Page 7 of At The End There Was You

He didn’t know if he wanted to dissect her mind, or soak on every little explanation she had. The realisation took him unexpectedly. He did not have time for anything unexpected.

The skies had gone dark with night and the library was entirely lit only by candlelight when Winter broke the silence and said, “I’ve done the last one.”

The book she’d underlined floated between them at Azriel’s command, and then one by one, the letters on its pages began lifting off into the air and floating around them. The words spun, hissed, and whispered around them, and Azriel’s eyes followed them intently. Empty meanings, empty intentions and empty resolves surrounded the word death in many books written by the humankind. And it was all Death’s fault for it. For letting them define it as they wished. For letting them think of it so lightly that they didn’t fear sinning and hurting others and one another.

He sighed, almost disappointed when he emptied in his mind every sentence relating to the perception of death by humans.

“Is something wrong?” she asked almost in a whisper.

“Yes. I can’t find a single thing that is right. All is wrong.”

“I’m sure it is too soon to say so,” she yawned. “You have six more days; you will find something. Whatever it is that you are looking for.”

Azriel didn’t know if she was positive or just nonchalant to the prospect of the world ending. He glanced at her tired eyes and then at his pocket watch, noting the late hour. He rose from his seat. “It will do for today.”

She stood, too, stretching her fingers and wincing. “Will you need me tomorrow?”

His eyes were still on her hands when he said, “Thought Miriam had informed you will be accompanying me for the duration.”

“She did,” she said, masterfully hiding her hands behind her back and out of Azriel’s line of sight.

“Then?”

“I thought you might want someone else.”

Azriel didn’t want anyone else. “You will do. Who knows what might show up at the door if I ask for someone else.” A war horse? That was the only thing with more stubborn thoughts than her.

“I’m the worst they can do,” she bashfully said. “Good night then, and I will see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Winter.”

It had struck past midnight when Azriel stood from his seat, retreating for the day. His feet stopped before a cart holding discarded books, some torn and barely hanging on their spines and a few so old their pages had turned a dark shade of beige. He picked one up and brought it to his nose, inhaling its scent. Perplexed, Azriel stared at an empty wall for a few moments. “She was right, it is strangely pleasant.”

Six days until the end

The whole day before, Azriel had spent watching Winter underline a word she did not know the meaning to. And she’d found the word precisely and without missing it in more than ten books the size of a brick. Her wrists had ached, and her fingers had cramped on more than just a few occasions, but she’d not stopped. He wondered if spite was such a strong feeling. Or was it anger? But from what little he knew of her, Azriel figured none were concepts Winter was familiar with. From the tip of her auburn hair that almost seemed brown under the library light, to the end of her white robe clad body, just Winter was anything but angry or spiteful. Strange, yes. The strangest human he’d ever met. And she reminded him of a flower he’d seen once long ago—too long ago that he’d forgotten the name of it.

But as far as he remembered, that flower was known as an early bloomer, it showed up at the first signs of spring, and Winter was late.

He’d almost felt her when she stepped inside the library. She brought too much light in a dim room. “You’re late,” was the first thing he said when she stepped over the threshold.

“Morning prayer just ended. I cannot come earlier.”

He took her top to bottom again, noting the prayer robes she wore. “Ask Miriam to dismiss you of that.”

“Miriam can dismiss me all she wants,” Winter said, and then pointed a finger to the ceiling, forcing Azriel to look up. “But he won’t.”

Azriel presumed she meant the God of Life by he, but he couldn’t grasp why she had just pointed at the ceiling.

“What duties do you have for me today?” she asked, stepping forward, and a flash of white around her wrists caught his eye.

She tried to hide her bandaged limbs behind her back, but Azriel took a glimpse and then frowned at himself, wondering why that bothered him. “Find the botany section and search for a flower.”

“A flower?”

“It is small and white and has a yellow inside. Search for anything you can find on it.”

She blinked once, twice, and then her lips parted like a rosebud. “You do not mean…daisies, do you?”