Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon.
By Silver Sailor Ganymede
A chill breeze swept across the mountainside and through the dense forests, swaying the trees as it went. A small figure walked steadily along the path, seemingly unable to feel the cold and uncaring of it if she did. Her cerulean blue eyes and starlight-silver hair shone brilliantly in the light of the Moon, but she did not dare to gaze up at the shining orb; it would hurt too much if she did, but sacrifices must be made for love, must they not?
Her white dress too shone eerily in the moonlight as she turned her piercing gaze to a clearing nearby; that was where he was, she remembered now. She continued into the clearing, the stench of damp bark mingled with heavily perfumed flowers as she went. Then she saw it, on the far side of the clearing: the cave where he lay.
She walked quickly towards the cave and soon had entered the darkness, her own silvery aura the only source of light. And there he was, in the corner of the cave, just as she had left him. His black hair was still the shade of deepest midnight and his eyes, though unseeing, were still the unnaturally dark blue she remembered: his skin was still flawless, his form still perfect; whoever would have guessed she had kept him in this state of sleep for over a thousand years?
She smiled sadly at the thought and ran her finger along his lips, still perfect, red as rubies, but so cold, so lifeless. She felt tears come into her eyes as she remembered: but she'd had to do it, she'd had to place her lover into this enchanted sleep; after all, who could have borne the death of perfection? He was perfect even by her own people's standards, and they were the most highly envied race in the galaxy, she knew that for a fact. No, they had been; they were all gone now, she remembered; her mother had died and taken her people with her: she was the last of the Lunarians, thegraceful children of the Moon.
She knew, however, that she was not alone; she could never be alone with her beautiful Endymion by her side, even as he dreamed in the moonlight in a sleep from which he would never awaken. Still she was tired, so tired of being without him; perhaps they would meet again in their dreams: that is what she was here to do. She opened a vial she had concealed in the folds of her dress and looked at it with a pained expression. How could she do this? Why was she doing this? But she knew how and she knew why; it was the only way for perfection to survive, the only way for her to be reunited with her love.
She tipped the contents of the vial down her throat, the taste nauseating for a moment, then it passed; everything passed. The moonlight began to fade and she slipped into the deep sleep herself: but she did not feel fear, only hope: hope that she and her Endymion would somehow be reunited after all these many years…