the cold had gotten too much. she stood, not disturbing the sleeping beauty on the couch, and grabbed her coat.
when adele stepped outside, she was greeted by the smell of death. it hung in the air like an expensive perfume. overdone. it burned as she walked on the twigs on the forest bed.
wilting flowers were everywhere.
in tribute to the dead, ginny planted one for each soul lost due to the war. the ground outside their little cabin was covered with them. dead, just like what they represented.
petals curled in on themselves. almost as if they were sheltering themselves from the horror of the world. dead to protect themselves.
after all, if they were dead, nothing could hurt them anymore.
maybe that was a good idea. adele wished she could do the same. leave everything behind and wilt away into nothing. not having to endure the war. endure seeing ginny try not to wilt away with her garden.
the girl with the head of fire was trying to grasp onto anything that seemed real. she would wrap her arms around the girl with the head of ice. they would hold each other well into the night, grasping that as life wasted away, they would have each other.
she was real, ginny would remind herself. adele would never leave her. eventually, when the war wilted, shrivelled, they would be free.
free to grasp that dream they shared.
a cottage. somewhere on a hill, next to a pasture of flowers. the flowers would never wilt there.
they would lay down their checkered blanket in the field. fresh picked lemons from their tree placed into a drink for them to share. books they would read to each other while the sun faded.
lay there while they breathed in the air that didn't hold the smell of deadly perfume. grasp each other's hands, reminding them that they were there.
they were real.
everything, when with each other, was real.
they wouldn't be burdened by anything but each other.
it would be enough.
for them, it would always be enough. just each other, no one else.
slowly wilting away in a field of flowers that never died.
YOU ARE READING
just the two of us ☼ ginny weasley
Fanfic[on a slight break for now] adele evans was often told that love was like a flower. wilting. falling. rooting. rising. blooming. the sun would look upon that flower, that love, and either cherish it or destroy it in a flame of blaze. scorched...
