Sold to a dark guild for money, Amethyst Fairy held no knowledge about the concept of family. Yet, when she meets her soulmates, she finds a home in their presence, surrounded by endless warmth. But when they disappear for seven years, what will hap...
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YEARS HAVE PASSED. The seasons came and went like a wistful breeze, and mourning lived as a sad song, soft and low, a lullaby that spoke of healing yet to come, of a road that must be travelled one step at a time. Of a path that was rocky and dark, rough along the edges and sharp along the curved corners.
Amethyst Fairy grew up.
Hope spoke to her once. It came and sat on the window, just a tiny flicker against the wind. Living inside abandoned homes, memories floating among the dust, Amethyst, with the open eyes of a child, used to reach out. Her fingers extended out from her nest of pillows and fading touches; she longed for anything, something— a kiss, a hug, a head pat. None ever came.
She had two choices now: kindness or cruelty. Amethyst could live her life in regret and isolation, or she could channel the grief in her body, the violent whiplashes of emotions, into something kind— a smile, a laugh.
It took no time at all for her to decide. She saw the dying ember and brought the winds to a warm, distant howl. Her thoughts were different to the rest, so alien in their nature.
Amethyst saw the suffering and chose to make it worse— and then better. And then, perhaps, in its foundation, worse once again.
At eleven, Amethyst sat in the shadows that had become her world; the only decorations were scratches, dipped in crimson, on skin that she scarred. Her family, what was left of them anyway, told her that there was a light at the top of all things shrouded in darkness.
Bisca would reach out to her, Alzack would suggest that she stay with them in their apartment, Jet and Droy would give her gifts—tiny ornaments, sometimes snacks—to offer some joy in hollow eyes, Kiana would replicate Mirajane's milkshakes, albeit, they didn't taste the same (they weren't made with the deceased's love, after all), Reedus would paint her pictures of the past, Wakaba and Macao would say random, corny jokes in hopes of seeing that oh, so loved smile— each one of them tried so hard. Truly they did.
They told her time would heal her wounds, even if theirs had yet to settle.
At twelve, Amethyst watched as people slowly began to leave their guild. She hoped someone would throw a rope and help her out of this slump— of this grief that threatened to fill her lungs and drown her from the inside out. Yet, the floor sunk a little lower, jolting her body as it stopped; it crushed her with a new pain, another potential abandonment.
At thirteen, Amethyst realised the truth. They were gone— and they weren't coming back. She wasn't meant to leave; they were. And so, her eyes became accustomed to the shadows the manifestation of her loved ones dwelled in for many years. Power thrummed through her veins, waiting patiently to be released.
