forty-eight minutes

3.1K 61 87
                                    

Forty-eight minutes

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Forty-eight minutes.

Forty-eight more minutes until the world was going to end.

Celestia had made up their minds, there was no changing anything now. It had already been fated to be.

"Scara, the stars are beautiful tonight."

Scaramouche turned his head to look at the woman next to him. With her porcelain pale skin, always consistently flawless and her midnight locks of hair which were usually bunched up in her twin tails. But on this night, they were set free.

To this, he recalled the fond memories of brushing down her hair for her, braiding long ropes on them. He remembered, after brushing her hair, he'd always complained that marrying her caused him to be her slave. She had always giggled it off, dismissing the sarcastic comment.

Truthfully, he didn't mind it at all. He had enjoyed running his slim fingers along with her midnight hair, inhaling the lavender scent from it, feeling the supple softness it was, so much so that it felt like he was swaying his hand in a pool of calm waters, silently listening to her rant about her days. He loved it all.

Those glowing pale sea-green eyes of hers, brighter than any eclipse, brighter than any star to have ever existed, so illuminating that they could be seen even in the darkest of nights. Soft pink lips, chewed and rosy, plump and moist. The most beautiful when she smiled. Whether it be a happy grin or a teasing one. It had always brimmed the emptiness in his heart as long as it was hers.

"Hm," he hummed softly, responding to her comment about the stars. But he wasn't watching the stars, he was too occupied looking at the star next to him.

'Not as beautiful as you' he wanted to say, but he restrained himself from doing so.

He watched his little astrologist gaze at the stars from the large window by their bed with exhausted, droopy eyes. They had been up all night, after all. Hoping to spend every single last moment alone, in each other's company.

The room was dim, the only light from the moon gleaming her radiance by scraps of light shedding though the curtains. Both Scaramouche and Mona were snuggled against their bundle of blankets, lying together, side by side to look at the night sky. Mona had said she wanted it to be the last memory of hers; both the things she'd loved the most by her side, the stars and him.

He placed his hand on hers, wrapping each of his fingers around her own. His fingers, which were held guilty of the death of so many, laced with her innocent, pure ones.

As he closed his eyes to preserve the memory, a memory that he hoped would carry through his afterlife, he heard a faint sniffle.

Opening his eyes, he saw Mona's ones all watered up. It ached every part of him to just be witness her hurtful expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking at her intently. He wanted to make sure she knew he was there.

"I'm going to miss you." Mona sobbed. "I don't want all we have to end."

you adorn the night | scaramona oneshotsWhere stories live. Discover now