The pavement rattled with the effort of supporting the pair of footsteps, the invisible marks the two had left behind as they moved towards the crossroads. The boy was panicking, though he did not sweat or scream as others do the air could taste his fear. Dark and bitter like a vine of black licorice it had wrapped itself around his torso invisible to the woman who walked beside him.
She was black, black as night, black as the raven. She was the blackbird, her long dark hair falling down her back in a sleek straight line. Her pale skin seemed to be the moon surrounded by shadows of grief, darkness, death. She seemed both young and old as she kept pace beside the boy. Unlucky to meet him, unlucky to see his through his lies, unlucky to see past his masks.
Gold and black, night and day, they were opposites that found themselves walking on the same path. Both were born to be unlucky, to choose the wrong fork in the road. It was their nature, and the air could almost smell the spilt blood that would flow from their future wounds.
The boy would die in another bleeding sunset, red blood streaming from his shoulder as he lay staring at the dying sun. A God of Death floating above him, fulfilling his last promise.
Scratching the night god's name into his book of death before flying into the shadows; engulfing the world into the darkness of his ink black feathers. Day to night, they would find him underneath the rising moon just as he had begun so long ago.
The pavement could already taste his pain, though he was young and that day had yet to pass. The world about him could feel his death as if it had already happened. What was time to the earth and sky which existed outside such boundaries?
The raven, the woman faded with the snowfall, with the soft flakes that fall like silent frozen tears. The boy wrote her death, her epigraph, he used her wit against her; the clever blackbird. Dying, fraying, and bleeding. The blackbird was silent, with feathers of night she died with the rising of the sun. They killed each other, the phoenix and the blackbird. Even as they walked through the twilight together they brought about the others end with their very presence.
The night god was made of sunshine; his golden eyes were as merciless as the star's blinding rays. He watched the death of the raven with a smile and wave as he wished her luck as her feathers fell out and she crashed to the ground. He had blinded her; he had torn out her night dark feathers and left her to fall.
He left without a second thought, ignoring the cold snow that fell through his wood-brown hair. Ignoring the desperate look of the dying black bird, her dark eyes turned from him as her feet carried her to closer to the pyre where she would burn with the break of the sun. The path was cold and empty, and even as she walked the lonely path was glad for the company.
Author's Note: I don't own Death Note