Authors note:
Short silly little c!Ayngel drabble :)
(this was meant to be longer with all the images she showed before her death but I mentally retired after the one with c!Guts and c!Red and I didn't want to publish it with only half of them done so take this instead)
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Her sister is sitting in the hallway, in their hallway. She's outside the oh-so-familiar room of her brother. The room she remembers knocking on a thousand times because he would always keep it locked.
The door was wide open this time. He never left his door wide open.
Her sister grips the cat plush in her arms even tighter, she remembers that plush. She gave it to her, years ago, a week after she had turned eight. She had a nightmare, a bad one. She knocked on Ayngel's door at whatever time it was, her eyes full of tears.
She always loved that plush, from the moment she saw it peeking out from under Ayngel's bed.
She needed it more then Ayngel did, so she handed it over. She slept with it every night, and from what Ayngel heard, never had another nightmare.
The plush is now wet with her tears against its soft fuzz, her head buried into the stomach of the cat, trying to suppress each cry that came out.
The fur of it is now long worn, and it has stains in multiple places, and the eye is nearly out, but she still clutches onto it as if its made from the best silk, and its eyes from the finest rubies. Hand crafted just for her arms.
Ayngel wished to reach out, to take her hand just one last time, to hand her that plush once again and tell her that it would be okay because she was there now and she wouldn't let anything hurt her.
But she couldn't, and in an instant, she was no longer by her sister's side.
She was brought inside the room, looking over her brother and the paper on his desk.
One hand is against his face, hiding the sniffles and the water droplets that fall onto the paper. His other hand grips the pencil as if it would disappear the moment that he let it go, pressing it onto the paper so hard it would have been torn in half.
She forces herself to look past him, to read the note below. Her name is in big bold letters at the top, and every place around it is marked with the same word, please.
Ayngel,
please come
home
we miss you
please please please please please please.
Every space around the note is marked with the word, with the plea. And Ayngel once again moves to wrap her arms around her sibling, to show them that she is here, that the letter reached the recipient.
But she wouldn't get to come home, she wouldn't get to hug them again. She wouldn't get to make a blanket fort with them just for someone to destroy it and turn the whole thing into one massive pillow fight. She wouldn't get to sneak into their rooms in the dead of night and shake them awake to watch a movie together.
She wouldn't ever get to speak to them again, they would never be able to hear them again, and she would never be able to hear them.
She begged for just one last I love you. Just one final goodbye.
But she couldn't, and before she could even reach out, she was gone.
