( meme ) prompts & characters.

[caipirinha]

we all write our own endings.

Comments

( adelaide, yiro » water )

[honeyed]

She finds solace in the warmth of the summer air, the stillness of the night and the firm grip of his hand. Like this, is it as though only they exist, as though their only company and witnesses are the stars, sitting peacefully in the pitch black sky above. The grass is cool and soft between her toes, and although their progress is slow, she savours it. If she is to walk this old path for the last time, she would like to have it as a clear, beautiful image in her mind. She grips Yiro's hand a little tighter, as much as her delicate, frail hands can allow, and in response he stops, asks her if something is wrong. She shakes her head, urges him on. He has always been such a sweet little boy, such a wonderful creature, and ever so handsome. Age has not marred his features as it has done hers; his skin is still so pale and smooth, his hair still so bright. As years have gone by, Adelaide has grown so terribly weary. The woman that once charmed and enthralled entire crowds at parties and events has long been replaced by someone that has chosen to live her life solely in the company of her belua and her son. Of course, she has never lost her pride or her elegance, reclusive but filled with the same character that she always had. Even as she is escorted to her death, she walks with her head held high, her crooked smile ever present on her weathered face. "It won't hurt." He kisses her hands as his bare foot quietly breaks the surface of the water. Adelaide gasps quietly as he gently leads her after him, the chilled temperature of the lake a surprise after the balmy summer air. Her dress immediately feels heavy as water soaks into the fabric, and she braces herself for the final exertion. Yiro is facing her, moving backwards with only the precision and ease she would expect of him, his large eyes never leaving hers, watching her with intent and focus. His voice is a murmur that the wind keeps stealing from her, but she knows the movement of his lips. Assurances, promises that he first made to her long, long ago, before she understood. She merely nods to him; she knows. She knows. "My darling boy, you've always been so good to me." Her bones already feel numb and stiff, but she moves with him nonetheless. "You've always treated me so well." She feels the water weigh down her curls, still long even though they have lost their rich red colour. It's as though the lake - as dark and endless as the sky - is seeping into her every pore, preparing her, readying her for her fate. Nowadays all she has thought is how fitting it is. Appropriate, and utterly ideal. This way, she chooses her own end; she does not allow death to take her whenever it pleases, but when she calls for it. "Goodbye, my dear. Thank you ever so much." Water rushes into her mouth, into her lungs, as he pulls her gently down into eternity.