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When the sun fades, your ghost will dance across the sunken lawns and descend into the darkness.
My hand stretches out; the bone-thin fingers reach out; I don't want to let go of your waveringly pale fingers.
But you fade, all the same, and I am left all alone at the window.
I have sat at this forgotten window for some years now, and I have looked upon a number of autumn twilights. And I have battled a gaping void within me for some months now. But right now, sitting in the shade of the window, looking out over the dimming world, I finally know why I feel the way I do. The darkness is falling steadily over the horizon, and I know that I miss you with all of my broken heart and all of my fragmented soul, even though I have taken your advice to follow up on my promise to Mana, to walk on.
The sun is setting now, and those golden-red flecks dance softly on the black stone of my window sill. And the lingering scent of your presence takes flight, soaring into the darkness under the horizon.
I still miss you, you know, Lenalee. It's been quite a few long decades since you left, but my heart has never stopped beating for you and you alone. I still remember the merry and wonderful times we had together, and every time our wedding anniversary comes around, I always remember to head to your favourite spot in the Headquarters to sit and reflect and watch the stars.
On your birthday, though, I usually have dinner with Komui, and maybe Lavi and Johnny, when they decide to drop in. They mostly do, if you've realised through your dream-esque travels to our world. On your death anniversary, I usually sneak out to a lonely field I found one fine day in my travels. What better place to remember you, and weep for you than a quiet, empty field shrouded in golden moonlight that reminds me of your loving self?
My hand stretches out to see if the wind today is as untamed as the one that came yesterday. Indeed, those silky tendrils wrap their fingers around me, and I pull my arm back, bone-cold, aching with the frost of pining and remembrance.
I can still remember the day you told me about your death sentence. We both knew then that it was the beginning of the end. I was too angry with god, with the world, even, to properly comfort you as I should have done. You didn't deserve to feel Death's breath on you yet; you were still so young, so caring, and so absolutely wonderful.
You were too good to die, too steeped in death and too fragile for this world. You were too loved to stop caring. I forgot myself for some hours. I was no longer the Destroyer of Time. I was plain old Allen who wanted to protect his beloved from Death's cold embrace.
Dead leaves, those coloured jewels, lie around the gardens of the Headquarters. I can see them, from my high perch. The chilling wind stirs them and they fly, kaleidoscope-like, to form a pretty pattern. You would have liked it, Lenalee.
But now that you've gone, I can't really do anything. I may have defeated the Earl, but I can't bring you back from the land of shadows. But you know, we all miss you here. Lavi has even written your death into a footnote of history, and he gave me a copy of his essay. I placed it with the rest of my treasures, in the bottom shelf, with your wedding ring and our portrait and other keepsakes.
This is yet another dreary evening. I reach out for Lavi's work. I want to remember the circumstances of your death, to remind myself of our once-love.
This record is a record of the hidden war between the exorcists blessed by god and the evil ones commanded by the Earl of Millennium, but here I must enter a short note. The Black Order has always been blessed to have good doctors and nurses attending to their charges, but of late, one matter popped up that these great hearts were unable to solve.
Two years before the end of the war, Lenalee Lee, one of the exorcists, contracted a fatal disease while on a mission. Her caring heart caused her to care for a dying man who had no connection whatsoever to the mission at hand. The lesions on his skin oozed fluid of a puzzling variety of colours, and Lenalee Lee nursed him for a short time before his death. Unfortunately, she had an unhealed cut which came into contact with the pus.
Her resulting disease devastated those who loved her, especially the Destroyer of Time. This disease, though, was the basis of a great love story, one that sadly ended in tragedy.
I cannot read on. The tears are already here, already flowing even as my eyes leave the page. Lenalee, oh Lenalee, you little deserved the fate that struck you so unfairly. You were such a motherly little person, so kind, so loving, almost a paragon of virtue.
But such a disease as you contracted!
For Lenalee Lee was felled by the deadly scourge, known to us all as syphilis.
Although there is
Not one moment
still, how strangely
this autumn twilight fills me.
A/N: Heh it has taken me a measure of courage to post this. I have some doubts as to the viability of this fic. It's rather short, I know; I've finished writing the whole thing and it's less than 6000 words long. But I'll only post it in short chapters, because I personally like reading short chapters.
So I'm back to AllenLenalee after some detours. Yay for them. I wrote this chapter by drawing inspiration from the above quote. I can't remember if it was written by Izumi Shikibu or Ono no Komachi (this is the translated version, of course - all credit goes to the book The Ink Dark Moon, as translated by Jane Hirshfield). And syphilis seems like an odd thing to die from, but it was pretty prevalent throughout the world in the Victorian age.
I had fun reading through this; wrote this in December and am finally posting it now. This week was horrendous; had tons of disgusting tests. My As are gone :/
Ohhh well. I hope you enjoyed reading this; reviews are appreciated! (: