moonlit → sting eucliffe x reader (EDITING)

:Epilogue - A Brother's Grief:

A/N - Here it is, my friends. The epilogue. Have fun reading it, and stay turned for the AU after this.

R e c a p

Sting looked forward to the day where he could whip out a ring, bend down on one knee, and make her last name Eucliffe...

But that couldn't happen. Not anymore.

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Sting didn't hear any of it. He didn't want to hear any of it. The melancholy music played, although it was a rather sunny day. There was a hasty wake, and it was off to the graveyard. It was a sad march, step after step down the path. No one wanted to be there. No one wanted to see the (h/c) haired girl, her (e/c) eyes closed and her body lifeless.

But they were there anyway.

She had no living family, as far as her closest friends knew. Therefore, all who attended were wizards she'd known throughout her life. Although the day was bright, like nothing had happened, the mood was melancholy, a medly of depression playing amongst the minds of those who witnessed the scene.

The casket had been lowered into the ground. Lilacs, peonies, orchids, roses and an assortment of flowers were thrown, and the tender tears of many were shed.

.

.

.

.

.

Before they realized it, it'd been a month.

Then, another month...

A man with brown hair searched longingly, traveling the world until he reached Magnolia. He heard of the maiden who had passed on, and decided to visit her.

He was shocked. The gravestone was engraved, ever so delicately, printing the name of the girl, then the date of her birth and death. And kneeling in front of it, in front of him, was another man. He was murmuring to the grave, like the deceased woman could hear... and maybe she could.

He stood, and turned. He faced the brown haired man, with his dull cobalt eyes and ragged blond hair. He looked a bit surprised.

He muttered a soft apology, for he was in the man's way, and introduced himself.

The other man pardoned him and shook his hand, "Aiichiro."

The blond just nodded, still too numb to process anything much.

Not only until later did he realize, the man's last name was (L/N). But by the time he had finally realized, it was late. The man was probably gone.

But lo and behold, he was there. In his own sleeping bag, next to the grave, sleeping peacefully. A bouquet of white and (f/c) flowers was laid upon the grave.

A small candle was there as well, it's flame starting to flicker and its wick starting to droop. In the man's hand, was a letter. Not too far from it was another letter, placed tenderly atop the gravestone.

Sting grabbed the one in the man's hand.

Dear Aiichiro,
You're not dead, are you? Even though I've told someone of your 'death', I get the feeling you're alive. So, I'm sending this letter. To be frank, I think... I'm gonna die soon. Maybe. I don't want to tell anyone, and maybe no one will know if you don't get it. Lately I've been having trouble breathing, and I get extremely lightheaded.... I'm pretty sure that isn't normal. Pray for me, would you? I wanna know that someone out there is hoping for my survival. Honestly, I have a boyfriend now--and I think you'd like him. Pretty golden blond hair, and deep ocean blue eyes, that hold kindness just like yours do. It's funny that I'm thinking of these things, as a soon-to-be dead woman. My life wasn't perfect, and I don't think it will be, at least, not anymore. I've been rambling this whole letter. I have one thing to say, though. Send me a response if you're there, okay? Come to Magnolia and visit me. Even if I'm dead by then.

Yours truly,
(Y/N) (L/N)

Had she been aware of it the entire time? And- and how had she been able to accept it so easily? Leaving everything behind, and...

There was still the other letter to read.

Dear (Y/N),

The paper was stained with droplets, tears maybe.

The writing started to fade. From the corner of his eye, Sting could see the color fading from Aiichiro's skin.

Was he witnessing death at this very moment?

In his other hand, Aiichiro held a candle. One side white, the other black.

Life and death.

The white side was lit. Slowly but surely, the flame flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And it went out.

The black side was now lit.

It flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And the candle was put out completely.

An exchange of life forces.

And that night, the waltz of death was danced. A smooth lullaby of the grim reaper was played, a wolf howling in the distance, as nothing witnessed.

Nothing but,

The light of the moon.

Fin.