Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.
She
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle glow over the cemetery. Shadows played among the gravestones, and a soft breeze whispered through the trees, carrying a sense of calm that I hadn't felt in a long time. I stood before Jo's gravestone, the cool stone beneath my hand a stark reminder of her absence, but also a steady anchor in the stillness of the night.
In my other hand, I held a small bundle of photographs. These were snapshots of our life together, frozen moments that seemed to exist in a world separate from the one I lived in now. There were silly poses, candid shots, and quiet moments that captured the essence of who we were. I felt a tug at my heart, not as sharp as it once was, but still there—a reminder of what I'd lost.
Kneeling down, I placed the photographs in a small ceramic bowl and struck a match. The flame flickered, casting a brief, warm light on Jo's name etched in the stone. I watched as the fire took hold, curling the edges of the photos before transforming them into ash and smoke.
"Hey, Jo," I murmured, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. "I guess I'm still hanging around here, talking to a gravestone like you're gonna answer back."
The fire crackled softly, the warmth comforting in the cool night air. I found myself smiling, not out of joy, but from the familiarity of it all. The world kept moving, but these memories—they were still mine, still alive in the flicker of a flame.
"I'm doing my best, you know?" I said, my fingers tracing the name on the gravestone. "Trying to keep going. But man, it's hard without you."
A soft laugh escaped me, mingling with the rustling leaves. "You always knew how to keep me grounded. I think about that a lot. And I think you'd find it funny, what I've gotten myself into lately. You always did love a good story."
The fire began to die down, leaving behind a pile of ashes that the wind quickly carried away. For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel the crushing weight of loss as much as a bittersweet fondness. It was still painful, but in a way that was starting to feel... bearable.
Leaning back against the gravestone, I let out a deep breath. The stars twinkled overhead, no longer indifferent, but somehow more comforting—like they were watching over me, and maybe over her too.
"I'm trying to move forward," I continued, quieter now, almost as if I was sharing a secret. "But it doesn't mean I'm leaving you behind. I'm just finding a new way to carry you with me, a way that doesn't hurt so much."
I stayed there a while longer, letting the stillness of the night wrap around me. It wasn't perfect. The grief was still there, but it was different, less suffocating.
As the first light of dawn began to touch the horizon, I stood up, feeling the night's chill in my bones. "I'll be back soon," I promised, giving the gravestone one last gentle touch. "But don't wait up. I've got things to do, and I'm pretty sure you've got some heavenly mischief to manage."
With one final glance at Jo's name, I turned and made my way back down the path, the familiar weight in my chest a little lighter than before. There was still a long way to go.
As I was leaving the cemetery, the early morning sun just beginning to warm the earth, I caught sight of Coffee near the gates. She stood out in her usual way, a slender figure with an ethereal aura that made her seem more like a ghost than a vampire. Her hands were full, balancing a basket of something that, knowing her, was probably food.
When she saw me, her face lit up with a small, shy smile that made her look almost human—almost. I waved, feeling a mix of surprise and a bit of dread. Last time she brought food, I was sure I'd been poisoned, or at least close to it. But the look in her eyes, the way they softened at the sight of me, made it impossible to turn away.
"Hey, Coffee," I greeted, walking over to her.
"Hey," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She held up the basket, her gaze dropping to it like it was some kind of offering. "I brought some food. I thought you might be hungry."
The thought of eating whatever was in that basket made my stomach tighten, but the way she looked at me—so hopeful, so eager to do something—how could I refuse?
"That's really thoughtful of you," I said, accepting the basket with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "Why don't we head back together?"
As we walked back to Jo's grave, the air was filled with the quiet sounds of the morning—the rustle of leaves, and the distant chirping of birds. The basket in my hand felt heavier with each step, knowing what was inside and who it was meant for.
Coffee was quiet, her usual silence amplified by the solemnity of the moment. When we reached the grave, she knelt down, her hands gentle as she placed a small, neatly wrapped portion of food at the base of the gravestone. She bowed her head for a moment, as if in silent prayer, before looking up at me.
"Do you think she'll like it?" she asked softly, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and uncertainty.
I smiled gently, even though I wasn't sure what to say. "I think she'd appreciate the gesture, Coffee."
Coffee nodded, her expression softening. "I just wanted to do something for her. To let her know we're still thinking about her."
She reached into the basket and pulled out another small bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a portion of the same stew she'd packed. "I brought some for you, too."
I knelt beside her, placing my hand on Jo's gravestone. "She knows. And I think she'd be touched that you're taking care of me, too."
I took the offered food, and even though I'd already eaten, I didn't have the heart to refuse. "Thanks, Coffee."
As I took a bite, I couldn't help but wince slightly. It was still a challenge to eat, but I managed, reminding myself that it was the thought that counted. Coffee watched me closely, her eyes full of concern, but I forced a smile.
"It's better than the last batch," I said, and to my surprise, it was. Not by much, but enough that I could manage a few more bites without grimacing.
"I've been practicing," she said, her voice tinged with both pride and self-consciousness. "Cooking helps. It keeps my mind busy."
I nodded, understanding all too well. We both needed something to hold onto, something to keep the grief from swallowing us whole. For her, it was cooking; for me, it was moments like this—quiet, shared moments that reminded me I wasn't alone.
We sat there in silence for a while, the morning sun gradually warming the air around us. Coffee seemed at peace, her gaze fixed on Jo's gravestone, as if she could somehow communicate with her through sheer will.
After a while, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think she'd be proud of us?"
I thought about it for a moment, letting the question settle in the air. "Yeah, I think she would. She'd probably laugh at us for being so serious, though. She always did have a way of finding the humor in everything."
Coffee smiled at that, a small, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "She was special."
"She was," I agreed, my voice thick with emotion. "And she still is."
As we finally stood to leave, I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. The grief was still there, a constant companion, but it was starting to feel less like a burden and more like a part of who I was—a part I could live with.
Coffee and I walked back to my place in comfortable silence, the basket much lighter now. When we got to the front door, she hesitated, looking up at me with that shy, uncertain expression again.
"Thank you, Shay," she said softly. "For… for letting me share this with you."
"Thank you for being here, Coffee," I replied, meaning every word. "And, you know, for not poisoning me."
She giggled, the sound like a small bell ringing in the quiet morning. "I'm getting better. Maybe next time, it'll actually taste good."
I chuckled. "I'm counting on it."
As I watched her walk away, I felt a strange sense of lightness, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a long, dark night. It wasn't much, but it was something—a small step forward. And right now, that was more than enough.
(...)
I was sitting in my English class, bored. The teacher was explaining something about poets and love, but to be honest, I wasn't bloody impressed. Alex, on the other hand, was busily writing down all the bits of information. I flicked away the eraser crumb I was rolling on the table. The tiny crumb accidentally landed in the teacher's open mouth. Oops.
The next moment chaos erupted, as the teacher successfully swallowed the eraser crumb. She then demanded the identity of the culprit with a mad screech, and when no one came forward, threatened us all and stomped out of the room.
"Let's go to the canteen," I suggested and stood up.
By this time the rest of the class had recovered and were either packing or talking.
"Hang on, mate, I'm in the middle of a love crisis," Alex said, pulling me back into my seat.
"What?" I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"You're not going to rehash your heartbreak over Encsi again, are you? Because if you are, I'm seriously going to leave you here."
"Just look at this," he insisted, subtly handing me two sheets of paper. One was peach-colored with a dog-eared edge. I started reading that one first.
[Dear Alex,
I love your smile. My heart races every time I look at you, every day I long to be closer to you.]
Who could be the unfortunate one who fell for this bastard? — I thought and glanced at the other, pale pink note.
[Dear Alex,
I love it when you say feudalism. I had no idea anyone could say such an ugly word in a sexy way.]
Oh, my God. This is fucking disgusting.
Yet, as I looked at him, I could see that Alex had a very different opinion. He looked like an excited teenage boy on his first date. I sighed deeply and looked towards his notebook. It was only then that I noticed that he wasn't flicking through the class material so avidly, but the names of the girls in our class. He had crossed out a few of them, but most of them were still in question.
"Now, who do you think it could be?" he grinned excitedly.
Dude, I really don't care.
"I don't know," I said and patted him on the shoulder, "But good for you, you have your first secret admirer."
With that, I stood up to finally make my way to the buffet. But I abruptly stopped not far from the classroom.
"Mose," I murmured ominously.
Three plans ran through Moses' mind at once. The first possibility was that he would try to pretend not to hear the angry voice while praying to be made invisible. The second option was to turn around, get down on his knees, and beg for his life. His third and most sympathetic thought was to summon all his strength and take off running, hoping the other would not have the taste to chase him through the school in public — but as Moses was not known for his luck, he was stuck in an alternate state and simply tripped over his own feet.
I grabbed his shirt and stood him up. He avoided my gaze, which was never a good thing. Neither did the fact that he smelled of magic, and not of the purest kind.
"What the fuck have you done?" I demanded.
"I... er..." he muttered.
I let him go. "You know what, don't answer. I'm not interested in your excuses."
With that, I turned around.
"Wait..." he said quietly, as I stopped and looked back.
"I was just trying out a few things," he began defensively, "It was really nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" I retorted mockingly. "If you dabble in a shade darker magic and a hunter catches wind of it, he'll slit your throat without a second thought."
"What?" he asked back stupidly.
"You heard me right," I said, "You've been using 'almost dark' magic."
"But it was just a simple protection spell," he whispered.
"With a blood sacrifice?" I asked.
"I only needed a drop of my own," he muttered, "I chose this because I didn't need my own magic for it."
Indeed, blood magic didn't always involve the use of magic power, it usually involved using the droplets of life energy in the blood. In any case, the greater mages combined the two, and these were the most dangerous spells — which is why they were eventually classified as 'dark'. Not everyone used their own, and not everyone used just a drop of blood.
"Do you really want to get involved in this?" I asked irritably. "How do you defend yourself if you're attacked? Mages have to fear not just the Crosspherat, but also monsters. There are no rules on the borders. To hunters, mages are dangerous monsters in human skins; to monsters, they're dangerous, despicable humans."
For a few moments, we were silent.
"Forget it," I began, which managed to surprise him, "Humans come and go, that's just the way it is. That's why I've decided to stop caring for humans."
I walked away. Mose stood there for a few moments, staring at nothing and frowning worriedly. Then he felt again the barely perceptible magic leaping into the air. The tracking spell was quite willful, but he finally managed to break it.