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Description
Shadows stretched out far ahead of the woods in the light of the setting sun, the darkness beneath the eaves absolute. Aidan stood on the fringe of the forest, staring ahead, hands held lightly behind his back. He had no intention of going any further.

It could've been hours that he stood there, patient as a statue, searching for a face among the trees. There wasn't the lightest wind, not the faintest hint of birdsong or creatures in the brush. It would have been an eerie place in the real world, but on the edge of the realm of Death, Aidan felt at home here like he did nowhere else.

Especially now.

He inhaled deeply, and upon exhaling, his black eyes glowed a soft violet. The woods disappeared, replaced by the cold, hard lines of the main library in Feruche. The candle on the desk in front of him had long since burned out, a hardened puddle of wax pooled around the blackened nub of a wick. There was only the moonlight through the windows, dulling everything around him in shades of gray.

"You've got something in your hair," Ellie pointed.

The demon jerked back, looking pained to see her before the emotion bled away in a long sigh. Aidan covered his eyes with a hand and startled again, because there actually was a ribbon trailing down from his temple. It was lightly knotted, coming off of his black hair with ease, but Aidan knew he must have been deep in his trance to not have felt it at all.

"Flint, I'm assuming," he said, his voice roughened from disuse.

"I would've stopped him, but you looked sort of adorable," the elf woman said, grinning at him.

The look did nothing short of gutting him, and Aidan stared back like she wasn't the smiling vision of everything he loved and wanted.

"You're not a ghost," he said bitterly. "I've looked and looked and I can't find a trace of you on the other side."

"That's because I'm not there," she whispered, surprising him again by reappearing right beside his chair, hip leaning casually against his shoulder. She brushed her fingers across the top of his forehead, tucking his hair behind a rounded ear. He shuddered, tried not to lean into the touch, tried not to scream or cry or beg her for more.

"I'm right here, Aidan."

A dry sob escaped him and he dropped his face into his hands, inhaling sharply. "No, no, you're not," he moaned. "You're not here, you're not. You're dead."

"I'll always be here."

"You're dead!" He cried out, leaning into his knees, shoulders shaking as his hands grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He stood up suddenly, the chair falling backwards from the movement.

The library was cold, dark, and empty except for him. With no one to witness, he sank to his knees and cried, deep sobs wrenched from his trembling frame. Aidan wept, hoping that this would be the last time she appeared and hoping harder to see her again.