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Icy opened her eyes with a heaviness that was more mental than physical. Her body, exhausted from a rest that didn’t restore her, could no longer keep pretending to be asleep. She looked at the bedside table; the digital clock read 11:45 a.m. Another midday had arrived unannounced, offering her nothing but the same painful routine of emptiness that was slowly killing her.
The autumn sun slipped thru the gaps in the curtains, which, in her drunken stupor, she had forgotten to close the nite before. That ray of sunlight illuminated a dance of dust motes swirling in the air, insignificant particles in a universe that, for Icy, had come to a standstill. With a pang in her stomach, Icy recalled how Bloom always said that the October light had a Sunday feel. Those were the days when they stayed in their pajamas and lost track of time. Now, that observation had become a curse. Every day, whether it was Tuesday or Friday, October or December, was imbued with that Sunday languor, yet devoid of its charm. It was an eternal Sunday, an endless loop of silence and waiting in a void that never filled.
Her gaze drifted to the space beside her, to that half of the bed that remained immaculate. The pillows were perfectly arranged and the sheets stretched without a single wrinkle, forming a contrast with the chaos on her own side. That orderly territory was physical proof that something fundamental was missing. Icy sighed and got up, tripping over a blanket lying on the floor.
The house was silent, a palpable silence that had settled in permanently since that damned disease had taken the life of her beloved. In the hallway, photographs still hung on the walls: Bloom and she, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, laughing in some street market; embracing by the sea at a summer sunset; sharing an ice cream. They were smiles frozen in time, a joy that now felt inappropriate to her. Icy ran her fingers over the dusty frame of one of them; they weren’t just photos, they were a reminder of a world that no longer existed.
On the small table that adorned the living room was a little altar of melancholy. Cigaret butts piled in the ashtray, a couple of empty liquor bottles, and the most sacred object in that space: Bloom’s mug. The very one that had been gathering dust in the same spot for months. Icy would sometimes approach and gently clean around her, taking care not to touch or erase the trace of Bloom’s lipstick. It was a relic, and defiling it would have been like losing it a second time.
Many things in the apartment remained the same: a patch of dried paint on the floor, testament to an artistic project abandoned forever; a strand of red hair caught in the bristles of a brush that was no longer used; and the closet, a chaos of clothes that still carried Bloom’s scent. Everything the redhead had touched, everything she had loved, was still there, frozen in time, as if the world had stopped in October, the precise moment when death had taken her away.
Icy turned on the coffee maker out of habit alone, even tho she hadn’t had coffee in a long time, because the taste reminded her of mornings spent together. She watched the liquid drip and, with irritation, thot the machine was making too much noise, profaning the sacred silence and the sadness that soaked the walls of the house. It was a noise that belonged to the world of the living, and she no longer felt part of it.
While Icy remained there, a prisoner of her grief, the outside world continued its indifferent, festive march. Sharp children’s laughter, lively voices, and the constant murmur of a life that, for others, flowed on as normal could be heard. The store windows had been transformed into a display of orange, black, and purple, crammed with smiling plastic pumpkins, skulls with glowing eyes, hanging bats, and fake cobwebs. Halloween, again. A date laden with an unbearable emotional weight. It was one of the times Bloom loved most, the season when her creative and playful spirit shone brightest, planning elaborate costumes and decorating every corner with contagious enthusiasm. And it was precisely for that reason that Icy had come to hate this day with all her heart. The carved pumpkins, the ghost garlands, and the smell of candy were nothing more than stabs to the heart. Because they only reminded her of the absence of her beloved.
"Are you really going to keep ignoring Halloween?" Bloom had once said to her, in that mischievous tone that always managed to make her smile. Icy could clearly picture her in her mind, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, arms crossed and a mischievous smile on her face.
"It's a children's party." Icy had replied, trying to maintain her natural serious, cold tone, although a small smile was trying to break thru on her lips. Bloom’s mere presence was enough to melt her.
"Then perfect. Because you’re the most immature and grumpy person I know." Bloom replied, closing the distance between them and intertwining her fingers with Icy’s. "And that's why I love you, my adorable grumpy kitty. Now, stop complaining because I need you to help me hang these fake spiderwebs."
Icy smiled at the memory. It was an unconscious gesture, a reflection of the soul that, for a moment, forgot its grief. A warm sensation stirred in her chest, melting the ice that covered her heart. She missed her adorable, mischievous little pixie so much, as she used to call her affectionately. That was Bloom’s unique and irreplaceable magic: turning any resistance into a game, any wall into an open door. She possessed the gift of finding the crack in Icy’s armor and slipping thru it, not to tear it down but to inhabit that private space and make it her home.
But then the kitchen clock blared a shrill beep as it struck 12:00 p.m., and the curve on Icy’s lips vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The warm feeling in her chest turned into a sudden chill. Those days of laughter and complicity were gone forever.
She poured the coffee into the same old mug, one Bloom had given her, knowing full well she wouldn’t drink it. She remained motionless, her gaze lost in the swirling steam. Silence, meanwhile, reclaimed the space, swallowing everything and leaving only the dull, solitary thud of her heart.
Sometimes, in the quietest moments, I thot I heard footsteps in the next room, or the sweet, clear sound of an angelic laugh that used to fill every corner of the house. She would stop dead in her tracks, holding her breath, hoping that reality would return to her, if only for a second, the essence of what she had lost. But she found nothing. They were mirages of her exhausted mind, phantoms conjured by habit and longing, cruel tricks of an imagination that refused to accept the new, desolate order of things.
Time, indifferent to her inner stagnation, continued its inexorable course. The daylight turned into long, faint orange rays of sunset, which filtered thru the windows and cast melancholy shadows on the kitchen floor. Icy was still in the same position, with the cold mug in her hands. She hadn’t eaten absolutely anything. The act of eating had become a biological necessity that her grief cruelly and effectively suppressed.
A sudden shiver, brought on by the cold that was beginning to seep into her bones, abruptly snapped her back to the reality of the dark room. She got up with mechanical movements, grabbed the first jacket she found hanging on the coat rack, and left the house without a clear destination, driven by the instinct to flee the oppressive silence that hung heavy within those four walls.
The streets buzzed with festive energy. Groups of children in monster and superhero masks dashed from door to door, pumpkin-shaped buckets in hand, chanting the familiar “Trick or treat?” Some parents, bundled up in warm coats, kept a close eye on their little ones, carrying thermoses of hot chocolate. Life, cheerful and carefree, went on.
In the store window, a large, eye-catching sign was displayed: 'Celebrate Halloween with the one you love most!' The cheesy, direct phrase struck her right in the chest. Icy immediately looked away, feeling a wave of heat rush to her face, and entered the store more out of an instinct to escape than out of any real need, just to avoid having to face that message again, which underscored the loneliness she carried tattooed on her soul.
Icy wandered aimlessly thru the endless aisles, like a specter among the deals and the cheerful shoppers. It was her way of killing time, a miserable excuse to delay the moment of going home. She grabbed two packs of cigarets and a bottle of wine, the basic elements of her ritual of oblivion. However, her feet stopped in front of the candy aisle. A sharp pain pierced her chest. Bloom always insisted on buying the best quality ones, the ones with the creamiest chocolate or the shiniest packaging. "We're not going to give away sugary junk, Icy. I don’t want to be the neighbor who breaks kids’ hearts by being stingy." She said with a radiant smile and a wink, convinced that ensuring a child’s happiness on Halloween was a very important neighborhood responsibility. Icy, her throat tight, reached out and took a large, expensive bag—the kind Bloom would have chosen.
When she returned to the apartment, only the dim light greeted her. She slammed the bag of candy onto the entryway table. No children came knocking at her door; there wasn’t even any decoration to invite them. Without turning on the light, Icy simply opened the bottle of wine and filled the first glass she grabbed—an ordinary tumbler that didn’t deserve the ceremony of a wine glass—to the brim. The first sip was long and bitter, but she didn’t care about the taste, she only craved the instant oblivion that the alcohol promised at the bottom of the glass.
At some point during the night, the silence became so unbearable that it began to weigh on her physically, so seeking comfort, Icy unlocked her phone and opened the video folder. The screen lit up with a memory recorded two years ago, on another Halloween. In it, Bloom appeared dancing with enchanting grace in front of the camera. She wore a sky-blue dress and large, shimmering fairy wings. She seemed like the very embodiment of joy, a being of pure light. And there, at the edge of the frame, you could see Icy’s arm holding the phone. She was, of course, wearing a witch costume, complete with a pointy hat, at Bloom’s request. "Every good fairy needs her grumpy witch to protect her." She had told her, and Icy, tho grumbling, had agreed, because she was incapable of denying her anything that made her smile like that. Now, that arm in the video was the closest she could get to touching her again.
"You promised you'd give the kids the candy this year, Icy!" Bloom's voice, full of mischief, vibrated in the room.
Icy stood completely still. Hearing that voice, so longed-for and familiar, was like being stabbed in the center of her chest. A dry gasp escaped her lips. She brought a hand to her heart, as if she could contain the open wound that bled with nostalgia. The image on the screen kept moving, but for her, the world had stopped in that moment of painful happiness.
"I lied." Icy whispered to the screen, her voice broken and laden with guilt. The tears she had struggled to hold back blurred her vision; one fell and slid down the screen. "I hate Halloween... I hate it because you’re not here anymore." The confession came from the depths of her soul.
The video kept playing. In a spontaneous and adorable shot, Bloom got too close to the camera. Her face, with its beautiful freckles and blue eyes, filled the entire screen. It was a ghost just inches from her face. So close that Icy could feel the warmth of its breath caressing her skin. The illusion was so powerful that she recoiled instinctively. And then Bloom spoke again, whispering tenderly:
"It doesn't matter. I love you, even if you’re a bitter, grumpy witch." She laughed. "I'll always do it."
It was the last straw, literally. The glass Icy was holding slipped from her numb fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling wine onto the carpet. And in the midst of it all, Bloom’s recorded laughter, carefree and full of overwhelming enthusiasm, continued to reverberate thru the room. Icy covered her ears tightly, but the sound wouldn’t stop because it wasn’t coming from outside; it resonated from the depths of her skull, cruelly reminding her of the magnitude of everything she had lost forever.
Suddenly, the ghostly laughter in the video was joined by the annoying sound of the doorbell, followed by children’s choruses coming from the front door.
"Trick or treat."
Icy squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, seeing bursts of light behind her eyelids, wishing the whole world would disappear, with its stupid parties and happy children. She wanted to be left alone, immersed in the only company she had left: her pain.
"Trick or treat!" The high-pitched voices insisted, tapping impatiently on the door. Icy tried to ignore them and sink deeper into the sofa, into the wine, into the misery that was her new habitat, building a wall around herself with the wreckage of her past life.
Until the noise escalated. They were no longer gentle taps, but a solid punch—the raw, innocent force of a child who didn’t understand grief, loss, or adult pain. That blow broke the spell of her confinement. Icy jumped to her feet, staggering from the wine and the shock, and had to brace herself against the wall to keep from falling. Her eyes were bloodshot and moist, but they sparkled with a lucid, dangerous fury. She crossed the room in long, unsteady strides and slammed the door open.
"Leave me alone!" She shouted, her voice pulverized by visceral pain. "She's gone!" Don't you understand? It’s gone!"
The children, a small group of superheroes and princesses, recoiled in unison, their smiles dissolving in fear at the sight of that emaciated woman, her eyes red and her face contorted with rage. Without saying a word, they quickly turned around and ran down the stairs, the sound of their hurried footsteps mingling with the clatter of candy falling from their pumpkin-shaped containers in their haste.
A deeper, more guilty silence than before descended upon the house. Icy breathed heavily. The fury that had driven her to stand up dissipated instantly, leaving a frigid void in its place. She brought a hand to her chest; her heart was beating in an erratic, painful rhythm. And meanwhile, on the floor, the cell phone kept playing the video of Bloom, that happy, carefree version from an irretrievable past. Icy wiped away her tears with an angry swipe of her hand.
"What's the point of all this if you're not here?" The question, worn out from being repeated so many times, echoed in the silence with a chilling clarity. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be the same again.
Defeated by the truth, she slumped heavily onto the sofa. She turned off her phone screen, stifling Bloom’s laughter, and tossed the device somewhere on the coffee table. Her hand found the only comfort left to her: the bottle of wine. There was no glass this time.
«Just one more time», she lied to herself, knowing it was the same lie she had told yesterday, last week, and the month before. A hollow promise that was always renewed at nightfall. Nevertheless, the thot sharpened, becoming more specific and heartbreaking. «I just want to see you one more time... even if it's just for a minute. Just one minute», without hesitating, she brought the bottle to her lips, but she didn't drink; she choked on the alcohol. She gulped and gulped urgently. The wine had become her only clock, marking the passage of minutes by the dwindling level of liquid.
In the end, the empty bottle rolled across the table. Outside, the festive hubbub, the children’s shouts, and the murmur of the crowd gradually died away, one by one. Icy couldn’t remember when she had started crying again, the tears had simply reappeared, tracing her cheeks in a silent river that needed no reason, because the reason was everything.
She got up with difficulty and walked to the window like a sleepwalker. She pressed her forehead against the glass, her reflection stared back at her from the darkness, pale, with dark circles under her eyes and swollen eyelids.
The city looked distant, shrouded in mist. Some lights flickered, others went out. The clock already read 11:59 p.m. A heavy sigh escaped her lips. There were only seconds left until the end of the day Bloom loved most, and it was slipping thru her fingers like sand, unable to hold on to even a single grain of its essence.
She turned with a heavy heart toward the table, where the bag of candy lay untouched. It was the first time they had broken the tradition, failed those costumed hearts, and guilt compounded the pain. As she blinked, fluttering her damp eyelashes, she saw one of those very candies move. It was just a slight tremor, as if a gust of air had pushed it. But it was impossible. The windows were sealed; there was no wind in the room. And even if there were, a breeze would never be able to move something as heavy and solid as a piece of candy.
Suddenly, a shiver, unrelated to the alcohol or the ambient cold, ran up his spine, raising goosebumps on his arms and the nape of his neck. She didn’t have time to process the strange sensation that overwhelmed her, because at that moment a soft, golden light of celestial purity filtered thru the window, illuminating the room with a glow that soothed the soul. Within that beam of light, the dust motes swirling in the air ceased to be mere particles and transformed into a swarm of dancing sparks. On the table, the screen of his cell phone lit up on its own, playing a melancholic and heart-wrenching melody:
Oh, my love, my darling,
I've hungered for you touch
A long, lonely time
The particles of light began to coalesce, spinning in an increasingly defined vortex, forming a silhouette out of nothing. Icy was left speechless, her breath caught in her throat. In the epicenter of that celestial light, materialized by nostalgia and longing, Bloom stood. It wasn’t a blurry shadow or an hallucination induced by alcohol and pain. It was her, with her long hair cascading in fiery waves. She wore a radiant version of her favorite Halloween costume: a fairy dress that glowed with its own light, as if woven from stardust. Her eyes, those beautiful, deep-blue lakes, gazed steadily at her, holding a universe of emotions: an ocean of unconditional love, infinite sorrow at their forced separation, and a supernatural peace that calmed the tempest in Icy’s heart.
And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?
"My love..." Bloom whispered softly, but her voice didn’t travel thru the air; it arose directly in Icy’s mind and heart, piercing the impenetrable veil between life and death. It reverberated in the deepest recesses of her being, healing and tearing apart at the same time. "We only have a moment."
Icy took a wobbly step back, her legs numb from alcohol and shock, were about to give way. Her heart was pounding with savage force, a frenetic hammering that seemed about to burst thru her ribs and literally fly toward the apparition illuminating the room.
"No... it's not real." Icy murmured, clenching her fists in a fragile attempt to cling to reason, to the logical world where the dead did not return. But every fiber of her being, every particle of her shattered soul, cried out to believe and surrender to the miracle before her eyes. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and tears flooded her pale cheeks in silent rivers. "Bloom..." She spoke in a thread of a voice, torn by the knot of disbelief that was squeezing her throat. "I-is that you? Is it really you?"
I need your love
I need your love
Godspeed your love to me
"It's me, love." Bloom smiled, that warm smile that had melted the inner ice in Icy’s heart so many years ago. She reached out her hand to her, a gesture so natural and full of confidence as if time and death had never existed. "Will you dance with me?"
Icy, mesmerized by the miracle before her, took a step forward. It wasn’t a conscious movement, it was the inevitable response of her being, drawn by a magnetic force that transcended the physical and resonated in her soul. She reached out a trembling hand, advancing cautiously, fearing that the slightest breath, the briefest blink, would make Bloom vanish in a sigh. Her fingers touched those of her beloved. They weren’t entirely warm; there was an ethereal coolness to them, yet they possessed an unexpected solidity that instantly reminded her of the countless times their hands had intertwined as they walked thru the city, rested on the breakfast table, or lay on their shared pillow.
"Don't go..." Icy pled, her voice breaking with a sob, as she squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to etch this feeling into her skin forever. Her other hand rose, groping blindly thru the air until it found Bloom’s face. The tips of her fingers traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, the silky skin beneath her eyes, the familiar outline of her lips. So real. So incredibly real. A ragged sound, a gasp mixed with a sigh, escaped her lips. "Don't leave me alone..." She pled, gently sinking her fingers into Bloom’s hair. "Please, not again... I couldn’t bear it."
Lonely rivers flow
To the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea, yeah
Bloom’s gaze softened even further, taking on a sweetness capable of healing anyone’s heart. An unfathomable love shone in her eyes, offsetting the sorrow that also dwelled within them. The pain of knowing that this was only a loan from the afterlife. She leaned into Icy’s touch, placing her hand over her beloved’s, which was still caressing her face.
"You’re not alone, Icy. You never were." Bloom whispered. She gently guided Icy to the center of the room, to that spot where the golden light was most intense. They drew closer, and she gently placed her hands on Icy’s shoulders, which were shaking with soft sobs. They began a slow dance, a waltz for two souls that fate had separated but that love, in a moment stolen from eternity, was reuniting.
Lonely rivers sigh
"Wait for me, wait for me"
I'll be coming home, wait for me
Icy clung to her tightly. Her arms closed around Bloom’s waist, as if the sheer force of her embrace could weld together the fragments of her shattered world. She buried her face in the hollow of Bloom’s shoulder, seeking her essence. The familiar, earthy warmth she remembered wasn’t there, only a serene coolness, a comforting chill that, nevertheless, was a thousand times better than absolute emptiness. Bloom rested her cheek on Icy’s shoulder. They remained like that, swaying to the rhythm of the music.
Oh, my love, my darling
I've hungered, hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time
For a moment, a perfect instant stolen from time, Icy’s reality dissolved. She closed her eyes and, in the darkness behind her eyelids, believed with all her might that it had all been a horrible nightmare. That the cruel diagnosis, the slow decline, the silence of the funeral, and the endless nites in a half-empty bed… none of it had happened. That this embrace, this dance, was the natural continuation of their life together. The pain receded, and only the two of them existed, entwined in the dim light.
And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still me?
The song’s final measure was approaching, and with it, the imminent farewell. Bloom stepped back slightly, urgently searching for Icy’s eyes. Love and sadness were waging a battle within her.
"You don't have to keep waiting for me." Bloom whispered to her, smiling wistfully. Although that gesture was still beautiful.
"No..." Icy shook her head vehemently, refusing to accept the painful truth. Tears streamed down her lips in salty rivulets, mingling with the tremor of her denial. "I can't..." She gasped, the pain rooted deep in her soul. "I can't let you go."
I need you love
I, I need your love
Godspeed your love to me.
The golden light enveloping Bloom grew dimmer. Her form began to take on a translucent quality.
"That's not true, Icy." Bloom murmured, piercing thru the fog of her beloved’s pain. She caressed her face, wiping away the tears that seemed to flow from a bottomless well with her thumbs. "Of the two of us, you were always the stronger one. The one who taught me to hold my head high and be brave, even when fear paralyzed me." Her hand slid from her wet cheek down to her chest, pressing gently right where Icy’s heart beat with desperate force. "Besides, I haven't left entirely. I’m inside you… right here." A sweet smile curved on Bloom’s lips. "As long as you live, an essential part of me will live with you." That truth, spoken with such love, was both a comfort and a torment, because acknowledging it meant beginning to accept the farewell.
"Don't go..." Icy pled one last time, her voice heavy with the desperation of months spent alone.
Bloom cupped her cheeks gently and slowly pulled her closer, closing the distance between them and pressing her lips against Icy’s. A brief kiss that hurt more than all the months of distance combined, because it wasn’t a kiss of reunion or passion, it was the seal of a final goodbye. Icy, with her eyes closed, tasted the bitter salt of her own tears and, beneath it, the sweet, unmistakable flavor of Bloom’s lips, a ghost that would forever be etched in her memory as the last and most precious of all treasures.
The song’s final note faded into the air, dissolving into a sigh that left a resonant void in its wake. Icy remained motionless, her eyelids pressed tightly shut, desperately clinging to sensory echoes that floated in her consciousness. She could still feel the weight of Bloom in her arms, a ghostly pressure laden with the love of a thousand lifetimes. The scent of her hair permeated the air she breathed, a perfume that stubbornly refused to dissipate. She wanted to say her name, to murmur a plea, to curse fate, anything that would prolong the spell for just one more second, but her voice was caught in the knot in her throat.
The silence began to thicken around her, becoming oppressive. Icy resisted opening her eyes. She knew for certain that the world she would return to, the real world, would be infinitely poorer, grayer, and more desolate than the one she was in now, in the golden limbo of her farewell.
However, thru the fog of his consciousness, a mundane, coarse sound intruded: the doorbell.
Icy frowned in the darkness, motionless, wishing the intruder would leave. But the noise repeated, more insistent, a sharp ring that pierced her bubble of pain with impertinence. Finally, defeated by the stubbornness of the outside world, she opened her eyes. The revelation was a blow to the chest. The room was dark. There was no trace of the celestial glow. There was no music, only the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock. Her gaze, clouded by dried tears, fell on the coffee table. There lay the silent witnesses to her reality: the empty wine bottle and the cell phone, its screen black, devoid of any magic.
How much time had passed? Had she been asleep, or had her mind simply collapsed, creating a fantasy so vivid and detailed that it was more real than reality itself? There was no way to know. The line between a desperate hallucination and a real visit was too thin, too painful to define. But one truth stood above all others: her love was no longer with her. The embrace had been a mirage, and the farewell kiss the ghost of a touch she would never feel again.
She got up slowly, her muscles protesting under the weight of exhaustion and the emotional hangover. Her body was a heavy burden she could barely drag. Her eyes burned, swollen and sensitive, and her throat felt extremely dry. She shuffled across the floor, heading toward the door. The doorbell rang once more, impatient despite her pain.
When she opened it, the cold night air hit her face, making her shiver. Icy blinked. Trying to adjust her vision. In front of her, no taller than her waist, stood a little girl, perhaps six or seven years old, dressed as a fairy, looking at her shyly from the hallway. However, she wasn’t just any little girl.
Icy held her breath. The girl had messy, copper-red hair hanging loose over her shoulders. A scattering of freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and her round cheeks, adorning an adorable, innocent face. Although what made her stagger and cling to the doorframe to keep from falling were her eyes. Large, luminous eyes of a deep, vibrant blue—a color so familiar that it pierced her numb heart, awakening every fiber of her being from its slumber.
And suddenly, the girl, nervous about the silence, gave a faint smile. Shy and a bit clumsy, but identical to the radiant smile that had lit up her life for years. It was a flash from the past materializing in the present, right at her doorstep.
"I was going to leave, but... no one opened the door at the other houses." The little girl said with a hint of sadness and disappointment, breaking what little remained of Icy’s heart. With a shy gesture, she held up her orange plastic bucket, almost empty, containing only a couple of lonely candies. "Do you have any candy?"
Icy stood frozen in the doorway, overwhelmed by a torrent of conflicting emotions. For a second, her heart stopped with a dry, painful beat. Seeing herself reflected in those enormous, sky-blue eyes, brimming with hope and vulnerability, struck her with an unbearable tenderness. She didn’t say a word; the lump in her throat prevented her. She turned around and, with urgency, ran —or rather stumbled as fast as her legs would carry her— toward the entryway table. She grabbed the bag of candy she had bought and tore it open clumsily.
"Everyone." She managed to speak, her voice hoarse and filled with emotion. She poured the entire contents of the bag into the little girl’s pumpkin bucket. The mountain of candy flooded the bottom, a colorful torrent of hope and sweetness that filled the bucket to the brim.
The girl widened her eyes in surprise. Her reddish eyelashes fluttered as her eyes instantly filled with tears of happiness. Her little mouth opened in disbelief.
"R-really, miss?" The girl stammered, looking at the treasure before her and then at the woman's face, still unable to believe the unexpected fortune that had fallen into her hands.
"Seriously." Icy confirmed, with a velvety whisper. In that gesture there was an unspoken pact, an oath sealed with Bloom’s ghost thru this little messenger. "Everything is yours."
The little fairy smiled broadly, a gesture full of unfiltered light and joy, illuminating the shadows in Icy’s heart. She took one of the candies and held it out to Icy. She, her soul still trembling, received the offering in her open palm.
"Thank you very much! Happy Halloween!" The little girl shouted, and before Icy could say a word, before she could return the smile or nod, the tiny fairy turned and dashed down the hallway with infectious energy. Her little feet skipped with overflowing joy, and her plastic wings fluttered on her back, as if they could really carry her away.
Icy stood in the doorway, watching as that tiny, happy silhouette melted into the shadows at the end of the hallway. It wasn’t a farewell, but a transmutation. With each little hop that carried her away, Icy felt a part of the unbearable weight she had carried for months being lifted from her. It wasn’t an abrupt relief, but rather a slow tide of comfort that flooded the cracked spaces pain had carved into her soul. A silent peace settled in her chest, replacing the anguish that had been her constant companion.
She gently squeezed the candy the little girl had given her. The cellophane wrapper crinkled under the pressure of her fingers. It was a faint sound, but in the silence of her newfound state, it was full of profound meaning. She took a deep breath; the air no longer burned her lungs. She closed the door with a soft click, isolating herself from the world as an act of serene transition.
Icy headed toward her room. She stopped in front of the dresser, where a photograph of Bloom captured a moment of joy. She reached out and gently brushed the surface of the glass. The gesture that would once have caused her heart-wrenching pain now brought only a bittersweet tenderness. A faint but completely genuine smile appeared on her lips, smoothing out the wrinkles that sorrow had etched on her face.
"Happy Halloween, my love." She whispered to the image frozen in time. Then she placed the only candy she had left, the one the little fairy had given her, right at the base of the photo frame. It was an offering. A shared feast across time and distance. An act of faith that sealed a promise made to the universe: the promise to honor that love, not by clinging to pain but by continuing to live, carrying its light into the world, beginning with accepting the sweet taste of peace that life, at last, offered her.