Lamentation

The moon cast an eerie glow and snowflakes fluttered lazily through the trees. The white-haired figure sat on the forest floor to play a haunting tune on her ebony violin.

The violin’s lamentation was so painful that all the birds, deer, and forest folk drifted away from the music, unable to listen without tearing up. The leaves grew grey in colour and they fell to the snowy ground. The sky was covered in clouds, like it was meant to cry. But it didn’t. The sky was merely listening to the lamentation with shaking breaths.

The lamentation was slow and solemn, as if it was in mourning. Yet it was, the sky knew.

The white-haired figure’s song was meant for someone. But who was it for? No one who was listening knew.

There were no tears in the snowy scene of the dying forest. The sky couldn’t cry for the lamentation, for it knew that it would stop. No one wanted the song to stop. The melodic playing of the ebony violin was too beautiful.

The sky wasn’t the only one who was listening. There was another figure in the trees, barely visible, almost transparent. It was of a mortal woman with hair as lush as chocolate and eyes so sweet and luminous, it was hard to look straight into them. She wore a blue muffler that matched her glasses.

Her brown gaze was only on the white-haired figure playing the violin. But she was barely listening to the lamentation. All the mortal girl could focus on was the graceful figure made entirely of what seemed to be ice and snow.

Their eyes, which she knew to be a soft blue, were covered in their bangs. The figure’s hair was sparkling white and draped around them like a shawl. In contrast to their hair and overall love of blue and white, they wore a warm coloured outfit. They wore a similar muffler to what the mortal girl was wearing, except for the fact that it was a dark brown. The black sweater and pair of matching jeans weren’t what they usually wore, the mortal girl knew. It was sentimental. It was bittersweet. It was slightly sad.

And the lamentation continues into the lonely night. The mortal girl stood with her arms wrapped around her cold figure as she watched the white-haired figure. She missed warmth. But her soul was forever tied together with the soul of the season of winter. The mortal girl didn’t protest. How else was she to see the shimmering white angel?

The sky thought it was beautiful, the scene. The mortal girl doesn’t agree. It felt lonely, watching the graceful figure of the ‘angel’.

What would stop her from stepping into the clearing and wrapping her arms around the figure? What would happen then? Would heaven detest her for trying? Would life as she knew it crumble to dust and snow?

So the mortal girl stepped into the clearing. The soft shine of moonlight didn’t see her, however. It only saw the lonely figure of the white-haired angel. It couldn’t hear the soft steps of the girl, but heard the bitter lamentation of the ebony violin. But the moon did hear something strange. It heard crying. The cries were a terrible, terrible sound. It painted the picture of someone standing on a frozen lake, alone. The cold, hard icy floor cracked beneath the figure. And they fell, and fell, and fell into a dark and penetrating abyss. That was what the tears of an immortal could make you feel.

The mortal girl tried to make the white-haired angel see her. She tapped them on the shoulder, yet they didn’t reply. She sat in front of them, yet they didn’t see her. She even tried to tug the inky black violin from their fingers. Her hands only phased through them.

The white-haired angel didn’t see her.

The white-haired angel couldn’t see her.

Their bow slipped from their fingers and fell to the cold ground of the forest. There used to be grass there. There used to be life.

The white-haired angel, to the mortal girl’s surprise, started to weep even more. They stretched their arm over their head and threw the ebony violin into the trees. Its lamentation ended, yet someone was still mourning.

The white-haired angel placed their face in their hands and tried to muffle the sound of them crying. Even if no one was around, they tried so hard to still be the image of a cold and regal figure. Someone who was to be respected. Someone who didn’t care if they were to be alone, for what is the need of humans? What is the need of the company of weaker life forms, anyway? It was the white-haired angel’s fault for displaying trust to her, a mortal girl. And as all bitter stories end that contained an immortal and a mortal, it ended with only one of them remaining.

It broke the mortal girl’s no longer beating heart to see them like this. She attempted to talk, to scream out their name, but they didn’t hear her. She grasped for the muffler she had given them so long ago. Her hand disappeared through it.

The mortal girl’s story ended a millennium ago, yet the angel still mourned. She was the sunshine on a bitter day. Her grin could bring the angel’s mood up, no matter the time. And though she never knew just how much the angel loved her, the angel tried to tell her through writing unread.

Her name was long forgotten by everyone. Except for the angel. No one knew the angel’s name either. But that doesn’t matter, does it?

Finally, the mortal girl stood up and walked away. The angel didn’t know why, but they felt a cold rush of mournfulness wash over them. They held their muffler with freezing hands gently. They no longer remember when the mortal girl had given them this memento. It didn’t matter now, now did it?

Clutching the muffler to their chest, the angel suddenly heard a rustling in the surrounding trees.

They looked to the side to see their beautiful ebony violin sitting next to them. Someone had placed it next to them without them noticing? How? A sudden bittersweet realisation came over them.

The white-haired angel whispered something, looking out into the dark forest. No one answered, for no one could hear them. With a louder and cracking voice, they yelled her name, her forgotten name.

“Evelyn?” Winter yelled out into the empty woods.

They could have sworn a lonely figure stood, waving at them with a soft and welcoming smile on its face.

Slowly yet genuinely, a similar smile grew on the angel, Winter’s face. They wiped their face of tears and picked up their ebony violin and bow.

Looking up at where the crystal-like image had stood, they called out her name again.

“Evelyn.” Winter’s smile was small and quite frankly, heartbreaking. “I love you.”

And yet again, Winter could have sworn someone replied.

“I love you too.”