You watched her fall.

[wintersday]

Her doom descended on arcing wings, and she died with no vows broken. But here, the waters, skyglass-dark, reflect her still. Above her, stars. In her hands, a blood-blackened pistol – the one you’ve never thrown away. It’s scored as if by acid, ruined past the point of fixing.

She turns, aims. Fire blooms from the barrel. In the Parabolan night, something screams.

The vision ends, and she’s still gone. She died a legend’s death, and isn’t that what she wanted? But you and she, you wanted different things. Had you the choice –

you would avenge her.

you’d see her again.

you’d tell her: live.