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|This is a short story, magic-related. :) I like it, simple as it is. UPDATED: I have edited.||
Emma sat quietly in the middle of her garden. She watched with attentive eyes as a kingfisher dove into the clear, cool depths of the mountain spring. Somewhere, to her right and beyond the garden in the fields, a cicada thrummed and a mountain lark sang the arrival of the sun. A soft, chill breeze ruffled the young seer’s silver-blonde hair like the caress of a mother.
What Emma saw, unlike what the faeries in the garden saw, was not a diving kingfisher, not the sway of the mountain heather in the breeze, but the dancing motes of magic, the swirl of cool, blue streamlets and vibrant scarlet starburst of power. With sightless, white eyes, she could not see in the sense that she could define colors by what was there and how the sun touched it.
Emma could See, unlike any others. She could See the colors of the kingfisher as its life magic swirled in swift little eddies, the wispy purple motes of the heather, dotted lightly with the bright greens and golds of the faeries.
When the gate to the garden opened, Emma didn’t hear it. Instead, she felt the shift of the wind as the wood scraped across the moss-covered rock ground, and felt the slight tremor of the mountain as soft footsteps made their way through the garden towards her. All sounds and sights were colors to her. When the person came to a stop not five feet away from her, she saw Nothing.
If she had known the names for the colors, the spot where this person was would have been all of them and none of them at the same time. Silent but louder than a hurricane, so obviously there, and then invisible to everything, everyone but Emma.
“Why are you here?”
Emma did not hear the words. Instead, she felt the meaning. In reply, she said, “I am waiting.”
Emma’s voice was carefully practiced, practiced off the animals and fae in her garden. She would speak, and then look for the colors changing on the recipients.
Emma did not stand, did not move a muscle, as the figure approached. She could See a smile on his face. “Then we will go.”
The kingfisher watched with silent eyes, and then flew to Emma’s shoulder. Death looked down at the little red-breasted bird and smiled wider as it looked back up at him fearlessly. “Emma, is your little friend coming?”
The woman nodded resolutely. “Yes.”
The bird didn’t move a muscle, except for it’s crimson chest moving up and down as it breathed. “Say goodbye to the faeries, Juu.” The bird chirped and then fell silent again. Then Death gently picked up the woman and the bird. Moving through the garden, he went to the gate, and gently put the woman upon his horse. A silver-grey Nightmare by the name of Silt, gentle and old, a faithful steed.
Behind them, the garden rushed to grow. The heather rushed high and the roses matured, leaving the gate grown over in a matter of seconds. Death mounted behind Emma, and they said goodbye. The faeries waved, and then disappeared. Silt leapt into the sky, and when Death looked back the last time, all he could see was an overgrown, uninhabited garden. Ragged from use, it looked. Worn, uncared for.
“And so it shall be, till the end of time,” Death whispered softly before he directed Silt upwards, and Emma the Seer closed her eyes, sightless as they were, for the last time.
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