stain ☾ remus lupin

THIRTYEIGHT

It was no spell, nor was it a curse. It was a werewolf that delivered Freya's fate into her hands.

Claws scraped against her petite body, teeth threatened to clamp down on her, but they were never quite able to reach. She fell to the grass, much like she had in her haunting dream.

"Padfoot, change back! Someone has to bloody stop him!" James called as he watched the roaming werewolf with wide eyes. The creature had lost interest in the girl.

Tears splashed carelessly down the structured cheeks of Sirius Black and he dropped to his knees next to the body of his friend. From the distance, James's body changed into his animagus form in order to stop the werewolf from doing further damage.

As soon as Peter had seen he would be the next to fall after Freya, he had turned into the small rat. Without knowing it, the girl had accidentally shielded him. Though even if the outcome had turned to be a choice of sacrifice or safety, she would have chosen to save Peter either way. On accident or on purpose.

A guilty feeling filled the Black descendant, and he knew that once this scene of his play-like life was over, he would blame no one but himself for letting the curtain fall.

This play couldn't be anything but a tragedy.

"Freya!"

He grasped for her pale hand, her blood covered arm, her weak shoulder — anything he could hold onto. Sirius's calloused palms cupped around her angelic face as she looked above her, pupils boasting an image of the same bright white moon. The damned orb in the night sky.

She was unable to hear anything, nothing at all. Not even the sound of Sirius repeating her name, each time with more panic in his voice, as if it were him on the chilly grass, life fading from his own body.

A tear that she couldn't feel fell from her wide, azure eyes and crawled down her nose. It combined with the blood stains on her cheeks that mixed also with her scattered freckles. She had once despised the birth marks, but it was somewhat amusing that now as she faced the end, no hatred was felt at all.

Throughout her childhood, she'd heard stories of how when you were on the brink of lifelessness, the very edge of death, all you could see was your life flashing before your eyes. She felt a bit idiotic, slow to the brain, for all she could see were scattered images. Scattered memories. Everything out of order. A chaos that she she knew would soon stop suddenly, and never show again.

She didn't blame Remus at all, in fact, the thought of him having anything to do with her fate never once crossed her mind. It was a curse, a werewolf, a monster that did her in. The boy she loved had nothing to do with it.

"S-Sirius," her voice was both extremely thick and hoarse.

"I'm here, Freya," he masked his own tone as to not concern her, "I'm here, you're going to be alright."

"I don't think I'm quite ready to die," she whispered, voice breaking towards the end.

"You won't," Sirius argued, this time not able to hide the emotion in his words, "Freya, damnit, you're going to be alright. Fuck, we'll all be alright!"

But she still couldn't hear. She barely even notice that her red haired friend bent down beside her. The knees of Lily's black jeans were muddied, and her hands were covered in Freya's blood.

"Lily . . . She can't hear you," Sirius's voice cracked as the girl attempted to stop the waterfall of blood that cascaded down from Freya's arm.

The fiery haired witch abruptly attempted to push him away, "Yes she can!"

A shaky breath was inhaled from Freya's lips. The same lips that were frequently seen attached to Remus's. The same lips that muttered hundreds of "I love you's" to her boyfriend. The same lips that were once stained by lipsticks of dark red were now covered as well in droplets of brighter blood. This created an intimidating and unfamiliar effect on her pale face. Crumbled leaves attached to her flaxen hair, dusty dirt with her pallid skin, and mortality with her last breaths.

Freya lifted her arm up, which made her tremble as she did so, and she reached across Sirius's body and towards the atmosphere. She only wanted one last touch of the universe that was captured inside Remus's warm eyes.

Soon enough the extended hand fell from where it had temporarily grasped the night sky. It thudded to the cold ground like a shooting star grazing over the Earth's surface, and Freya moved no more.

mischief managed.

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AUTHORS NOTE:
sorry bout it