Blessed By The Moon

Epilogue 1

A hundred years later.

Echo's POV : 

Growing old has always been my least favorite part of any lifetime.

The slowness of it. The way the body betrays you inch by inch, as if apologizing the whole way down. The ache in the joints, the tremor in the hands, the way memories start arriving out of order, uninvited and merciless.

But this time is different.

This time, I know it's my last lifetime, and spending it alone has been bittersweet.

That knowledge sits heavier than age ever could. It frightens me in a quiet, constant way, like a candle burning too low, reminding me that there is only so much wax left before darkness wins.

I sit by the fire, the crackle soft and familiar, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The book in my lap is thick, its spine worn, its pages crowded with careful handwriting. My handwriting. Slower now. More deliberate.

I turn the final page and rest my palm against it.

Finished.

I spent the rest of my life writing what Storm tried to erase.

Ancient histories, healing methods, moon rites, half-forgotten names, symbols that once meant safety, not fear. The things he burned because he thought the world forgetting would save us. Because he believed that if the world couldn't remember what we were, it couldn't hunt us for it.

I don't blame him, but I couldn't let us vanish.

I wanted us remembered, not as monsters, not as myths, but as people who loved, who healed, who tried, who failed, sometimes catastrophically, but never without meaning.

I trace the edge of the book with my thumb, smiling faintly.

"You would've hated this," I murmur to the fire. "All this preservation. You liked endings better than archives."

The fire doesn't answer. It never does. But I've learned how to live with silence.

A knock sounds at the door.

Three soft taps, careful, respectful.

I smile before I even rise.

"Come in Lily," I call.

The door opens, letting in a draft of cold air and a familiar face, young, bright-eyed, carrying a basket far too heavy for her thin arms, she's sunshine just like her mother.

"Granny Echo," Lily says, grinning. "Grandma sent me. Said you'd pretend you weren't hungry again."

Gemma's granddaughter, she has her laugh, her stubbornness too.

I chuckle as she sets the basket down. "She knows me too well. Tell her I'll scold her later."

Lily pulls out apples, figs, a small jar of fresh honey, very thoughtful, unnecessary, and yet everything.

"Thank you," I say softly.

She jumps towards me in a hug me, but careful of my bones like I might shatter if she squeezes too hard. I rest my cheek against her hair, breathing her in life, warmth, continuation.

"You know that you're just tiring yourself out by writing by hand, right?" 

"Mind your business, Lily." I smile.

When she leaves, the house feels larger again.

Quieter.

I return to the fire and sit, book resting beside me now, no longer a work in progress but a testament. A marker that says we were here.