The Last Of Them

Willow

Willow Bax felt robbed. Just turned 26 and she'd stood by an open casket while clothed in black more times than she could count. She'd watched her civilization fall, her family die, her son born into a world of savagery and here she stood, numb, after the murder of the man she loved. Cassius screamed and squirmed in her arms, a constant reminder of the silent husband in the coffin below her. Coping was overrated, adapting was over done, and the only way Willow found herself alive was by repressing her emotions, keeping back the tide for the safety of those around her. 

To the side of her was Echo Bloodrift, the seemingly emotionless S.C.A.M agent sent to protect them from all harm. So far that hadn't really worked out, and Willow would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about confronting Echo armed with demon rage, but the two had a special bond. Echo had helped Willow through a lot even before the apocalypse began, and in turn Willow guided Echo on emotion-based matters. Echo's brother was in hospital, and that . . . Well, that was daunting for Echo. She was so used to protecting and yet here was a problem she couldn't solve. Of course, that in no way made up for the gaping hole Hylos had left in her heart, but this was an apocalypse, filled with blood and death and tears and not being able to say goodbye. At this point it was to be expected. 

Cassius kicked harder, causing her to wince in pain. Why did that hurt so much? His sapphire eyes looked up at her with glistening tears, and Willow wondered if her son was distressed for the same reason as her. Did he realise the absence of Daddy was the new normal. Another person gone. Another need to adjust.

Yes, Willow was sad. She was depressed in a way that opened up a cavity in her body and sucked out her soul, depressed in a way that made colours fade into dullness. But that was life. And as shown by recent events, she was powerless to stop it.