The End never lets go but Life can be coaxed to take hold. Something as large as Life herself requires time to pull through, time to recharge, time and time and time.
It seems like there's been enough time for Life now, her flowers rising beneath the veil of Death, piercing through The End as a light, a ray of hope for the wilting Angel that remained in this golden cage.
The upper part of Rose's face, as always, is hidden by the leafy greens that make her hair. Sometimes flowers bloom which really makes her title 'The Floral Deity' being rather redundant, if one thought about it too long. No one really does though, and maybe that is the point.
No one really thinks about Life until its over, She's merely the present, the Beginning, the moment. A concept that just occurs amongst time, nothing too special unless you make it special. You're not supposed to think about it too deeply, but you can. It's a choice, and its something that was made to be beautiful.
The End knows that time is up when rain begins to pour into the birdhouse, his skin burning with lacerations where the water met it with sizzling sounds. He could feel Death twitching underneath his clawed fingertips, but he doesn't let void up or let void turn around to see. The longer he stays beneath the rain the deeper the lacerations, the deeper the scars.
Their tug of war with the Angel seldom leaves scars amongst either party, and it's likely that these will heal far sooner than their next meeting. That wasn't the point, though. It was the choice in the manner.
It's not until Rose's gloved covered hands gently rest over the Angel's eyes that The End finally dissipates, teleporting away to lick his wounds back in the depths of its home dimension.
Death slumps into a pile on the flowered floor of the cage they still reside in, and Rose expels the scent of poppies, her voice as melodic as ever.
"Sleep now, Child of Sky, this nightmare has met its end."
This is as good as it'll ever be again. The End knew that with the way that his claws sink deeper and deeper into Death's being. Desperation, was something he was too proud to admit but not too proud to acknowledge to himself. Not when the only two beings in the room was himself and The Long Quiet.
He loses his temper with it, of course he does. He tires of quite sometimes, but he craves it all the same. Isn't it just the same comfort as all those years ago? The Stillness and The Quiet, were one in the same after all.
He'll always understand why the world found Death so beautiful, he thought so as well. He knew it long before the others. Before her human form. Before the interpretations. When it was nothing but shambles of ambiances. You needn't change Death to make it beautiful.
And in the end, isn't that the source of his frustration? Change.
And the very catalyst of that change was before him. Watching him. It was infuriating.
He might have lost his temper more than he thought, shown a side to himself that only few have ever seen. And the world can only blame itself.
Maybe he can blame himself as well.
It wouldn't do anyone any favors to pretend not to. Not even himself.
There's nothing gratifying about keeping the Angel anymore, not even throwing it around, tormenting it with visions of what occurring in the world that continues to move without it, no one even questioning where it went.
What a pitiful existence. What a pity.
He can't maintain this for long, and all of them can wait. It's all they've ever done. Nothing but pieces to be moved.
Even has the flowers creep in, if he really wanted to he could stop them. Maybe he's grown bored once more.
There's no way to say, truly.
Such is The Stillness, The Long Quiet, and The Ever-changing.
Great, *the crow pulls out a note and holds it to green* could you please get this to him? Itâs a letter stating how us crows have been successful in getting the ocean overlord and rose to help rescue him and peg, itâs just to let him know help is on the way
*the crow squirms a bit* itâs just were worried, also weâre not really sure either rose or the ocean overlord can break bedrock which is kinda what peg and Philâs cages are made out ofâŠ..
It's fine to be worried, but there's always an end to dark times. Patience.
