Title: Legacies
Author: Girl Who Writes
Feedback: If you feel so moved.
Characters: Outer Senshi
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Angst
Summary: And it is only when you swing the glaive down, destroying even the quietest, smallest thought in existence, that you remember how many times you have walked this road.
Notes: Today is my birthday, so I decided to celebrate by writing four Outer Senshi ficlets - one for Saturn, one for Pluto, one for Michiru and Haruka, and one ensemble. Then my kitten, Issy, got hit by a car, and we won't know whether she'll make it until tomorrow. If she turns out okay, the next part will be up tomorrow. If she isn't, I probably won't write anything for awhile. So, yeah. I'm not sure why I'm saying all this.
The is an oblique reference to a fic I have been working on, and this particular scene may resurface in a future fic. Mostly because recycling is good for the environment
Disclaimer: Naoko Takeuchi owns the characters and scenarios of Sailor Moon. I am a humble fan and thus make no profit from this venture.


All I had so far were endless beginnings

It is the legacy of Saturn. The innocence of childhood, of beautiful dreams and a wish for a happily ever after.

It is the day the sigil of Saturn burns warm on your brow, the whisper of something in the back of your mind – sweet, wordless promises that you cannot quite make out but your heart recognizes.

It is the slow walk to the Queen's throne, where three figures stand, clutching weapons that crackle the air with magic. The formality is lost when one breaks ranks, falling to her knees before the beautiful, merciful queen, begging for your redemption – that things can be different in this age. The other two turn their faces away, but you see regret lighting their eyes, too.

It is with purple light and ribbons you stand before them, clutching your weapon to your chest, and offer them a smile, that you blame none of them for the burdens that have been placed upon you. You hold the glaive before you and bow your head, your eyes falling closed.

The three talismans are held up, the queen holding up the crystal in cupped hands. You feel the warmth of the power and then the icy bone-deep cold of your place of rest – your limbs stiffen, and you did not know it was possible to be that still and not be death itself.

And when you are released from your case of glass and crystal, the whispering is louder and it is time to begin once again. And it is only when you swing the glaive down, destroying even the quietest, smallest thought in existence, that you remember how many times you have walked this road.

And you wonder if there is anyone left to tell of your grief, before you too are lost to another beginning.