Bonesplinter Ravine who thought she was a nightingale

✹☾❂

 

Eleuthera watched unflinchingly as he drew forth from the cavern, closing the space between them by a negligible amount — something that she had become aware of, if not grateful for, because she still did not totally believe him when he stated he was not a ghost. Was there another reason, besides a morbid curiosity, to be here? If there was, Eleuthera did not want to conceive of it.

The woman was unaware of the significance of his words; really, the mere presence of them at all. To her, they were the answer to a question, and one that nearly summoned a laugh from her throat (as, unknowingly, her question did to him). Eleuthera could only wish that she could cradle death in her arms — but she had never been able to. Instead, everyone she had ever known that had died did so far away from her, and she was always too late for it. The last memories she had some were nothing more than simple nothings, unintended to be their last interaction. There was no closure to be had from it.

“Death has touched us all,” she stated plainly, suggestively, gesturing with a pointed, greyscale maw to her left, then her right, at the death that engulfed them on every side. The two living souls were no better for it than the scattered smattering of countless skeletons.