At the End There Was You (Blue Fairytales, #1)

by Wendy Heiss

Would they all suddenly be left to be dealt by Death? Not a kind man from what she had heard. Unforgiving. Merciless. But so had been life most days, and Winter was not bothered by the cruelty of deities.

Once, she thought time had fallen in love with her back. As she was no longer afraid of it, counting it or mourning it. And she’d been enamoured with the marks it had left on her skin, each faint wrinkle and freckle was a kiss or a touch it had grazed on its passing. There was no tragic love though the end was death. She thought time had been enough for her, even if Death had not given her seven more days to live.

Life was fleeting, perhaps that was what he’d wanted to teach them.

“He requested someone quiet. Someone who will blend with the shadows. You’re good enough to be a shadow. And besides, I cannot afford to lose one of the other girls, we need all the prayers we can send.”

Stories, true or not, she loved them. There was no story of her own, not one memory she thought could be good enough to graze a page, let alone belong in a book. All the lives she had lived were those others had written for her to read. And it was good enough for her. It truly was.

Night. He reminded her of night. Black hair that fell a bit longer than how men normally wore it. Dark eyes, not brown, not anything black either, just dark—the look, the colour, the paleness of it all. Even the light stubble on his jaw reminded her of night. He was tall, at the least a foot over her, and she was not short by any means.

“It is but the simplest. Effortless. Certainly, something we think of often, but we do not indulge it unless the nights are long or suddenly our skies feel grey or our heart feels empty. The thought of death is passing. Happiness is passing, too, but we chase it. Persistently. Constantly. We dream of it. Though we dream of death, too, but not because we want it.” She chewed on her lip. “Unless it is one of the above again. It does that—death does that, it chases us instead, even if it is in our dreams. And when we wake up, we decide to not think of it. But if it was happiness we dreamed of, we recall it, share it with others, laugh at it or daydream it over and over until that dream remains like a sock with a hole that we often see at the bottom of our drawer but are reluctant to throw even though socks with holes can’t be used much.”

“You’re like an open book, Winter. Though I’d very much like to return to reading something else, so would you at least make an effort to not be one? Your mistress said you’d be a shadow, not the whole damn sun.”

“If you’re going to throw something at me, might I suggest a pen or a piece of paper,” he said, paying very little attention to her. “I was not going to hit you with anything.” “You looked violent.” “And you look like you’ve not had one good day in your life, but since we’ve met, not once have I thought you’re about to cry on me.” “Are you always this argumentative?” “Are you always this sour?” “My answer is yes, then.” “So is mine.”

“Ignore me. Most do.” “You’re impossible to ignore,” he said, and Winter’s pulse grew faster. “You’re standing about two feet away from me.”

“Sure, I don’t believe any Gods watch over us anymore, try to interfere when things get bad or convince fates to change their course. I don’t think they should do that either since we’re given the force of will and power to choose over our own fate, whether bad or good. It is all life is about, the unpredictability. I’d hate to have someone choose for me, help me when I don’t want to be helped, regardless if I need the help or not. But I do believe that the holier powers are not cruel. Why would they be?”

“Why live in a dream when you can live in reality?”

“It is purposeful as it is entertaining. People withhold telling you things about themselves, they shy away or plainly refuse to talk. If you look at someone long enough, you can learn to understand them.” She pushed the cup close to him. “It will go cold.”

“The girls were saying about a hundred things they’d miss if the world ended, but for some strange reason I couldn't find a single one. I’m sure I’d miss many things and many people, though at that moment I couldn't name a single thing. I am making a list now.”

“The sun for one, of course. The rain. Clara’s screams when she sees mice and Alyssa’s shudders when she thinks she’s seen a spider.” She giggled at the memory. “The feeling of getting

inside fresh sheets after you have a bath. That scent of earth when it rains. Coloured glass. Bells, tiny bells that chime so dimly you’d think the sound was in your head and make you question your sanity. Mouldy books, they smell heavenly.” She glanced towards the empty piano and the melody seeping from it. “I’ll miss music. Especially your music,”

His feet stopped before a cart holding discarded books, some torn and barely hanging on their spines and a few so old their pages had turned a dark shade of beige. He picked one up and brought it to his nose, inhaling its scent. Perplexed, Azriel stared at an empty wall for a few moments. “She was right, it is strangely pleasant.”

Strange, yes. The strangest human he’d ever met. And she reminded him of a flower he’d seen once long ago—too long ago that he’d forgotten the name of it.

bright look on her face that was enough to make Azriel sigh and drop his specs down and his head back on the chair rest.

“We all surrender to death the day we are born. We just hope he is kind and forgetful.”

“I know how to fight off death,” he said, rising from his seat and pushing his specks back with a finger. “What I am looking for is a reason as to why I should do so.” When her chest began rising faster and unsteady, he strode to her and watched as she followed each of his steps, not with fright but anticipation. Her neck craned to look up and him as he grasped the edges of the table and bent down a little to her. “Are you always this easily frightened?”

She didn’t take issue with Death, but why with his human servants? “Because I am a Mage,” he again repeated, not understanding the young priestess with the oddest thoughts and who reminded him of a…daisy. “Do you take issue with all Mages, or just me?”

“That someone I was close to was a Mage. A great one. Powerful as they come. Richer than rich. He was in love. The greatest love he could find. He was in love with power. So much so that he was willing to sacrifice his own life for it. Not caring who he left behind. Not that he knew what he was leaving behind because he didn’t pay much attention anyway—craving, acknowledging and wanting power was all he was taught. Not only did he drown because of it, but he took someone else with him.”

He could see her chest rising with shallow breaths. “You’re trying to frighten me.” “There would be little reason to frighten someone soon to be a cockroach.”

“Are you teasing me?” “You think I’m a man capable of teasing?” “I’d like to think so, or I wouldn't believe you to be human at all. And that would scare me more.” “You’re lying to yourself.”

“No. I was only praising your resolve.” He leaned back, watching her chew her food a little bit slower as if it tasted bitter. “You’re a smart girl, Winter. I occasionally enjoy what you have to say though it deeply distresses me and sometimes heavily makes me question your state of mind.”

He knew he was no spineless crook, but he also knew he did not care, not even a little. And in five days, he’d be free from the burden he’d taken on his shoulders. The same burden he was still uncertain why he’d taken upon himself to complete when he knew finer men than him had rejected it, given up on saving what couldn’t be saved. The realm was meant to die, and few had defied that fate. All those that had done so were only those terrified of dying, none who wished to live so much as they were afraid of dying.

So, she’d had him followed. Had she also seen whom he’d visited last night? Whom he’d watched sleep?

plz tell me it was her.. cuz OMG

Forcing her feet forward, she reached his side and put the daisy she’d picked on the way there right on the page he was reading, breaking his concentration even though it terrified her to do so—to disturb him, not because she was afraid of him. Strangely, she was not.

He looked at her then, his eyes raking slowly over her face. “She might not be wrong. I think you’re haunting me, too.”

“To be deemed strange by you is strange itself.”

“I can still sympathise, Azriel, even if you have a point. You can still say you miss rain even if you love sunshine. I feel for those that have lost their way, I feel for those who have been hurt because of those who have lost their way. One way or another, at some point, you will either condemn the villain, become one, follow one, or live long enough to see them corrupt everyone else. It’s the way of life. Unless you pick a weed out, whatever has sprouted around it will eventually die off.”

“Someone who can actually see that what stands between the meadow is indeed a weed. Weeds can look like flowers, you see. But the one who is able to recognise them, chose to pick the whole meadow even though he could see the weed, he’s lost faith that the weed hasn’t corrupted the roots of the other flowers.”

Why was Death angry at them? Why was he angry at all? Was she wrong to think he was angry? She didn’t know much about Death, she didn’t know much about the God of Life either, but the first had never interested her while she had sworn to serve the second when she wore her robes and abandoned whatever life she’d had before.

Life and Death were brothers.

Life was weaved with golden threads and Death with ones made of shadows.

When both had bestowed gifts upon the realms, Life had offered all that he was, an endlessness of it. That was until it had been Death’s turn to bestow his. Unlike his brother, he’d refrained himself from offering the endlessness of his own power. Could that be why? Because he went against his nature and d...

“Whether I like it or not doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he simply said, pushing his glasses back with a finger. “But whoever told you what you want, think, crave, desire, like or dislike doesn’t matter, certainly had you well convinced enough to make you believe it, too.”

“But it truly d...

“It does to you, ...

“I am no...

“You clearly are someone. You’re sat not even two feet away from me and I can ...

“Of impor...

“You’re important to you. One day you might be important to a friend, a lover, your chil...

“Again, you mean something to you. It should be enoug...

“What if it was?”

“I’d say refrain from causing yourself potential bodily harm. If this were a dream, I’d not be in it, and if it was a nightmare, I’d be hunting you.”

“Well, there was the poison, hoping you’d choke on the biscuits, the spiders in your bedding, and we can’t forget the cold compresses. I'm trying to freeze you to death, though I think you might freeze us all to death with your icy stare instead. But you’re smiling now, somehow.”

“It must be the poison.”