisting her head toward him. "I'm gonna need you to elaborate."
He chuckled quietly and glanced down. "I never imagined it because this surpassed every expectation. A life with you by my side, with our children," he paused as he took a breath, "this life, our life, was a complete and utter blindside."
Satisfied with his answer, she rested back against him, thoughts of the past passing through her mind. How a modern Sleepy Hollow cop and a soldier from the Revolutionary War ended up together was beyond her. Though, she wouldn't have traded a single moment of any of it for anything.
She sighed. "Yeah, it was, wasn't it?"
He gently smiled. "Indubitably."
They relaxed for a moment, entwining their hands, enjoying the exquisite sun shining upon their skin, the breeze running through their hair. It was a beautiful day. It was a perfect day and life was good.
"Crane?"
Smiling at her use of the name she now only used on rare occasion, he deepened his voice and replied teasingly, "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I love you," she said affectionately, glancing up at him adoringly.
He smiled lovingly at his wife and partner. "And I you, treasure. Evermore. "
And they lived happily ever after. The end.
Hello Ichabbie Fandom,
I read every single one of your reviews on my last chapter and it brought tears to my eyes. A bittersweet pain resided in my heart for the longest time. I was a mess after reading how much this story meant to you. I never sought anything more than to satisfy my own curiosity with this piece.
You made me see it was much more than that. Your love brought me back and made me realize that you needed closure, too. I hope this epilogue gave you that.
It breaks my heart to put a final ending to this lovely journey we've gone through but this is it for me. I've written everything I can for these two amazing characters. I am finally at peace with their true fate: they will forever live on through the inspired masterpieces this fandom produced and will continue to produce in their name. Screw canon. Abbie and Ichabod will live on forever through all of you.
Thank you for your continued and treasured support. I love every single one of you. Bless you for giving me a chance. Bless you for all your kind words of support and encouragement. You will always hold a piece of my heart.
I am eternally yours,
semul