#FORESTS OF TONGUES LIKE AUTUMN LEAVES UNSHED

[markrothkono61]

in shambles over poem

[castyourline]

“After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovable but strange and light; Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite But softly, as men smile about the dead. The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

GK Chesterton

[snowycrocus]

Keep You Safe: Frozen 2 Fanfiction

Ice Bros: Kristoff x Elsa friendship

Summary: Kristoff chases after Elsa and Anna, catching up just in time to see Elsa cast Anna away in an ice canoe. He’s worried for Anna’s safety at first, but Kristoff realizes that maybe Anna isn’t the one he needs to care for after all.

Loads of thanks to @lelitachay for this fabulous ice bros prompt! Keep ‘em coming! ;)

                                                 ---------------------------

Kristoff’s heart seemed to race in time to Sven’s hoofbeats, his hands trembling slightly from nerves at the thought of not being able to find Anna.

The princess departed with the Queen – they are long gone. Yelena’s gravelly voice echoed in his mind. You can come with us, if you want.

But he didn’t want. All he wanted was to find Anna – to find Anna and scoop her up and secure her to Sven so that she couldn’t run off, couldn’t run after trouble, after her sister, and Elsa -!

Ugh, Elsa! Kristoff’s hands fisted in Sven’s reins. Ever since Elsa had admitted to hearing this…this voice, she had been uncharacteristically restless and fearless – stupidly fearless. And of course Anna, like always, had to go and chase after her. As if she weren’t enough trouble already on her own.

Kristoff’s heart sank. Why hadn’t she found him before she left? Why didn’t she ask him to come with them?

It hurt.

But he loved Anna – loved her with everything he had. So while he didn’t know every little detail, he did understand that Anna and Elsa had an especially close, though delicate relationship after their solitary pasts, and he knew that the best way to show his love was to allow Anna to be what she needed to be for her sister.

So he would try not to be mad. But he had every right to go after her – to protect her, in a way that even Elsa, with powers, could not.

“C’mon, Sven!” He urged his friend to go faster. What if he got there too late and something happened to her? To both of the girls, even?

He loved Anna, sure, but he loved Elsa in his own way, too. He couldn’t let something happen to either one of them, reckless and selfless as they both could be.

They needed him, and he needed them.

With that thought, he clicked his tongue once more to Sven and held on tight.

---

He was starting to grow worried.

While the sun had once been overhead, judging from the brightness barely shining through the mist, now the sky was just a hazy grey that heralded nothing good. Hours must have passed, and with no sign of either of the girls.

Sven had begun panting, his steps faltering and slowing, and Kristoff despaired as he knew that soon they would need to stop and rest.

He was thankful that they had the wind at their back, at least, helping them forward.

…wait.

Now that he thought about it, the wind had grown stronger recently, blasting against his back almost like a push.

Kristoff whipped his head around – could it be?

Sure enough, autumn leaves of varying shades fluttered in the strong breeze around them. Feeling an itch, Kristoff even pulled one out of his hair. “Gale?”

The gust fluttered, pulsating against Kristoff’s face and the leaves swirled in an unnatural pattern.

Kristoff smiled with relief at the familiar spirit, before realizing that its help couldn’t mean anything good.

Gale needs my help. The girls are in trouble!

His heart began to race once more.

“Gale, are we close!?” The wind flapped and flickered against his back. “Gimme a bigger push! C’mon!”

Sven brayed as a sudden squall hit him in the back with force, pushing him forwards like a blast so that he barely had to move his legs.

Kristoff held back a scream as he and Sven hurtled through the forest and approached a hill.

Abruptly, the burst of wind behind them faded, dropping them off at the top. Kristoff’s heart fluttered like the flag he saw off in the distance.

A flag?! He was in the middle of the forest!

Kristoff jumped off of Sven and ran the rest of the way to the crest of the hill where the flag was coming from – he had a bad feeling about this.

---

….either, Anna.”

The faint words were like a whisper in Kristoff’s ear, said as softly as they were, but he could never miss the sound of ice forming.

Kristoff froze when he reached his destination, spotting a decimated ship half on its side, wood splintered and flag flying.

But his gaze was quickly torn away by the source of words he had heard – there, just ahead of him, stood Elsa and Anna in a tender embrace, Olaf snuggled by their legs.

Kristoff breathed out in relief – they were alright! – until his palms grew clammy as he heard the tinkling of ice, watched as it grew out of nowhere, climbing across the grass and forming a curved shape.

He went to call out but his voice caught in his throat. The ice crackled, creating a mirror-smooth surface over the grass and billowing out into a boat that captured both Anna and Olaf inside.

Elsa stepped back, arms clutched around her middle in a familiar posture, and stamped one foot against the ice, hurtling Anna and Olaf down the hill, in two seconds farther away than Kristoff could even see.

“Elsaaaaa!” Anna’s voice echoed but grew weaker immediately as she disappeared.

“NO!” Kristoff breathed out, hurtling himself towards Elsa.

Damn her! Just one little tap of her foot, so subtle and delicate, and his whole world was taken from him, plunging down a hill and possibly gone forever.

---

She didn’t seem to notice him coming.

He felt like he was stomping, desperate to get to Elsa as fast as he could. He was sure he was panting, his breaths coming harsh and fast, yet she gave absolutely no sign that she was aware she was not alone.

“ELSA!” He screamed upon reaching her. He felt he was boiling with fury – what the hell had she done with Anna?

Elsa stepped back with a gasp, her eyes wide in fear as she took in that it was Kristoff that had startled her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked thickly, her voice tremulous and weak. Her arms remained tightly around her middle. Kristoff noticed her eyes were red and glassy with unshed tears, her brows drawn and breath stuttering.

He hated when she looked like that. It gave him flashbacks to when they met at the ice palace, and god knows he didn’t want her feeling like that ever again.

That posture, arms clenched around herself, meant that she needed a hug, but she wouldn’t actually let him hug her. (He had tried before, and she had stepped away). She looked drained and frail, sad and conflicted, and suddenly Kristoff realized that maybe Elsa needed to be looked after more than Anna did (wherever she had gone).

“I came to find you two,” he answered her, his voice soft and gentle this time. He slowly brought his hands up to her elbows on either side, and she let him. He slid his palms along her upper arms soothingly. “And I’m glad I did, though it looks like I was too late to prevent you from sending your sister away…?”

He wants to yell, he wants answers, but deep down he knows that Elsa doesn’t typically do things without thinking, especially when those things involve Anna. Besides, he’s not likely to get anywhere by yelling when Elsa is like this: a delicate, trembling mess of easily-shattered ice.

Elsa makes a choking sound at his unasked question, her eyes squinting closed to try to prevent the tears from falling. It doesn’t help, and the tear cascades halfway down her cheek before freezing like a beautiful diamond to her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, her voice scratchy and wet. “I did what I had to to protect her.” She looks up at him, her arms still clenched around her but her gaze, though teary, is firm and confident. “For real this time.”

“Alright.” He guides her down so that their backs are pressed up against the rock. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

---

The story doesn’t take long to tell.

Kristoff can’t believe that there, just in front of him, is the ship where the late King and Queen of Arendelle met their demise. Anna and Elsa’s mother and father.

It takes a couple tries for Elsa to talk about her and Anna’s discovery – how they watched their parents clutch each other- their last touch; how they heard their parent’s last words – both a plea for help and a declaration of love.

At that point, Elsa unclenches her hands from her sides to gaze at them angrily, as if to blame them for her parents’ outcome. She doesn’t need to say anything for him to know that she feels that she is to blame for their deaths – this is Elsa, after all, - and he interrupts her to lay his broad palm across her freezing hands.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “They’re responsible for their own choices.”

She looks up at him with tired yet relieved eyes. “That’s what Anna said.”

She explains how she knows she has to continue the journey, to find this Ahtohallan her parents sought, as well as the fifth spirit.

“I can feel it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her speak with so much conviction.

---

But it had to be just her – no one else.

“Searching for Ahtohallan killed mother and father,” Elsa explained to him, her voice urgent as if she needed him to understand. “I can…almost accept that they did this on their own – I didn’t know. But now I do know- and I won’t let another person take their life to find the source. Especially not Anna.”

Something loosens inside Kristoff’s chest. He is relieved- Elsa hadn’t sent Anna away to danger- the icy path would lead her and Olaf right back to the Northuldra camp, where they could look after her. Where Kristoff would return for her.

“You’re right,” he decides, prying the frozen tear off of Elsa’s cheek. Her eyes widen and she looks at him in shock – though whether from the removal of the tear or his admission he’s not sure.

“This is something only you can do. This voice is calling to you, from a place that no one else can go.”

Elsa bites her bottom lip, her eyes questioning. “You think I did the right thing by sending her away?”

“She’s not gonna be happy about it,” he admits, and her gaze falls to her feet. “But we both know Anna. How she’s been following you this whole time. She would’ve insisted on coming, and either she would’ve been hurt – or worse- and you wouldn’t be able to find this Ahto….”

“Ahtohallan,” Elsa fills in, with a gentle smile across her lips. “I don’t mind facing Anna’s fury as long as she’s safe.”

“Agreed.” He rubs her shoulder, which has now warmed up a bit. “You ready for this?”

“No.” She tries to play off her nervousness with a laugh but it falls short. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I have faith in you,” Kristoff tells her. “And so does Anna, whether she’s there with you or not.”

Before he can think about it, he wraps her in a hug. She doesn’t pull away. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he can feel the buzz of magic around her. She smells like snow and the forest and though she feels delicate and small in his arms, he feels her coiled and ready for her adventure.

“You got this,” he tells her as he pulls away and heads towards Sven. “Just be careful out there.”

She stands, no longer supported by the rock, and flashes him her lopsided grin. Hesitant, but there.

“I will.”

-------

Thanks so much for reading! Would love to hear your thoughts and comments! 

Little does Kristoff (and Elsa) know that the canoe went off in quite a different directions! Whoops...

Ugh I love their friendship so much... if you ever have any ice bros prompts please let me know!  

[apesoformythoughts]

“After one moment when I bowed my head  And the whole world turned over and came upright,  And I came out where the old road shone white.  I walked the ways and heard what all men said,  Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,  Being not unlovable but strange and light;  Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite  But softly, as men smile about the dead 

The sages have a hundred maps to give  That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,  They rattle reason out through many a sieve  That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:  And all these things are less than dust to me  Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

— G.K. Chesterton: “The Convert”

[shadowdianne]

SQ one (two) word prompt: moonlight sonata (it counts as one word, don't judge me😂) thanks in advance for writing❤

A/N This one was…interesting to come up with Xd I had doubts whether on basing the prompt in theactual song or the ideas that came to mind when I thought of a moonlightsonata. I can’t even say how many ideas I started to create only to scratchthem all out. I had a feeling, the one I wanted to narrate, but I couldn’t putmy finger on which scene to write about.

And then I wasfinishing up a wip that is called “Arcadia” and… it came to me.

It’s an AU. And one I’mquite proud of if I say so myself 😉 Thank you fancy, for the prompt. I truly hope you like it.

[also, @waknatious, this is the one I was telling you about

The forest was covered on its usual darkness;the kind of one that jumped from branch to branch with tendrils long enough tocover from the roots of the trees to every leave they found on its wake.Moonless night, like every other that had been before, the twinkling starsbarely managed to cast a grey-like hue over the very top of the tallest trees;their light never truly reaching the soil beneath them nor the animals that squirmedaround. The nocturnal ones, the ones that, with eyes like liquid gold, guardedover the shadows with increasing energy.

There were stories told by those who livedbeyond the barrier of trees that linked all the kingdoms of the forest, thatthere used to be a visible moon on such nights; the pearly-white glow it gaveone that was now told by troubadours for only a dime per every few verses. Theysaid, to those with starry-filled eyes, that the moon used to be the source ofmagic of those who now called themselves mages.

It wasn’t like they weren’t trusted: everyoneknew that while the moon remained invisible it was still there; covered by a spellthat some believed to be a curse. It didn’t matter; the storytellers would say;since every 28 years the light from the stars would burn brighter as theirQueen would glimmer in the sky; bringing the silver and power, to the forest’ssoil. Enough to soak the ley lines that run below the trees they would say:infusing them with the magic that were later on stored by faeries and dwarvesand then sold to the mages.

But if you were in a particular part of theforest, some of the very old charlatans would narrate between whispers as thechildren were led away by busy parents, the moon would not be the mostinteresting thing one would see but how it descended to the forest itself; afog that would then transform into the sorcerer she was only to meet up with amysterious knight. One that, untouched by time and age, would always wait forher.

Which was why, in that very particular night,the owls and spiders, the fae and were beasts, all awaited as the night trickledby, approaching its zenith.

In the middle of a clearing, an almost  perfect circle; a series of stones rested: oldrunes written down with magic that shone in mauve and white as running cloudscovered the grey touch the stars left behind and, sitting in the middle of themall, in the circle made by faeries way too long ago, a figure stepped out fromthe darkness that kept on feeding from the nearby trees.

Eyes as green as emeralds opened, fingers as paleas the stories said the moon was splayed over robes as black as the night. Thewoman that appeared in a flurry made out of still not fallen dew and whisperedwords was many things. A knight, however, she was not.

The troubadours had almost every part of thestory right but not this one. Not that she thought of them when shestraightened her back; the leather-like fabric that covered her turning intoalmost silk as she rose her face towards the spot of sky she was able todistinguish over the thick trees. She didn’t need to be able to look into thedarkness to know she had been early; like every other time she had entered intothe clearing, but that didn’t mean she still didn’t run her tongue against herteeth; ruby-red like lips parting as she let out a sigh; hair so blonde it wasalmost white falling around her face; framing it, as she run her right handthrough the tresses.

She was impatient; always had been, and shehated to wait. Even after having lived this cycle a few times already.

If she would have had the time or the will, shewould have appeared in the nearest town only to explain that while she knew howto use a sword, she had never been considered any one’s hero. Not while she hadbeen fully mortal.

But she didn’t have the time for that and so,she cupped her hands in front of her lips and whispered a soft hex into them,quickly extending them afar from her body and watching as dirty white linesfell, running between mud and fallen leaves until they reached the trees. Theylighted them with thousands of dots that twinkled with an even brighterintensity than the stars did.

“Come on, come on.” Her voice was breathy anddeeper than one would have said from her frame; not fragile but slender, slightlybroad shoulders and the gait of one who knew how to stand for themselves.

Boots barely not making any sound, the warlockwalked to the furthest part of the circle, hands grazing the stones as her eyesread the lines she already had memorized; the spell that had been made so longago pulsing under her gaze. She, like she always did, let her mind wander;feeling the short dagger that had been put into her hands as the words “bloodmagic” were whispered to her with the same heat a love promise ever would.

She hadn’t even halted nor doubted. She hadbegged them to create a loophole after all; she had asked them to do somethingwith the way magic was being siphoned out of her; the Queen. She had beengranted answers to questions she hadn’t even asked, and she hadn’t liked themajority of them all. Which was why, when the dagger had given back her name;trapping it forever in squiggly lines and entrusting that she would never dieas long as she kept the dagger near her chest, she had only needed a secondbefore she had replied with a quick nod that had made the Queen gasp.

Her Queen hadn’t been entirely too pleased;worried would have been a better descriptor. Angry as well.

“You will not be able to be mortal again.” Hervoice had been light like autumn breeze and she had shivered at it; her eyesless bright, her hair still gold rather than white.

She had kissed skin so soft it felt like thesilk that now covered her body just as a vortex of magic began to circle aroundher; gusts of wind attacking her lungs.

“I don’t care.”

She had meant the words; of course she hadmeant them. Yet, she stopped her recollections of past events as she rose herright hand towards her chest; where she had felt her heart being plucked out bythe power the dagger had only to it having been given back to her with a crown madeout of apple tree built around the glimmering core it had had. The warlockswallowed as she pressed the pads of her index and middle finger against herpulse point at her neck; counting the seconds with the aid of the now crownedheart, the one that still kept on beating after all this time.

Less than a minute.

She had knelt in front of the Queen after that;body covered in shivers as her former mortal body accommodated the magic theFae had granted her; promises of true love and soulmates falling flat on herlap as she realized that they were far too simple to truly convey what shewanted to say.

“I will choose you.” She had said instead witha lopsided smile, the kind of one she knew the Moon liked on her. “No matterwhat.”

Dark eyes illuminating her with brown and mauve,they had glazed with unshed tears as the last rune had been carved; hexcomplete.

“Be here.” The Queen had whispered with scorchingneed.

“I will be.”

And she had been there, for every cycle thathad started and ended; for every 28 years. And so, she would keep on doing it.

She smiled as she heard the shiver that runthrough the creatures that had gathered around the clearing. Some of them wereold enough to have been present during the first time. The most of them,however, were far too young and the Fairies had erased her from the Annals.Turning her into an untraceable creature. Which, the warlock, Emma, thought,was probably for the best.

She had transformed into the Dark One afterall. The one who kept in check the magic given to the mages; the one who wasthe balance every speck of power needed to work. No one needed to know she wasjust as corporeal as the moon was. No one needed to know she had given herfealty to her. No one but them.

With that last thought, she positioned back inthe very center of the circle, her eyes to the still dark sky, her handsslightly raised as the sleeves of her doublet slid up her forearms, her magicvisible through her skin. She didn’t chant as the Fae had done. She didn’twhisper nor called forth the magic on itself: she let it pour out of her; a beacon,a trigger, for what was about to happen.

It came slow at first, as if mist was beginningto descend over the clearing. It coated the branches and the creatures; turningthicker by the second as the trees, answering to a pact made once upon a time, movedand let out the sky to walk into the forest; immense and ever expanding.

Then, as the fog grew, wisps of it beginning tocrawl up Emma’s clothes, embedding themselves to her, the vague grey light startedto shine stronger; a dark spot in the sky twirling and shinning as the hexdissolved. Crickets and owls sang, the tune one no mortal would understand andone the warlock still had a hard time on doing so.

“I’m here.” She whispered, voice broken, as sheclosed her eyes. She always did so; no matter how many times she told herselfshe would keep them open next time.

She heard the first step over leaves, the resultingcrunch at her back one that made her shiver with glee. She let her head fallonwards, her hair falling over her shoulders. Shoulders that trembled as sheheard a hum that never failed to make her smile.

She had given her mortality happily. Never oncedoubting or fearing for the consequences. And there was this second that alwaysmade her even surer that she had taken the right alternative.

She felt a presence with a magical signaturethat felt like ozone and fire and sea and so she opened her eyes just in timeto feel fingers traveling up her spine; her clothes magicked away by a simpleflick of a wrist she had yet to see. They pooled around her, useless; and, asshe let the first gust of wind hit her; she turned, dropping her hands as dirtywhite kept on bleeding out of her; eager.

Regina didn’t change her appearance. But everytime they met, Emma would say she was even more gorgeous than the previoustime.

Lips just as red as hers were curved and browneyes that hold stars and planets were focused on her; mauve and lilac lappingat the sides of a face the white-haired woman longed to touch.

“You came.”

Emma laughed. There was always this touch ofwonder. The one that made her want to kiss Regina senseless as the moon,finally, covered them both with its silver touch.

“Of course I did.” She replied, hands already burning,fingers sparkling. She let out a gasp as she felt being pulled against theQueen, fingers digging into the skin at her back; lines drawn into her back;protective, demanding, loving.

“I’ve missed you.” The words were quicklysilenced by a kiss; one that only grew with intensity as the owls and cricketskept on chanting; the magic they both emanated quickly powering the ground, therocks, the water that run deep beyond the first meters that were the forest’s floor.

And so, the storytellers would sometimes add,with glassy eyes and the scent of an ancient spell affecting them: the twolovers had a night before the sun rose once more; the moon disappearing in thesky; gone once again for the next 28 years. But it didn’t matter; they repeatedto the ones who would pout. Because the knight would always be there for herQueen. And the Queen would always seek the knight.

[yoongiment]

miracle (jeongguk)

summary: "you were my miracle."

contents: ANGST, set in the future, illness, that’s all i’ll say heueuehue

word count: appx. 10k

a/n: wow it's been a minute since i posted a fic!!! this is comprised of many middle-of-the-night writing sprees and it is uhhh real sad. i have class in the morning and it's like midnight so i'll stop talking but yes thank u pls enjoy and leave feedback in my inbox if you'd like

-

It was a battle of finding tranquility within the depths of dread that plagued the seasons you found yourself drifting through. It was an eternal autumn, a constant shadow of death contaminating a forest with no exit; the winds of change only bringing forth the remnants of the departed life, swirling around you and clouding your vision with a majestic sight of fallen creation.

The brick pathway was coated in the stuff, leaving you wading through a sea of dead leaves, once golden turned brown under the deathly hands of Mother Nature. You gazed up at the sky, misty behind the spindly branches of the naked trees. It was going to rain soon.

The receptionist was no longer the old woman who had smelled his sweat and vomit far too many times and who had sent you bouquets of colors so strong they could almost breathe life back him. The man behind the desk now looked far too brawny to be sitting there, too handsome and young to be surrounded by so much illness, so much death. He sent you a smile, which you did not return, and then sent you on your way down the familiar white halls, fluorescent lights never bright enough to shine on the darkness of the other side of existence.

You thought of nothing, listening to the clack of your heels against the linoleum floors that had seas of blood, piss, shit, vomit, mopped away with the stinging scent of disinfectant and the tears of the mourning. You did not think of the way he used to smell, the creak of wheelchairs against that same floor. You thought of nothing at all, but also everything of him.

You paused for a moment, standing before the room he had been assigned. The sunlight, red like blood, poured in through the windows that were stained with rain droplets that were once there. You looked at the way it changed the color of your shoes before exhaling and turning into the room.

He, too, was gazing out towards the bloody sun, watching the leaves fall onto that brick pathway and the children of the ill dash through the piles. He turned to see who was at the door, slowly, as if the joints and muscle in his neck were made of bolted robotic parts. His eyes widened to saucers at the sight of you in the doorway; he sat up quickly, eyes reflexively squeezing shut at the sensation. He forced them open and blinked hard, in disbelief of what had made its way in front of him. He always felt like vomiting, especially now from the speed at which he sat up, but now even more so from the unbelievable sight, now at the foot of his bed.

There was a moment of silence, nothing in the room to be heard but his short breaths and heart that was working much too hard yet not efficiently enough. You wondered if this was a beam of tranquility to rest under in the midst of the dread that surrounded you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

His tone was venomous as his shaking fingers reached for the plastic-covered remote to call the nurse, the doctor, fucking anyone. He rested on the emergency button and narrowed his eyes at you, daring you to speak.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you why the fuck you’re here?”

You matched his lethal tone, speaking in hushed words and wringing your hands with the thin white metal of his bed frame. The length of the bed separated the two of you, yet you stood acres apart, disconnected and partitioned by the ashes of a dead forest.

A dead forest, once filled with lush trees that kissed the sky, brimming with life and the essence of fate, now burned into mountains of ash and charred trunks, infertile soil bearing no sort of continuation of anything.

You towered over his hunched figure and pushed away any thought of him, any memory or pitiful image to stir your withered heart. You stood over a sick man, but the sick man was him and you were you. This was not an unfamiliar sight in your eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? Why did you come here? How did you even know?” His eyes, glazed over from years of frustration and heartache, held roots of sorrow and fatigue. He was angry, fists clenched tight and shaking like leaves, but the sight of you also brought forth memories of pain worse than dying, fate shaken and crumbling at touch.

“Your mother.” You cross your arms and match his expression of flamed resentment and hidden woe. He huffs, leaning back and discreetly catching his breath.

“...What did she tell you?” His fiery front melts into the sad mug of a child, eyes searching for small details of your figure, anywhere but your eyes, his thumbs twiddling. You take a moment to inspect his face and take in the severity of what had caused him so much pain for so many years of his life, his childhood. He was ill, yet again, another flare up of something or other - Jeonggukie was sick, and it showed. You couldn’t tell if he had aged much in the time you’d been apart, the sickness cloaking any bit of youth he may have had left. Your harsh eyes inspected the circles shading his, the hollow of his cheeks and the ghastly image of such a skinny neck holding his head. This was the boy you loved so many years ago, plagued with illness before and damned again with it now. This was the boy you loved, chained to a hospital bed and dizzy enough to vomit even when he laid still. This was the boy you loved, or rather, what was left of him.

“You’re dying.”

He looks into your eyes, so broken, so weary of living as a bag of bones and so damaged in the wake of the storm that you brought over him all that time ago. You imagined that he would look at you with the same misery had he not fallen ill again. In the corner of your eye, a leaf stirs and floats down from its home in the branches, and you grimace at the parallel image of feelings stirring inside of your own heart. You hold your cold gaze to him, your past lover, past life, unwavering and filled with words unsaid.

“And what’s it to you?” His words are cold, full of disdain, and they shoot right against the crystalline surface of your own self. You are a bit taken aback at his ruthlessness and an icy silence settles between you. “What do you think this is? Your chance to get rid of your guilt before you can’t anymore?” Your jaw clenches and you look away from him for a second. “I’m dying,” he says your name and the sound from his tongue is alien after so long and with so much distaste behind it. “And I would rather do a lot more with what little time I have left than hear you get shit off your chest when you couldn’t care less about me. If you wanted to make amends, then you would’ve done it when I wasn’t in this fucking hospital. Okay?”

His eyes are filled with unshed tears, and yours stare at him with annoyance. He looks away, instead focusing on the flowers on the desk beside him. The leaves stirred again when you realized that those were your favorite.

“Are you done?” Your voice doesn’t waver. You speak with the level-headedness of the adult you’ve become, void of emotion and patience running thin. He stays silent, now picking at the skin of his thumbs. “Who do you think I am?” Your voice is hushed, not even louder than the beeps of the machines Jeongguk is hooked up to. “Do you...do you think I haven’t been hurting too? That I haven’t...been alone? Lost? You’re not my fucking charity case because I’m not guilty. I’m fucking sad!” Your eyes begin to burn and he looks at you with his sad eyes and his thin face and beanie that’s too big for his head. “I’m sad that we fucked it all up and wasted everything and spent years apart when you were doing okay when we could’ve...done something! Anything! We could’ve been anything but we were so, so fucking stupid.”

“If I wasn’t sick, then you wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me. That’s what already happened because we’re not meant to be like that. You’re acting like we didn’t break up for a fucking reason.” The heels of his palms massage his temples. You refuse to cry first.

“What was the reason, then? You broke up with me, you fucking idiot. Tell me the reason again. Tell me the reason again and I’ll fucking dare you to tell me that I don’t deserve to be fucked up over this.”

He says nothing for a long moment, still just staring into you. “I was twenty-three. I shouldn’t have even made it that long,” he mumbled darkly. “You knew I didn’t have much time left. You knew how fucking depressed I was, and you still left.” He grimaces, and you recognize the familiar sight of him preparing to vomit.

“I left because you told me to.” You are next to him now, sitting in the chair by his bed and looking up at him. He is going to cry and you know this. He is going to throw up now, and you know this too. You could’ve had your eyes closed in another room and you would have known this.

You grab the metal bowl on his bedside table and hand it to him. He grips it with white knuckles and tears hit the surface with a soft ping. “You left because I told you to.” More tears fell into the bowl before a cough from Jeongguk sent a wave of sick and a bit of blood after it. He sniffles and you hesitate to reach out, ultimately placing your hand beside his on the bed. “I didn’t want you to see me die. I didn’t want you to see me so sick. I knew it was gonna happen, but I didn’t think it’d happen years later.” His tone is full of remorse, like a child who had broken something. He stares into the bowl of his own sick, releasing more tears and dry-heaving a bit.

The room is quiet again, Jeongguk crying silently and you watching him. In a rush of boldness, you reach your hand to rest on his forearm, so thin and unreasonably warm.

“You think I would’ve just laid there and traumatized you? I had a dead man’s wishes. I didn’t want to hurt you.” You intertwine your fingers with his now and he doesn’t stop you. “We loved each other so much. You would have died too, if you saw me like that. I gave you a head start on life without me.” You sniffle now, and his head creaks over to where you are sitting below him. Your own big tears are swiped away by your hand and patter onto the blankets covering him. His brow is furrowed at the sight, heart clenching because he knows that you are the stronger between the two of you. “Because I loved you.”

He sets aside the bowl and lays down again, keeping you in his line of vision. You whimpered, placing a hand over your forehead in despair.

“But what do I have to be sorry about?” You cried and he runs a hand through your hair, an action that hadn’t occurred since you were a young girl. You were a woman now, an adult, while Jeongguk was laying in his deathbed, a familiar resting ground, decades too early. You couldn’t decipher whether he resembled a small child or an elderly man - what a strange sight it was to see such a young person plagued with death. He rests his hand back onto the bed, worn from the simple action of touching you.

“You...you were respecting my wishes. You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry.” You reach out and cup his cheek, wiping away the thin tears and taking in the feeling of his skin and bones. “You have nothing to be sorry for, but I’m still mad. I’m so mad,” he sobs.

You grab his hand and kiss the back of it, shushing him and moving to rub his back so he can catch his breath. “Calm down, calm down. Stop crying.” You chuckle through your tears and his look of anguish doesn’t let up.

“I’m mad. I’m mad at you for leaving when I told you to. When it got bad, the worst, my mother and father and Junghyun never left my side. They were always there with me, but it was so lonely. It felt so lonely because you weren’t there.” He is bawling and you are standing over him, running a hand up and down his spine and trying to ignore the feeling of how greatly his bones protrude from his skin. “I told you to leave, but you shouldn’t have. But you did what I told you to do and it was all my fault and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He cries so much that his pillow looks like a storm came through the windows. You grab the bowl again and place it next to his resting head. He coughs into it, spitting and mewling and you grab a tissue from the bedside table and wipe his face.

Your breathing is heavy and uneven in your attempts to keep it together. If Jeongguk saw you cry the way your heart was telling you, he would surely need more than a doctor to help him.

“Don’t be. Don’t be sorry, baby. I’m here now.” Tears fell from your eyes softly; if Jeongguk’s crying was a thunderstorm, yours was a light haze of fog. You adjusted his beanie and smiled sadly at him, always the most sensitive boy. His crying calmed, now just a steady stream of tears and hiccups as opposed to the sobbing that had him gasping for air and you reaching for his emergency button. He was tired when you came in, and now he was completely exhausted. His eyes closed and you continued to wipe his face, your other hand rubbing his back and attempting to alleviate his ragged breaths. “We can only make good of what we have now. There’s no going back. So don’t worry about it.” He grabbed your wrist weakly and brought your hand to his running nose, blowing harshly into the wet tissue. You protested in disgust, wondering aloud how such a sick person could blow their nose to such a calibre. His eyes stayed closed and for the first time in so many years, you were witness to his smile.

Silence fills the room again and the gray skies begin to grow darker. “Is it raining?” He asks, voice heavy with weariness.

“No, not yet. Tonight it will.” You run your hand over his head, picking pieces of lint from his knit hat. He hums and grabs onto your hand again, placing it under his cheek against his pillow, damp with tears. The beeps of his machines keep on through your visit and you don’t have the heart to look over and attempt to decipher what they were there for. There was so much more going on from the first time he had faced death; so many more machines, so much more weakness. There was so much going awry with his body and you immediately pushed the thought away and the echoing of his mother’s words when she had called you in tears only a week ago. Jeongguk was dying again. He had cheated death and it caught up to him now. He was dying, and you hadn’t seen him in years. The proof was shown before you now and the weight of it was pushing onto you. Your other hand still moved back and forth across his back, over his shoulders and arms. Goosebumps deepened at your touch, the feeling that had left so long ago.

“Jeongguk-ah. What do you think would have happened if I didn’t leave four years ago?” You can’t help yourself from muttering the question to him, tone hushed and private from the rest of the world.

“I would’ve married you. Had kids.” He pauses, opening his eyes into slits and staring out at the dead leaves. “But we didn’t.”

You said nothing, instead leaning your head against your arm over his bed frame. His hand grabbed yours and you sat, looking into each other’s eyes and picturing the life that was swept away with the drip of his IV and the mopping of disinfectant. You were so young then, even so now. You dared conjure the thought of what may have been happening today had you not left his side before. Perhaps you’d have life in your womb, blossoming like the flowers rooted in your hypothetical garden in a house that existed only in your dreams; perhaps living a life of love on his borrowed time would have yielded so much more; perhaps he would not have gotten sick again; perhaps he would not have to die.

“You know better than anyone that miracles can happen.” You spoke with trepidation, not wanting to instill any false hope, but doing so anyways because it tainted your heart, slipped its way into your lungs and bloodstream and you felt it - you felt that there was still a chance. A small bit of hope that you had clung onto for so many years. He sighs.

“I already had my miracle.”

A knock on the metal doorway sounds and Jeongguk’s grip on your hand tightens when you perk up. A nurse smiles at you and you nod your head in understanding. Jeongguk kisses your palm that rests under his cheek and you run a hand along his shoulder once more before gathering your purse.

“Will you be back?” He looks to you with his wide eyes and you stare back.

“Yes.”

The storm begins later that night and the streets fill quickly with dirtied rainwater from the fallen leaves. The lights of the city sparkle in the water and dance with the pounding of the unending rainfall. A harsh tone of lightning fills your room with white light and you lay in bed wondering if Jeongguk was awake. You wondered if he was kept up with illness or if he had his music at full volume to drown the thunder outside his window. You wondered if he felt lonely and if he wanted to see you again. You pushed the thoughts away, sighing at the resounding ache in your chest.

“Bundle up. What if you catch pneumonia?” You wrapped a second scarf around his chin and he whined in protest. You pulled the knit beanie adorning his head a hair further down, covering his eyebrows which were furrowed in annoyance. He pulls down the two scarves and face mask and you gasp.

“Don’t worry so much, baby. I’m wearing four layers of shirts!” You glare at him, pulling the mask and scarves back over his mouth.

“Do you want a fifth one?”

He groans and kisses your head through the thick protection covering his face. He grabs your hand with his mittened one and all but drags you out of his house - holding your breath and tip-toeing as to not make even an inkling of a sound. He opens the door for you at a snail’s pace, every movement in slow motion. His eyes squeeze shut as he meticulously closes and locks the door, silently praying that his mother doesn’t wake up. When he finishes, you are already across the front yard, hand extended to him.

He waddles over to you, unable to walk properly with the amount of clothing you forced him to wear. It’s a night in February, stars gleaming for the two of you. You had just graduated high school the week before and Jeongguk begged you to take him to celebrate someplace other than the confines of his own bedroom. Your heart pounded quickly, constantly anxious of him and his shoddy immune system and constantly nervous of the striking presence of such a striking person.

You were eighteen years old, preparing to begin attending university and tasting the fruits of life; so young, still budding and lacking compared to many your age. You were so unsure of so many things, so hesitant; especially when it came to Jeongguk and his health. He filled the spaces of life with a body that didn’t function half as well as it should. He was beautiful, underweight and sickly-looking and even haggard at times - he reminded you of every season, each part of him making up a lifetime of changing winds and magnificent nature. Even at the age of eighteen, he was so sick, often bedridden and unable to partake in so much a boy his age must do. The fear and weight of it all struck you often, but your best friend had always grabbed your hand and held it, even from the confines of a hospital bed. You were afraid of him, not only from the scary encounters he often had with death, but also from how much you loved him.

“If you get worse from doing this, I’ll kill you myself.” You continued down the streets of bleak suburbia and his eyes twinkled. He swung your hands back and forth at an alarmingly rapid rate.

“Ah, dear. I’d let you kill me anytime.” You couldn’t see through the layers over his mouth, but he was smiling like an idiot and the contagious grin spread to your own face. He kissed your forehead, once, twice, again through the cloth. “How much farther?”

“Not long. And once we see it, we need to head straight back, okay?” You sighed anxiously, squeezing his hand at the thought of his mother’s outrage if she were to notice he’d left the house. He groaned at the night sky and the stars that fell over the two of you.

“Yes, yes, we’ll make it back. No one will ever know.”

“Except for us.” At that, he kisses you again.

It was not a far walk to your destination, but traveling through the woods at twilight had you and Jeongguk clinging to each other a bit tighter. He took a break twelve minutes from leaving his house, perching himself on a rock and positioning you between his legs. You attempted to pull his hat farther past his eyebrows as he cocked his head like an owl and observed the forest with wide eyes.

“It’s pretty,” he giggled. You smiled and ran a thumb across his cheekbone before grabbing his hands to pull him up and keep moving.

“We need to go fast. We’re gonna miss it.”

You reached your destination soon after to the tune of his slightly labored breathing and the snapping of twigs and leaves beneath his shaking legs. He let out a soft gasp at the sight before him and halted his breathing for a short moment. You kept your eyes locked on him instead and allowed him to grip your hand with even more of an iron fervor. The world had fallen silent; the sounds of the highway and busy city streets were far away from the refuge of the woods, and it seemed that even the birds in the trees had silenced themselves in the presence of you and Jeongguk. It was almost as if the world was bowing to you two, a gesture of respect to the boy who had already spoken to death before he was eighteen and to you, the girl who loved him.

You had taken him to the edge of the forest, a cleared spot looking over what was Jeongguk’s entire small world. From here, he could see the glass buildings of downtown and the glass windows of quiet suburbia, as well as the new world of the trees he had entered only that day. You stood together with intertwined hands over the tall cliff, the sun rising before you as if it moved for just your eyes, the eyes of lovers, to see.

His eyes were filled with childlike amazement, dazzled at the sight of his first sunrise. The orange hue engulfed him, casting warmth and light onto his frail body. In this moment, Jeongguk was more than the sickness that plagued his body through his entire life; he was unsure what he was at this time of being eye-level with the glow of the sunlight, but he knew that he had become so much more. His eyes began to fill with tears at this realization, bottom lip quivering at the thought of mere existence, the gratitude of owning something greater than hospital stays and toxic blood. The first tear falls with a soft “I love you,” Jeongguk’s weak heart swelling for you, you who had been the unwavering presence of the sun. It had been you, always, who lifted him and made him believe that he was simply so much more.

He sniffs and turns his face away from you, the fabric of his mittened free hand absorbing the fallen tears. He laughs bashfully when you try to walk around him and hold his face.

“You big baby,” you murmur endearingly, wiping his eyes with your own scarf. He lets out a choked chuckle and stares at you, taking in what was likely the only time he’d see you in this position, radiant in the heat of the rising sun. You did the same, fixing your eyes on every pore, every eyelash, all the minutia and the beauty he held.

“You look beautiful.” The whispered breath carries in the nip of the February winds and caresses your senses. You sigh softly and run a hand over the top of his covered head.

“You too.”

He pulls his face mask and scarves down past his chin and leans in to kiss you, for real this time. Your mind stutters at the contact, nervous at both the potential of unintentionally attacking his vulnerable immune system and at the raging butterflies that beat against your torso, fluttering about and flushing your cheeks. Your conscious warns you to stop, be careful to not get him even more sick and to get him back to the cage of blankets in his bedroom where he spent so many of his days. You gasp with his lips attached to yours as your body reacted to the overwhelming sensation of Jeongguk and he immediately presses his lips to yours again without a beat of hesitation. His hand grips yours even tighter and you let him kiss you, slow and sweet and in the illumination of his first sunrise.

You hadn’t watered the memory in years, instead letting it wither in the backwoods of your mind along with many other dreams of him that now seemed as though they were from a different life. The memory crossed your mind during the storm that night and again the next week when you walked along the brick pathway to him. The rain hadn’t let up in the days that passed and it filled the world with a constant gray tone and the scent of wet asphalt. Your umbrella drips onto the linoleum of his hospital floor and your heeled shoes leave a strange print of water behind you. His eyes trail over to you sluggishly and he stares at you, saying nothing.

“Hello.” You voice echoes in the silence of the room, save for the beeps of the machines and the light rain falling against the glass window. His lips purse a bit and he turns his head again, looking back through the glass towards the brick pathway to the hospital entrance and the naked trees that border it. You sigh softly through your nose and make your way back to the chair beside his bed, blocking his vision of the window. “How are you?”

He purses his lips again and he looks alarmingly like a rabbit. He scowls, keeping his eyes focused on the world beyond the glass.

“Why are you here again?” His brows are furrowed and he still does not spare you another glance. You glare at him, clearly irritated with his unadulterated hostility.

“To see you. We went over this last time.” You match his icy tone and he continues to pout, not looking around the bleak hospital room. He says nothing and you huff. “So? How are you?” He even goes so far to cross his arms and your heart thumps, reminded of your teenage days spent alleviating his anger of falling ill.

He sighs. “Sick.” His voice is raspy and his face is covered with a layer of grease that can easily be traced back to an unhealthy sweat he must have broken into earlier. Your hands rest on the metal frame of his bed.

“Sorry.” He hums in response and continues to avoid your eyes. Silence fills the room for a pregnant moment before you hesitatingly speak again. “Maybe, should we...talk or something?” Despite being in your late twenties, the weight of seeing Jeongguk again after such a long period of time turned you into the stuttering teenager you had left behind with your life with him. He rotates his head against his pillow to face your direction, still not looking directly at you. Perhaps you also made Jeongguk feel like he was fifteen again in the presence of a pretty girl.

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t respond once again and all that is heard is the constant chatter of the machines. You sigh and sit up straighter.

“About us,” you mutter softly. Jeongguk looks up at the ceiling now with a blank look of neutrality.

“Well, what is it you want to say?” His eyes finally flick over to you and he looks curious and almost defensive. You stare back at him, mouth slightly agape. You are drawing a blank and hurt begins to blossom in your chest for seemingly no reason.

“I-I don’t really know. I don’t know.” Your tone is worlds different from the cold voice you had used not one minute ago and so much the previous week. “What do you need to say?”

His lip twitches again. “I told you before.” Your form breaks slightly and you drop your eyes in sadness, having refrained from showing the emotion for so long.

“Then tell me again.” His brows furrow in annoyance with a sigh.

“You know what happened. Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean we were meant to be together. Doesn’t mean that we’re good together, or that we’re soulmates or tragic lovers or whatever.” He pauses, breaking eye contact with you again and focusing on the woven threads of the cheap hospital blanket. “Just…whatever.”

You shift in your seat to face him even more. You stare at him harshly and stop yourself from grabbing his face so he would just fucking look at you.

Your voice becomes quieter, laced with more sadness. “You loved me.”

He does not look at you. He begins to speak again, but you cut him off. “You did. And I loved you too. I loved you with everything I was and you fucking know it. So let me be with you for these last few times, okay? Can I at least have that?”

He looks at you now, his own buried sadness lining his eyes. He used to look at you with so much love. “You’re here now, aren’t you?” Neither of your faces moved from the frowns that adorned them, but your hands still moved towards each other’s. He intertwines your fingers and you rest your other hand atop his. You remain silent for a moment, momentarily ignoring the looming feeling of his limited time and instead sitting in the tranquil presence of a distant dream brought into existence.

“So what now?” You whisper, looking at him with concern as you’ve always done. His lip twitches and your own lips morph into a sad, small smile.

“Do you remember when you would come home from school?” His voice is small and sad but he smiles when he speaks.

“When you would be waiting at the door?” You laugh and Jeongguk’s heart quickens. “I got used to opening the door slowly so I wouldn’t hit your wheels.” You smile at him and he looks back to you with endearment.

“Do you remember my drawings?” His ears flush red as he tries not to look too hopeful. Your chest caves a bit at the memory of sitting beside him next to the window of your loft and watching in awe as he sketched every detail of you without looking up from the paper. Years later, you had found yourself sitting beside him by a window once again, now overlooking the red bricks covered in dead leaves and holding his hands that ached too much to pick up a charcoal pencil.

“Of course I do,” you whisper. He opens his mouth and you interrupt him again. “They’re under my bed.” He looks to you and smiles sadly once again, fingers curling slightly around yours.

“I haven’t drawn since.” The silence becomes thick and awkward and you run your thumb along his bony knuckles. “I don’t know, I just...was thinking about it, I guess. I miss it.”

“That’s okay.” He turns his head away from you and picks at his blankets with his free hand.

“Maybe I…I don’t know, maybe I could try. Drawing, try again.” He speaks slowly and with hesitation, like a teenage boy. There are many questions you have from this, many words unspoken and dissolving on your tongue. Was it rude to ask why he was thinking of those days? The times you shared in your studio apartment years ago and the sketches that were now collecting dust? Wordlessly, you slowly reached into your bag and pushed aside irrelevant documents and trinkets to pull out the palm-sized notebook you used for groceries and a pen that you hoped still had ink in it. You placed them in his hands and he looked at you with his sad eyes. He chuckles breathily and clicks the pen a few times before holding it still against the paper as he pursed his lips in thought. As graceful as the dancer he was never able to become, he lifted the pad to his face and began to create once again, just as if he had never stopped.

Sadness tinges your heart as you watch him complete the mundane activity that morphed into a treasured tradition with the years that passed. You wondered how the scene would play had you not left before; if he would still be in this hospital bed, beads of sweat running down his pale face as he concentrated on his work, sick as a dog but pulling through during your visits. A picture of a child on your hip visiting him with you flashed across your mind and you had to look away from him for a brief second, the pain of the thought too uncomfortable.

His hand stops moving across the paper and he stares at it with a sort of reverence. You can’t yet see what he had drawn, but the sad grin on his face had a small ember of hope drifting through your chest. He looks to you and sighs softly before turning the notepad and presenting his creation to you.

The ember in your heart sparks and catches fire. Your eyes widen and you stiffen, unsure of what to do and how to react.

Just as he had always done, without lifting his eyes from the paper, Jeongguk had created a detailed carbon copy of you using only a ballpoint pen on dollar store lined paper. It was like looking into a mirror, literally, but also into a different world - a world that you had left behind when you were a young woman, a world that burned with flames so bright they almost turned the whole place to ash. It was looking into Jeongguk’s world, the one that he told you years ago he didn’t want you in.

A light blush paints the tip of his ears and he rests back against his pillow, flipping the notebook closed.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. You move quickly to place your hands on his and the notebook.

“I love it. Thank you, Jeongguk.” His eyes, still doe-like well into adulthood, widen and he nods shortly. He hums a bit.

“You were always the best thing I could draw,” he mumbled shyly, using both hands to place the notepad into yours. You huff softly in a bit of disbelief that he was still so similar to the boy you loved when you were a young girl.

The two of you held hands for a bit and like before, a nurse strolling by gave a knock on the door as a wordless reminder that you needed to leave soon. You said a quick goodbye, curt and polite and Jeongguk hummed back to you with his eyes closed.

“I’ll be back - sometime, or, I - yeah,” you fumbled over your words and the last thing you saw before fumbling out of the room was a small smile from Jeongguk.

You cried in your car while the heavy storm filled the hospital parking lot. The rain beat furiously against your windshield as you sobbed with no sign of stopping. You clutched the small notepad with an iron grip and rested your forehead against the steering wheel, yelling and screaming and grieving. The weight of Jeongguk’s presence after his absence and the impending absence of his death weighed down upon you and you found yourself in hysterics over a picture he drew. You beat your hands against the wheel and cried, inconsolable and humiliated at the fact.

After a few long moments of bashing your hands against the steering wheel and dashboard, your cries hushed and you drew your arms around yourself, pulling yourself together and making yourself even smaller in this big, cruel world. You continued to blubber a bit, shutting your eyes at the pain of the memories of Jeongguk.

You thought of those days you discussed with him only minutes earlier - the days of lounging in your small loft together, hidden away from the world and filled with quiet embraces and charcoal sketches. You thought of being in love quietly, grasping fleeting moments of romance and cherishing what you had in light of Jeongguk’s poor health. You thought of the arguments, the awkward silences, the break-up and the regret of it all, clouding your mind and polluting the air.

He broke up with you on a day much like this day of thundering showers that rained sideways and with an angry force. The sound of it filled the apartment along with the soft hum of the television, some B-list anime that you’d both seen before streaming out into the atmosphere. You had come home from school or work or whatever it was to find him with his head against the couch cushions, resting himself without any other pillows or support. You scolded him softly as soon as you walked through the front door, lifting his head gently and placing a tacky throw pillow under it. His gaze remained blank and in the general direction of the TV, but you both knew that he paid no mind to it, or anything for that matter.

He had been like this more often than not lately - keeping silent and still, not looking at his sketchbook or you or anything. You even found yourself crying hushedly in your shared bathroom after a recent episode of especially cold distance. He was eating even less than before and barely bothering to do much else besides lounge in bed or on the couch. There was something deeply, irrevocably wrong with Jeongguk and you both knew exactly what had shifted within him.

Jeongguk was dying. He had spent his entire life dying, but felt the dreadful looming in his twenty-third year then more than ever before. His body shut down more, the progression of decay showing in his loss of mobility, control of various systems in his body, deterioration of his spirit and livelihood, et cetera, et cetera - with the shutting down of his body came the shutting down of himself, the feelings he once felt so strongly and the admiration he felt for anything at all that lived in the world that treated him so cruelly. His body was dying, and so was his soul.

You sat beside him on the couch and didn’t dare bring those thoughts forward. As his partner, it was dire that you kept up good spirit around him, never losing hope for another miracle, a sudden turn-around of his health, just something good to happen.

You didn’t dare think of how dead Jeongguk already was, though he sat before you and your fingers were intertwined with his thin, dry strands of hair. You didn’t dare confront those thoughts, not only to remain a positive force in his life but also to save yourself from the agony that would come from thinking of it.

“Have you eaten yet? Don’t tell me you’ve been laying here all day,” you smiled endearingly at him and mindlessly pet his head. His gaze remained unfocused in front of him, eyes glassy and void of life.

“What else is there for me to do?” His answer is cold and lifeless and you continue to run your fingers through his hair. You hold back a sigh and let out a hum instead.

“Well, what do you want to do now?” You began a new sentence that quickly puttered into silence, not knowing what to suggest. He closes his eyes and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep under your touch. The TV keeps going, the foreign language chugging along the dramaticized plotline of some sort of Superman, happy-go-lucky fictional character.

His eyes remain closed when he finally says it.

“I want you to go.”

You’re a bit taken aback at his unadulterated forwardness, but continue as if nothing happened nonetheless.

“Oh, o-okay. I can ju-”

“I want you to go. I want you out.” His eyes are open, but not as the wide, glittering saucers you stared into for so much of your life. You retracted your hand as if touching him burned you; your hand hovered above him, hesitant and hurt.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll -”

“I want this to end. I want to go to my mother and I want you to stay out of it.”

The room is silent as death, quiet and filled with an paradoxical heavy absence.

“What?”

He begins to push himself up, and he swats away your shaking, helpful hands. Your own eyes begin to glimmer with shining hurt.

“I don’t want this anymore. I just - I want to die in peace. I can’t have you hovering over me every fucking second you’re around me, I won’t die being coddled, I...I want you out.” He rests his forearms on his knobby knees and leans forward, looking exhausted from letting that off his chest. You stare at him with your jaw open, shocked and hurt and offended and - fucking pissed.

There’s another pause while your brain turns and melts to process his words.

“What?”

He doesn’t respond, instead continuing to stare ahead of him at nothing with a cold mug.

“Jeongguk. What the fuck did you just say?”

You are not sad. You are devastated, yes, deep down, but above all you are furious. Your hands and jaw clench and your breathing deepens and falls unevenly. He is stupid, he is so fucking stupid and you are in disbelief at how unbelievably idiotic he’d just proven himself to be.

“I don’t want to see you anymore.”

You refrain from grabbing his face and forcing his eyes on you. You stutter on nothing for a moment before the rage adjusts enough for you to start letting him have it.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t want me here anymore? Are you fucking insane?” You speak with so much venom that he begins to wring his cracked hands together.

“You stupid bastard. I’m good to you. I always have been. I’m your fucking best friend and I’m not going to let y-...us go out because I know you and I know you don’t mean it. You’re angry and upset but so am fucking I.” Angry tears are falling from your eyes like the drip of an IV. Your throat feels like it’s shutting. “I love you and you’re my fucking soulmate and you...you’re everything. You’re not fucking doing this.”

His eyes are closed and his head dips down in a humbled position (or is it just his sickness? You couldn’t tell). He says your name and it sounds wrong. There is no light in it, no admiration or endearment. He says your name as if he’s speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. Perhaps that’s exactly what he was doing.

“You’ve been overbearing since we were kids. You can’t just respect my last wishes?” He looks to you with dead eyes, face frowning and begging to just be done. You are still red-faced, breathing heavily and radiating anger. You shake your head slowly in disbelief.

“That’s not your last wish.”

“Yes, it is.” He says your name again and you both want to vomit. “It is.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Your posture begins to crumble and the devastation inside of you begins to reveal itself. “You’re my best friend, I know you. This isn’t what you want. What do you mean when you say that you don’t want me with you?” You reach out to him but he blocks your touch again.

“I don’t want you to see it happen. Truly, I truly do not want you there when it happens. When I’m at my worst. Please, please, just...go.” You are crying and he is not. You are still in disbelief and expect him to turn around and say that he’s kidding, or that he’ll ask you instead to turn around and come back as soon as you’ve got one foot out the door. You want to turn around and see him by the window, wearing his Daffy Duck pajamas and drawing you. He hadn’t drawn you in so long now.

You can only think of one word. “No.”

He sighs and heaves himself up to get into his chair. You don’t reach out to help him.

“No, how could…why would I ever do that? How could you ever think that?” Your whole body seems to cave in on itself with sadness. He sits in his chair with his hands on the wheels, but does not move away.

“It’s what I want you to do. It’s about the last thing I want you to do for me.”

“So you want me to fuck off?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and you’re hanging off the edge of the couch staring at him. His hands retreat to his lap and he looks down; you wonder if he is sad too. “Yeah,” he says.

You scoff, though not intending to be rude. Wordlessly, you get up from the couch and walk right past him, abandoning yourself to your shared bedroom and locking the door, falling into the Jeongguk-scented sheets and pinching yourself to see if you were awake.

You stayed in bed for long period of time and you thought it had to be close to morning when you rose from the sheets once again. You never knew for sure.

You assumed that Jeongguk was still in the apartment somewhere, unless he (god forbid) wheeled himself down the many levels of the building and ventured into the icy night wearing only a thin cardigan and homely thermals. The click of the bedroom door’s lock echoed through the complex with an ominous thundering and your shuffling footsteps sounded of a dead woman’s. You searched for him with a clogged nose and swollen, red eyes, and almost wanted to laugh at how distraught you probably looked. Surely by now you had both calmed down and were ready to rationally discuss Jeongguk’s feelings, and surely he didn’t mean it when he said what he did. Perhaps some medication caught up to his body too harshly and he was speaking some sort of fever nonsense. Perhaps the anime he was watching coated him in a thin layer of desire for your decades-long love story to end with an explosion and a somber farewell. Perhaps being struck with the grief of losing his own life caused him to act hastily and carelessly. You didn’t quite know.

He had wheeled himself over to the window and your heart stirred achingly at the sight. There he was, as you’d seen him so many times, yet so unfamiliar. There was a time in Jeongguk’s life when he saw the upcoming end as an opportunity to fill his time with the richest beauties in his small world; most of his time was filled by you. Now, as he approached what looked to be his true ending, he welcomed it and spent his days anticipating his final breath. He had become so tired, so ill of so many years of being ill, being poked and prodded and tortured. He was preparing for the farewell of his body on earth by also preparing the farewell of his soul, and with that came his farewell to you.

You stood behind him and made no sounds but he knew you were there. He says your name again. “I’m serious.”

Your face crumples and you harshly rub at your falling tears. A broken sob makes its way out before you turn around and kneel before him.

“I don’t get it,” your cries are desperate. Your hands rest on his knees and he looks down at you apathetically. “I don’t understand why.”

For the first time that evening, he begins to choke on his words. “My last…my last wish of you is to leave me be. I want to be with my family. You’ve done…” a pause as he collects himself, “so much for me. This is what I need from you now. I’m sorry, but I need you to respect what I want.”

He looks at you for a tender moment. Gone is the look in his eyes from that night you took him to see the sunrise; that Jeongguk is gone, and who is before you now is simply remnants of his old self, the old self that has been packed away and already moved beyond this world.

“I want you to go.”

You ask him why once again with such hurt in your voice that he looks away for a moment; how long has he known that he didn’t want you in his final days? How long has he been keeping you around until the time came to shoo you out of his life?

He tells you simply - he has known since he was a boy, even before your graduation and the sun you saw that morning. It seems that he’s known forever.

Your goodbye to him was simple as well. You retreated back to your room that night and did not come out until dusk the next morning. You didn’t dare look out the window at the rising sun. He slept in the guest room that night and you stood behind the closed door for a long moment with your hand on the doorknob. With furrowed brows, you let go and moved past the room, exiting the apartment and holding yourself to not look behind you.

It had been years and years since then, both of you now adults living drastically different lives. His mother had kept minimal contact with you for that first month apart, most likely to Jeongguk’s request. The last you had heard of him was that he had moved back in with his parents and the waiting game had begun. While Jeongguk waited for death, you waited for anything - a part of you, the teenage girl in the sunrise, desperately wished for him to arrive on your doorstep, standing and healthy and all, asking you to forget everything that happened and offering you his hand, or least just a fucking kiss or something. You wanted your happy ending with him, but as time drew on and days turned to years before you, you knew that piece of fate had been drowned away with the storm he carried in his death-riddled hands.

You still laid your head against your steering wheel, taking shallow, fast breaths and continuing to cry at the thought of it all. Jeongguk was your soulmate and you had known since you were children.

He was your soulmate, made of the same matter and pieces of sunlight, and he had pulled away from you for so many years in preparation for his impending grand exit where he would arise back into the stars from which he came. For what should have been the most golden years of your life, he had instead prepared you for the gaping hole in the earth he would leave, and still, it was far too big for you to handle.

“Why are you calling? You were just here.” His voice sounds weak over the tinny cell reception and you pause to take it in before responding.

“I didn’t even know you had my number still saved.”

He pauses now, and the sound of the downpour fills your ears.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

Again, you take a long moment to respond, relishing in what was sure to be one of the last times you heard his voice.

He feels a chill on the back of his neck in worry for you. “Did something happen?”

“No. I just - I’m just...calling. I’m just calling.”

You can’t see it, but you feel the smile that blooms on his face.

“Jeongguk,” you say for no particular reason at all.

“Jeongguk.” You are still crying and his chest clenches at the sound.

“Yeah,” he responds. He says your name back to you, whispered in awe as if it would blow away if he spoke too harshly.

“I’m just calling.” Your mind is swimming, not even attempting to process what you’re saying before it leaves your mouth. It’s so painfully obvious that you are crying.

“Yeah? You missed me?” He speaks so softly and when you close your eyes, you are taken back to when he would whisper to you in bed all those years ago, sweet nothings and filthy pillow talk and love and soul and passion.

You whimper and he clenches his bed sheets with pale fists.

“I’m going to,” you whisper.

Both of your eyes widen and he is stunned, unable to think of a response.

“I’m gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss you so much.” You are sobbing grossly now. “I’ll miss you, Jeongguk! I love you so much and I’m so sorry and I’m going to miss you!” You are bawling again, overwhelmed with the intensity of your confession.

“Y-yeah, baby, I know, just, just stop crying!” He laughs uneasily. “I know, baby…” his voice begins to shake. “Stop talking like that, stop talking as if I’m already gone. I’m right here. I’m talking to you now, don’t worry. I’m right here.”

Your breathing evens out eventually, and the adult in you urges you to apologize for acting like a child, but you can’t bring yourself to it. You can’t bring yourself to apologize for unleashing what has been inside of you for years now.

“Jeongguk, do you love me?”

He lets out a breath in awe. It had been so long.

“Always. I love you, always.”

-

Jeongguk moved back in with his parents for the final time after weeks of your visits. He remained stagnant for a while, but it meant nothing when he was remaining in such poor condition. You followed him blindly, taking an extended leave of absence from your job and leaving the idea of quitting completely in a close pocket of your mind. You didn’t know what to expect, but there would be an aftermath, a life after Jeongguk’s death, the giant, gaping hole he would leave behind in his departure. There was going to be a you after him and you were unsure who you would be. Surely she would be far, far from where you were now.

Jeongguk’s condition worsened rapidly with his discharge from the hospital. He spent his days in the bedroom of his childhood with you in the same chair pulled up by the frame. Though neither of you wanted to say it, he was going to leave the way he started - next to you.

He had become lucid in the past week or so, falling in and out of consciousness at the strangest times and becoming unable to decipher what was real and what was not. Nonetheless, you stayed at his side, wiping his forehead of clamminess and watching him slip away once more, for the final time.

His family members rotated between you sitting with him, each getting alone time with him and making their best efforts to hold a conversation with a man that could barely do even that. He spoke nonsense as if he was having a fever dream and he would soon be back on his feet with some bedrest and Tylenol.

His mother had warned you that his condition had worsened to a point she had never witnessed before. She told you of what her counselor had advised her to do in the painfully recognizable last days and you listened half heartedly with a polite smile.

She was telling you to say goodbye. You had begun to do just that.

You often found yourself stroking his face absentmindedly, thumbs running over the texture and the protrusion of his cheekbones. It was as though you were blind, reading his facial features and attempting to decode who he was to you and what it felt to feel for the last time. You whispered his name.

His eyes remained closed, but the weak bunny twitch of his lip let you know he was listening. You felt a slight lean into your touch and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to imagine when he would do that with fervor.

You whisper his name again, just because.

“Jeongguk,” once more, once more. “I...I love you.” You are unable to think of anything else to say. He leans further into your touch and you kiss his clammy forehead.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids.” You smile and run your thumb over his lips, which twiched with what you knew was a smile. “I’ve never loved anything else, not like I love you. You know that right?” With a soft smack, he kisses your palm and you lean forward to kiss his lips.

“I never stopped. Not for a second, I swear. I’ll never stop. Okay?”

You know he won’t open his eyes, but you wish that he would.

“I love you. I love you.”

His breathing is shallow and thin and your gut tells you that you will have to yell for his mother in just a moment.

But for this second, you allow yourself one moment of selfishness, one moment, one more kiss, one more goodbye, once more, once more. You kiss him again, and his lips twitch.

With the rasp of the last time he’d speak, he whispered to you as he always had.

“You were my miracle. I love you.”

Your hands intertwine and you wipe a tear from his eye before yelling out for his family.

“I love you. I love you.”

And once more, he whispers too.

“I love you.”

[wisdomfish]

The Convert

“After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovable but strange and light; Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite But softly, as men smile about the dead.

The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

G. K. Chesterton

[bosnmateswcc-blog]

“Convert” by G.K Chesterton

After one moment when I bowed my head

And the whole world turned over and came upright,

And I came out where the old road shone white.

I walked the ways and heard what all men said,

Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,

Being not unlovable but strange and light;

Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite

But softly, as men smile about the dead

The sages have a hundred maps to give

That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,

They rattle reason out through many a sieve

That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:

And all these things are less than dust to me

Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

[leavangeline]

2015- 2016 Short Story

 (Beauty and The Beast & Red Riding Hood story mix)

   The sun made the dirt road seem light, but the wind was challenging, egging on autumn. Gwen walked with her father’s hand intertwined with her left hand, and a basket full of baked goods in her right. She all but slightly turned her head to admire her father. Not for his appearance for he was a short pudgy man, with dark brown hair barely gone gray. All his facial features were rounded and full, his nails clipped short, his hands calloused from years of working with mechanics. Overall, his physical appearance didn’t give the hardworking man justice. He was a determined eccentric person often described as syncretic because of his obsession with innovations and inventions. His aspiration in life was to be a famous inventor, but he has had no opportunities, making his hard labor seemingly only childish.                        

Gwen and her father were walking a long distance in a large forest to get to Grandmother’s house. Gwen visited Grandmother every month, sometimes on multiple occasions. Gwen’s mother was never around and Grandmother took her place. Grandmother has always adored Gwen and spoiled her beyond capacity. Their relationship fell nothing short of love. Gwen would even walk to grandmothers when in need of a simple hairdo. Grandmother would brush her long black hair till it was knot free and pin straight reaching her middle back. All the while complimenting her endlessly on her full lips and high cheekbones, stating how beautiful she was. Every time Gwen would grow out of her size Grandma would hand sew her a new red hood to replace the previous one. Gwen’s red hood was her favorite article of clothing. It reminded her of her favorite character in a novel, a fierce woman she wanted to prosper like.                                                                                   

  Once the pair were halfway through the forest the sun started to set, making the shadows from the treetops more evident. The wind started picking up speed, sending cold shivers throughout Gwen’s body.                                                   “Let’s hurry dad” Gwen ushered. Out of the corner of Father’s eye he saw a patch of red roses and hurriedly jogged toward it, letting Gwen’s hand fall away.    “Where are you going?!”  Gwen exclaims.                                                                     “To pick a rose for grandma, so she won’t be upset that we’re late” father replied. Gwen’s face scrunched up in disapproval. “Well we’re already late. Let’s go”.                                                                                                   

 When they finally arrive at Grandmothers, its dark and Gwen’s red hood didn’t provide much warmth against the freezing weather. Gwen comfortably let herself in without knocking and her father followed her. Candles are lit illuminating the room and casting shadows on the walls. The aroma of cinnamon scented the cottage. Gwen placed the basket on Grandmas’ tiny table, while father called out for Grandma. There was no response.                            

  “Do you think she went to sleep, too bored to wait any longer?” Father questioned.                                                                                                                       “Maybe, I’ll go check” Gwen answers hoping Grandma will only be reading one of her stories again, and not asleep. Grandmas’ bedroom door squeaked as Gwen opened it. It’s too dark to see anything, but she can hear the wind howling and feel the draft from the window. “Grandma?” Gwen whispers.                               “My dear, come here! I found a letter Grandma wrote saying she went to the gardens. Do you know where that is?” father exclaimed, startling her.                            “Yeah dad, I know where the gardens are. We’ll go together.”                   Gwen turned around and walks towards her father. She glanced at his hands, then looks again, startled.                                                                                                  “Oh my god! Look at what you’ve done!”                                                  Father followed her eyes to his hand which the red rose is enclosed in. The once beautiful rose was bent and squashed. Multiple petals missing- ruined. “Oh.” Gwen pried the flower from his grip and held it gently. Trying to explain himself, he stammered over his words managing to say “Cold… balled my fists…sorry…for Grandma…really sorry.”                                                                            “It’s fine dad. Let’s go find Grandma.”                                                     The weather only worsened by the minute. Any thoughts of a few more weeks of summer disappeared. When Gwen and her father arrived at the garden, they called out for Grandma. If Grandma was there she wouldn’t have heard them. The wind stole their voices and nothing could be echoed in the dark. Several pairs of yellow eyes were lurking in the bushes. Low growls escaped the creatures’ mouths.                                                                                       “Maybe she was on her way back and we just missed her on the path our way here.” Gwen suggested.                                                                                                  “Yeah, let’s head back she’s obviously not here.” Father agreed.                  As Gwen stepped over a pumpkin two wolves jumped out and were inching her back. Her screams were also silenced by the wind. More and more wolves materialized from the undergrowth. Father’s shouts which sounded no more than a mere whisper, urged Gwen to pass him her hood. Her fear made the simple task of untying the string difficult. Her hands shook violently, her eyes already pricked with unshed tears. Gwen threw the blood red hood. Once he had the blood red hood in his possession he ran, yelling for Gwen to do the same. The wolf pack chased after him with the exception of two that chased Gwen. Her long legs pounded against the dirt and cracked twigs.  She thought of her father who had risked his life for her. She only hoped to live to thank him for it. Her speed is no match to wolves, so when she slowed down from exhaustion she barely had enough time to turn and see a six foot long grey wolf lunging at her. Its long sharp teeth bared, and it’s threating yellow eyes glowing. The second wolf was also closing in.                                                                          

 But before she could be torn to shreds an even larger creature appeared. The large creature took the wolf mid-air and threw it against a hard tree trunk. The second wolf scurried away whimpering. Gwen fell to the floor pleading for mercy, having no more energy to run. The large creature picked her up and slung her over it's shoulder despite her protests. The force knocked the rose out of her hand. As it whisked her away it’s foot crushed the rose leaving the remaining petals to rot.     The large creature was even scarier than the wolves. The beast stood at six foot three, was completely made up of muscle, and had light brown fur. Its fur coating its entire body, but the odd beast wore black pants and a dark red cape. The beast had tusks of a wild boar, the mane of a lion, the tail of a wolf, and the eyes of a human. Its eyes were unarguably the strangest part of the beast, they were light blue. The type of blue eyes that were a trap, a maze, you get lost in them and can never find your way out. You end up drowning in eyes like that.                                               

The beast carried Gwen to a clearing from the forest leading to a castle. Once they entered the castle, the beast gently dropped Gwen like a hot potato. It looked at her and opened its mouth as if to speak, but instead ran away. Gwen stood in the empty foyer her only company the strong stench of mold and the abundance of cobwebs. Before she could even fully ponder her possibilities of action, two irritated voices rang out. One stating how somebody’s wrong and she could be the one, the other voice stating how no girl would love a guy that abducted her from a forest. The two voices continuously went back and forth. “He didn’t steal her; he saved her, from a pack of wolves.”    

“Then he ran off, he ruined his chance.”  

“He didn’t ruin his chance, just think positive.”  

 “Positive?! First impressions are everything!”                   

Gwen had had enough and yelled out “Hello! You two please come help me I must get back. My father is in danger!”  The voices finally revealed themselves from the shadows. The more cheerful one of the two was neither tall nor short. He was an average height but very thin, quite lanky with a sharp nose and almost no lips. He was a dark blonde, his hair curled in the front, the rest straight and pulled back into a ponytail. The more cynical voice on the other hand was much shorter. He was top heavy, and a ginger. His short hair curled on the sides, he also had a long thin mustache.                                                 

 “Hello young maiden, I am Anwar a pleasure to meet you. And this is my companion Anson. Now, it isn’t wise to leave, for the wolves come out at night, as you may have already noticed.” The lanky one spoke.                                    “Then I will leave first thing in the morning.” Gwen said with finality.                      “Very well, Mrs. Harp will lead you to your chambers” Anson replied reluctantly.       A woman appeared with a little boy in hand. The woman was stout and had a stern motherly look on her face as she addressed the child to calm down. The child was bouncing up and down, swinging his arm back and forth and looked as though he was holding his tongue. The boy was blonde like the woman although she did have gray streaks. As they approached Gwen, she started to wonder why they were here and why a castle with so much potential was dirty.                    “Hello dearest, I am Mrs. Harp and this is my son Joshua. Nice to meet you.”        “ I’m Gwen. Mrs. Harp, do you live here? Do any of you live here?”                     “ We do live here. We live here because we are cursed to stay in this castle until-                                                                                                                         Anson cut her off “This is of nothing to be discussed with us you may ask prince Nicoli if you must know.”                                                                                                     “Yes, ask prince Nicoli. We should be on our way, yes?” Mrs. Harp concurred.  As they walked to Gwens room for the night she asked the mother and son questions. What is on the other side of the castle? No matter, just know you mustn’t go there. Why don’t you clean the palace? There is no need to, no-one ever come here. Is prince Nicoli the beast? Yes. Gwen asked how old Joshua was. He cheerfully said 7. Afterwards he talked Gwens ear off and he started to grow on her. When she arrived at her door she thanked the two and said goodnight, but not fully closing her bedroom door. Once all the candles throughout the castle were off, Gwen lit her own candle and headed down the spiral staircase. She went to the other side of the palace and saw that it was completely abandoned. She found many doors ajar with nothing worth seeing in them. Trying the last door she opened it and saw the beast- prince Nicoli- hunched over a pedestal with a glowing rose hovering upon it. Prince Nicoli looked up and growled. Unfazed Gwen said “What is that?”  Gwen focused on the beast only. As he continued to growl telling her to leave, her expression only hardened and she stood her ground. “What is the rose for?” Gwen asked again.  He bared the rest of his teeth, compelling her to leave him alone. An unhumorous staring contest ensued, a competition for authority. Both unwilling to back down. “Please, explain to me what this is all about. Please.”  The beasts’ angry demeanor wavered. He wanted to be trusted.  So he told her about how he was a selfish prince, that cared for no-one but himself. How he was putting the kingdom in danger so a witch cursed him to be as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside. Anson, Joshua, Mrs. Harp, and Anwar were his assistants and they are like his family. The witch cursed them to be bound to this castle until the curse is lifted. He told Gwen how he has until every petal falls off the rose to uplift the curse. He uplifts the curse by finding someone that will love him for what he’s now become. He needs to revive himself from the inside out, to make his soul beautiful again. “Would you like me to bring over some maidens? I’m sure one would love you” Gwen offered. Nicoli only looked away and told her to go to sleep.                                       

 In the morning she went downstairs to eat breakfast with everyone. When she arrived she saw it was only prince Nicoli and herself as she was told the others were busy. Nicoli was having a tough time eating. He tried to hold a soup spoon but it was too tiny and he could barely grasp it properly. He could barely eat, food just ended up on the table. Gwen noticed this and rose from her seat and walked to him. He didn’t even notice her, too busy trying to bring the food to his mouth. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her curiously. “It’s okay to eat without the spoon. We can just slurp it together”.  When she went back to her seat she didn’t pick her spoon back up to eat. As they ate breakfast together two petals fell from the glowing rose.           

After breakfast Nicoli immediately fled to another room. Gwen followed him and saw an enormous library with such an abundance of books. She felt as though she was in heaven. She loved to read, just like her grandmother. At the thought of her grandmother her mood instantly turned sour, she had no idea where her grandmother was and she was here, being happy over her books. “Is something wrong?” Nicoli timidly asked her.                                           

 “Yes somethings wrong! My father and grandma are missing! They could be dead for goodness sake!” Gwen cried.                                                                      “What’s your favorite book?” Nicoli asked, hoping to get her mind off of her missing relatives. That one question alone got Gwen sadder. She told him about her favorite book and how her grandma sewed her red hood just because of it. Gwen told Nicoli how every year she got bigger Grandma would have a new hood sewn just for her. Gwen also described her night out in the garden with father. How they couldn’t find Grandma and father saved her life by taking her hood. She thanked Nicoli for saving her life, something she said she should’ve done earlier and is eternally grateful for. Nicoli managed to get her mind off of her relatives and purely on books sooner or later. They even had the same favorite book. He explained to her that’s why he wears his red cape. He loves the main character because she is so strong and reminds him of his mother. They talked till the sun went down, and Gwen couldn’t decide if she even regretted it.                                                                                  

 During the night Nicoli went out to the forest to search for Gwen’s father and grandmother. He searched all throughout the forest for hours nonstop. When he finally found something, it was just Gwens hood. It was six hours later in the night and the hood was destroyed. He hurried back to the castle and gave Mrs. Harp the hood for her to fix. During the day he kept on stalling Gwen from leaving and she didn’t stop him. They had animated conversations all throughout their time together. Gwen played games with Joshua, and even discussed matters with Anwar and Anson. At dusk Mrs. Harp gave Nicoli the hood and it looked as good as new. Nicoli went to the library where Gwen was sitting on the window seat reading. He held the red hood behind his back, and brought her attention to him by clearing his throat. She looked at him curiously.         

 “I have a present for you, because you have been so kind to me.” Nicoli says sheepishly.                                                                                                         Gwen stood up and eyeballed him as he takes the red hood from behind his back. When she saw the hood she bolted to him and jumped up to embrace him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Gwen murmurs. “Is my father ok? Did you see him”?                                                                         

 “No, I only found your hood.” Nicoli said.                                                               “Oh”. Gwen replied. “Still, thank you though”.                                                         Gwen stayed another night. Mrs. Harp prepared a delicious dinner that night, so everyone gathered to eat together in the dining hall. Long draped navy blue curtains were pulled perfectly, to let in the right amount of light to be reflected off the chandelier. The scents of a thousand foods filled everyone’s nostrils’. The only sound was the grumbling of stomachs waiting for the cue to eat. Gwen gazed at Nicoli as they waited and couldn’t see how him of all people could’ve been egotistical. When Gwen looked into Nicolis’ eyes she saw innocence. She saw a young boy with no proper guidance on how to rule a kingdom. A house being constructed improperly because of the lack of blueprints.                                The next morning Gwen understood that she needed to leave. She needed to go and see her father, and hopefully her grandmother as well. Just as Gwen was about to walk out her bedroom door, amping herself up for the sad goodbyes, she saw a hand slip an envelope under the door. She bent down to pick up the golden laced envelope. She opened it carefully, in hopes to not rip the pretty paper. Her father could use it in one of his inventions. The words enscripted in the letter described a beautiful ball with spectacular food and friendly guests, but in need of a princess. Gwen had received an invitation to a ball, her very first ball, and as the princess.                                                         

At six o’clock Gwen went down a hall she never explored before. It led her to the ballroom. It was more than the invitation had led it on to be. She had to walk down a wide light pink- peach-ish staircase. The staircase had a wide faded red carpet in the middle, as if many feet have walked upon it. Directly across from the entrance was a wall of only windows that reached the ceiling. On the left and right of the room there were wide windows on the top of the walls. Below them were marble and golden walls, with columns all around holding light blue almost grey curtains. The ceiling was a magnificent painting of children playing in clouds. The room was nothing like anything Gwen had ever seen before.                  Nicoli wore a long blue buttoned jacket with black pants and white shirt. He had filed his claws and nails, and even brushed his mane. He wanted to make an effort for Gwen, knowing this was her last night with him. He wanted to make sure she remembered him. When he looked up to see Gwen walking down the stairs he was certain he’d been beaten. She looked stunning, way more elegant than him. Gwen’s hair was so long it reached her mid-back, her black hair was impeccably straight, and her bangs made her eyes stand out. She wore a yellow dress with a corset like top and layered outward bottom. The ends of her dress were embroidered with white lace and the middle of her dress had a droop pattern around in a darker yellow color. Nicoli could only think of how lovely she looked. When she spotted his position in the large room she smiled kindly and Nicoli’s heart fluttered at the gesture. She was too pretty.    When Gwen’s foot fell on the last step Nicoli extended out his hand for her to take. She placed her tiny hand in his large hand and he escorted her to the middle of the ballroom. A piano began to play and they danced gracefully in sync. The two danced to their hearts content. When the pianos tempo slowed down they stepped closer together and barely danced. Gwen placed her head down softly on Nicolis chest and just listened to his heartbeat. Nicoli was startled at first, but then visibly relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. They let their breath go in sync, their hearts pounding from the proximity. They held each other till the end of the song.                                          

 Afterwards Nicoli led Gwen outside on the balcony. The faint sound of the piano in the background. Gwen and Nicoli sat down on the balcony side concrete. “You look amazing.” Nicoli finally says.                                                     

 “Thank you. You do as well.” Gwen replies.                                                  

  “Will you come back after you leave?” Nicoli asked the question he had been wondering all along.                                                                                                “I don’t know.” Nicolis face dropped all hope disappearing after those words.    “You don’t have to lie. If you don’t want to come back you could’ve just said that.” The beast replied coldly.                                                                               “I’m not lying Nicoli. I just don’t know right now. Why can’t you understand that?” Gwen said without looking at him.                                                            

 “Gwen, I need to know if you’ll come back.” Nicoli pleaded.                                    “Why?! Why does it matter so much to you if I come back or not? Maybe I will maybe I won’t, it doesn’t matter right now!” Gwen exclaimed rising from her seat.                                                                                                               

 “Why can’t you see why this matters to me?! I need to know if you’ll come back because I need to know that you love me! I love you, and I need you to love me back!” Nicoli rose from his seat his voice growing in volume.  Gwen froze and stared at him in shock. Nicoli stormed off hardly mumbling ‘goodnight Gwen’.       Gwen was gone before the rest of the castle could wake up. She left letters for everyone expressing her gratitude and thankfulness for their kindness. Nicoli had the shortest letter out of everyone. Gwen complimented Mrs. Harp on her cooking, Anwar on his charming personality, Anson on his organization, and Joshua on his ‘perfect childness’. Gwen walked with her red hood on, her hair on either sides of her face. Trying to take her mind off of her and Nicolis’ conversation the night before, she counted each step she took. Gwen wasn’t sure if she loved him. The thought of being in love quite honestly scared her. She missed him though. She wanted to look into his blue eyes and cuddle him and run her fingers through his fur. But was that really love? Gwen stepped on a purple bonnet and it threw her concentration off. She realized that the bonnet belonged to her grandmother and instantly became worried. To her right she saw wolf paws and followed them. The trail continued for a while so she started running, getting more and more anxious by the second. The only thought running through her head was ‘where is my grandma?’ She paused as she saw a cave and saw thirteen wolves asleep inside. There was dried blood on the rock floor and in a corner bones. Gwen had seen enough, she blindly started running back. She couldn’t think anymore. Her grandmother is dead. A wolf pack killed and ate her grandmother. Gwens eyesight was blurred by her tears. She sobbed as she ran; hoping to wake up and this all have just been a nightmare.                     When Gwen made it back home it was night. She went into her house and went to her father’s door. She heard him talking to himself “Please, god bring her back. Let her be alive. Please. Please.” And more mumbling she couldn’t make out. When she opened the door father was on his knees in a praying position. She went up to her father and hugged him. “I’m home dad. I’m home.” They cried all night. They cried because they thought the other was dead. They cried because they were not. They cried because grandma was dead. They cried because this could not be undone.                                             

The first week Gwen was home the rose lost fifteen petals. The second week Gwen was gone the rose lost nine petals. The third week Gwen was away the rose lost seven petals.                                                                                     

  All three weeks Gwen was home she didn’t stop thinking of Nicoli. She thought of how she misses him so much her heart hurts. She thought of how she wished she didn’t yell at him. Gwen couldn’t stop feeling empty without Grandma, and Nicolis absence made it worse. Even her father could tell something was awry. One morning Gwen went into the village and borrowed a horse from an old friend and rode to Nicolis’ castle. She opened the castle doors and walked in the palace. She called out, but heard no response. She looked in the ballroom, her room, the dining hall, the kitchen; everywhere. She found no-one. Gwen went to the room with the magic rose. She saw Nicoli in the corner of the room on the floor. He looked defeated. The scene made Gwens’ heart crack. “What are you doing there? Didn’t you hear me calling out for you?” Gwen asked concerned               “I heard you. I just thought you’d eventually give up and leave. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Nicoli said carelessly.                                                        “I would never give up on you. Why are you here?” Gwen said sincerely            “I’m waiting. I’m waiting for my death.” Nicoli said lazily.                                     “What?! No you’re not going to die! What are you talking about?”                         “ The last petal Gwen. I’m going to stay like this forever, so I might as well be dead.”                                                                                                                      “ You stupid you’re not going to stay like this forever, I love you.” Gwen whispers late. The last petal falls from the rose and the stem descends from the air. The glow burns out and Nicoli is still in the corner of the room.                 

But Nicoli is no longer a beast. He is a human again. He immediately hugs Gwen his arms no longer engulfing her but surrounding her. He spins her around, a smile on both of their faces. They laugh and take a moment to really admire each other for their beauty inside and out. They put their foreheads against each other and Gwen cups his face in her hands and sweetly kisses him. When she pulls away she looks into Prince Nicoli’s eyes and he gazes into Princess Gwen’s.            

The End.                                         

[castyourline]

“After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovable but strange and light; Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite But softly, as men smile about the dead. The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

GK Chesterton

[castyourline]

After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovable but strange and light; Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite But softly, as men smile about the dead. The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

GK Chesterton