Chapter Text
The first snow of the year drifts down gently, white flakes meandering towards the purple-coated ground. Soon, the lavender flowers would wither, but now, they still leave a faint sweet scent in the numbing air, innocent small blossoms yet to witness the cruelty of winter. In the midst of this purple paradise, a lonely grave sits solemnly, waiting for something, or perhaps someone, that will never come. Its surface is sleek and reflective, made of pure obsidian, one of the hardest substances possible. Words are carved painstakingly by a netherite pickaxe on the grave, reading Eggchan in shaky, trembling letters. As the snow kisses the freezing surface of the obsidian, it gathers on the top of the gravestone, adding a soft layer of white to the surface, turning the top into snow-speckled black. There’s a good contrast between the soft white and the hard black, mercy and revenge, Egg and Wemmbu. Later in the year the warmth of spring will melt the snow and in the end there will only be black, only Wemmbu and a grave. But right now, white and black mix beautifully, Egg and Wemmbu, Wemmbu and Egg.