[013 ☿] Even if the two of us are ever torn apart, I swear that I will change the world.
The forest is quiet, and green. A cloaked man heads towards an altar in a clearing, already laid out with candles and, crosswise, his sword in its sheath. He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and picks it up.
"Kunzite!"
The voice interrupts him. He fires a swift, angry look in its direction, unwilling to let the blue-haired girl hurrying towards the clearing from the forest's edge interfere in this. Under his glower, the ground shakes violently and a chasm opens between them, stopping her short as she scrambles to keep her balance and can go no further. She shouts something else, but her voice is useless and the sound is stillborn. Her mouth works uselessly, frantically, as she tries to make herself heard, to no avail.
Kunzite frees the weapon from its rest, and throws the sheath carelessly on the ground. His hands are steady as he deals his own death blow and gives a great, wordless cry. Mercury can only watch, face tight with conflicting emotions and dark eyes forcibly dry.
--
There's nothing to explain how the forest has suddenly changed, but Mercury is still there. The chasm is gone. The altar has been replaced by a memorial tablet. Glimmering flowers, closed buds made of living ice, grow throughout the entire clearing; it doesn't take counting to know there are one thousand and ninety-four.
Mercury tends the grave site, as she has done regularly for three years now, as she will do tomorrow when she awakens. If the passing of time has helped to alleviate the impact, it has not lessened the importance. As she pours the water over the stone, her face becomes almost calm in repose as she sinks into reflection.
She could use a sympathetic presence.
"Kunzite!"
The voice interrupts him. He fires a swift, angry look in its direction, unwilling to let the blue-haired girl hurrying towards the clearing from the forest's edge interfere in this. Under his glower, the ground shakes violently and a chasm opens between them, stopping her short as she scrambles to keep her balance and can go no further. She shouts something else, but her voice is useless and the sound is stillborn. Her mouth works uselessly, frantically, as she tries to make herself heard, to no avail.
Kunzite frees the weapon from its rest, and throws the sheath carelessly on the ground. His hands are steady as he deals his own death blow and gives a great, wordless cry. Mercury can only watch, face tight with conflicting emotions and dark eyes forcibly dry.
--
There's nothing to explain how the forest has suddenly changed, but Mercury is still there. The chasm is gone. The altar has been replaced by a memorial tablet. Glimmering flowers, closed buds made of living ice, grow throughout the entire clearing; it doesn't take counting to know there are one thousand and ninety-four.
Mercury tends the grave site, as she has done regularly for three years now, as she will do tomorrow when she awakens. If the passing of time has helped to alleviate the impact, it has not lessened the importance. As she pours the water over the stone, her face becomes almost calm in repose as she sinks into reflection.
She could use a sympathetic presence.