INDOMITUS [18+]✔️

Epilogue: Aeonian

Y'all this is the last chapter. I will seriously be heartbroken if you don't vote and comment.

"When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?"- Macbeth, William Shakespeare

Aeonian (adj.)- Eternal, everlasting

Spring, 2023

A warm breeze whispered past her, a flurry of butterflies dancing along with the wind. Whiff of freshly bloomed flowers wafting around, fallen petals laying along the damp road, as if a carpet welcoming the visitors as they visited the grave of their loved ones.

A tear trickled down her cheek as her blank eyes remained on the tombstone, her golden curls swaying with the wind.

Thomas Campbell.

Father-Husband-Son

"A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it."

― Oscar Wilde

"Dad," A whisper escaped her, "I have missed you so much."

A warm breeze sashayed past her as her eyes took in his resting place; longing, craving; her soul void, her heart singing the melody of sorrow.

"I have gotten into John Hopkins, dad," She whispered as another drop of tear escaped, a loud car honking as it rushed through the street, "Are you proud of me?"

Her question was answered by prolonged silence.

She looked up, her lips parting in a silent entreaty. The sky was clear, blue in contrast of white clouds pirouetting in the tune of the wind. Chirping of the birds resonated around, scintillating rays of sun peeking through the branches of trees, as if playing hide and seek.

"I love you, papa," Her tear soaked smile was a celebration of freedom, a celebration of joy and finally breaking free of the shackles that imprisoned her to the demons of her mind. An emancipation her heart and body had craved for so long.

She placed the bouquet of Roses on his grave, running her hand over the tombstone as she cried, her quiet sobs piercing through the air.

A butterfly danced around, sitting on the tombstone. She wiped her tears abruptly, her heart beaming with melancholy as the mute orchestra played the cacophony of her exhilaration, anguish. The tunes were elegiac, gory but painted with her tears of joy.

"I have to go papa," She whispered, playing with her fingers, the sapphire on her neck gleaming under the sunlight, "But I promise to visit you soon."

The darkness that swallowed her whole, resided in her, a melancholic euphony ringing in her ears like a sad song.

With a heart fluttering like dry leaves in the winter, she walked out of the graveyard; euphoria mingling with her stuttering soul as her destination peeked through her mind.