blackbird

He is a messenger. A vehicle for death's melody, a whisper uttered between haunted souls. His song is a path forward, a memory forged in motes of starlight.

She knows this. She's like him, a spirit possessed. They try to connect experiences, but there are no words to describe the weight. Their feet upon death-stained soil, watching as souls depart for the endless sky.

He is forced on his knees, forced to watch her reckoning. She turns to him, gratitude written like a fable on her lips. It's been fun, she says. Her body falls, golden light tearing into her skin, her bone, her soul. And he is forced to watch - not to deliver, to pray, to promise. He can only hope that she knows the way forward. That she will reach the other side, because their songs have always commanded the road to form.

She disappears, her starlight reaching for the eclipsed sun.

Fly , he thinks. You are finally free.