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“Children, let me tell you all a story,” said the lady as she sat down among the verdant greens of the garden, her gentle voice carried by the wind like a lullaby.
“A story,” she continued, her eyes shimmering with distant memory, “of a lonely girl and the boy beyond the sky.”
The children leaned in closer, curiosity gleaming in their innocent eyes, captivated by the gentle cadence of her voice.
Once upon a time, there lived a lonely girl—an unusual maiden, one born not of joy, but of solemn duty. She was a maiden of war, a bearer of a sacred, burdensome task: the guide of souls, the hand that ushered the dead across the veil of the nether realm.
Her touch, soft as it may seem, carried finality. Even the most stubborn of souls found rest at her fingertips. But she did not rejoice in her gift—far from it. She loathed it. She had seen the faces of those who longed to live, those who pleaded for one more chance, and with her hand, she silenced them.
All her life, she yearned not for power nor peace, but for warmth. The warmth of a single touch, the gentleness of an embrace shared with someone who wouldn’t slip into silence at her caress. She longed for a connection—true, raw, and real. One forged not from obligation, but from love.
Yet, year after year, century after century, her arms remained empty. The only ones she held were the cold and lifeless.
Then, one day, a boy appeared. He was not of her world. He came from beyond the sky—awkward yet determined, his eyes alight with the fire of discovery. His heart seemed bound to the stars, as though he was destined to trailblaze across the unknown.
He joined her and her acquaintances, speaking in strange but warm words. For the first time, the girl felt something stir inside her—a sense of calm, a sliver of ease. They talked for hours. And in those moments, she forgot who she was.
Then came the fateful day. A monster’s wrath sent the boy hurtling toward her—into her embrace, if only for a fleeting second. Her heart sank, fearing the worst. Yet… he didn’t die. No illness, no withering of the soul. He stood. Alive.
Could it be? Was he untouched by her curse?
Hope bloomed within her. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could have something more. So, she swore to protect him. Wherever they went, she was at his side, and he at hers. Missions, struggles, quiet moments—all shared between them. They cared. Deeply.
But the truth came sooner than she had wished. The boy, whom she believed was immune, was not. He had long since accepted death. He had been dead all along, clinging to what remained of a memory.
Devastated, she met him again in a garden—a quiet place of blossoms and birdsong. There, she reached out. This time, she felt it.
Cold. He was gone.
Unwilling to surrender to fate, she sought answers. Her companions, wise and worldly, spoke of a final chance. There was one way to save him—by confronting the one they called the Reaper.
With her resolve hardened, she and the boy ventured deep into a city cloaked in twilight, where Death ruled. The sea of lost souls rose to meet them, whispering forgotten names.
The boy never left her side. Together, they braved every peril, their bond unshaken. And in the heart of that desolate place, they stood before Death.
In a clash of will and purpose, they prevailed. But it came with a price.
The girl offered herself. To become what she once loathed—Death itself. Yet now, she understood. It was not cruelty, but love that guided the Reaper’s hand.
Amid the fields of ethereal flowers tended with care, she accepted her fate. In return, the boy would live again.
But before their farewell, they embraced. For the first time—truly. She felt his warmth. She saw his smile. And with that final gift, she sent him back to the realm of the living.
They made a promise: to meet again in a new world. To hold one another, unburdened and free.
“The end,” said the lady, her story complete.
The children sat in silence, some teary-eyed. Then, a small hand shot into the air.
“Mama Castorice! I have a question!” called a young boy with grey hair and sparkling purple eyes.
Castorice smiled, her presence gentle and warm, her hands folded on her lap.
“Go ahead, dear. Ask what you wish,” she replied, her voice soft like a whispered song.
“Did they ever meet again?”
She approached the boy and gently patted his head. Her touch was warm—no longer burdened by her past.
“They did,” she said with a serene smile.
The boy leapt with joy, while the other children clapped excitedly.
It was a tale she often told them, though they never seemed to tire of it.
Just then, footsteps echoed softly down the garden path. The children turned their heads.
“Auntie Aglaea!” they exclaimed, rushing toward the approaching woman with eager smiles.
The tall lady chuckled as she patted each child’s head affectionately. “Now now, give me some room to breathe,” she laughed.
As the children scattered, Aglaea approached Castorice.
“Castorice,” she greeted warmly, “it’s been a while.”
“Indeed it has, Lady Aglaea.”
“Drop the ‘Lady,’ will you? We're family,” Aglaea said with a playful smirk.
Castorice returned the smile. “Very well. What brings you here, Aglaea?”
“Your husband has arrived for his annual visit.”
At those words, Castorice’s expression softened, her eyes shining.
“Then let’s go greet our dear visitor from beyond the sky.”
“Yes,” Aglaea agreed, “let’s.”
Together, they and the children made their way to the edge of the city, where a makeshift train station awaited.
There, under the blooming sky, a radiant light descended, stopping at the station with a gentle hiss. The doors opened.
A man with gray hair stepped out.
“FATHER!” the children cried in unison as they ran into his arms.
Castorice moved forward and helped him up with a smile.
“Thanks, Cas…”
“No problem, Caelus.”
On their fingers, rings glinted in the sunlight—etched with ancient vows, a symbol of a love that endured even beyond life.
No longer burdened by fate, no longer shackled by sorrow.
The world had been saved.
And now, their story could truly begin.
—The End.