Reapers

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Two Halves of a Whole

Darcie felt weightless as her mind floated through the abyss of the dark void that enveloped her.  The pain of her wounds had faded until she no longer felt them, nor any other sense.  She felt oddly at peace despite the growing darkness and enclosing death she faced.

None of these concerned Darcie though, she felt her mind wander through the last days of her life, her incidental meeting of the three Demi-Reapers which had been the crucial starting point of the events that followed.  Or was it her lack of concentration in Mr. Indigo’s classroom of which all that occurred began?

She didn’t know.

Darcie could no longer take the pain or the thought that all those who had died in Carol’s wake to achieve the Divine Sword were her fault, that those deaths were because of what she was or was to become.  So, she allowed those thoughts to slip from her grasp as her life slowly faded alongside it.

She felt a cold hand emerge from the unseeable darkness and hold her face gently, the cold hand of Death.  Darcie was compelled to reach out, to encourage him to take her but instead Death seemed to pull back his hand with as much care as he had placed it with.  “Not yet.” he whispered then was gone.

A warm hand grasped her wrist and pulled her what seemed to be upward toward a warm, inviting light.  Darcie did not resist the one pulling her, what was there to resist?  Darcie didn’t want to admit it, but any part of her that had strength to continue fighting the factors of death that raged within her mortal body had abandon her in her internal struggle.

The light intensified until Darcie once again felt weighted to the Earth, until her mind and body began to once again seem to act like one force.

She opened her eyes to a tower of opaque, black glass of which a single, circular window allowed the beams of a full moon’s silver light into the room.  A cradle much like the once Darcie had seen in one of her first dream visions stood in the center, the dark quilt hanging off the cradle’s edges.  Darcie stood and walked toward it, she placed a hand down on the quilt and felt its soft, light texture that made her heart ache with lingering memories of Damaris’s life.

“It was our mother’s.” a woman said.

Darcie turned slowly only to see the young woman of which Darcie had once before encountered in a dream vision, the woman who resembled an older, battle scarred Darcie.  The woman she now knew was the Lady Damaris.

Darcie did not speak as Damaris crossed the room to where the cradle stood; her simple, light, black dress flowing with every gracefully moment Damaris made.  Damaris looked down at the cradle then surveyed the room for the moment.  “I was raised in this room.” she said softly, “It was here that Adria cared for me, Aletta watched over me, and Jaron taught me.” she paused setting her gaze on Darcie.  “I imagine this may all be strange to you...now that you know the truth.”

“That I now know that I’m...you?” Darcie questioned an anger building in her chest, “It’s not strange.  No, it’s unnerving that I suddenly have a life beyond school and Carol and David.  That my foster father is the reincarnation of a Dark Angel named Jaron, and that my foster mother is a power hungry Angel who is driven to kill anyone who carries even the slight hints of corruption!”

Damaris looked down at the cradle, “But it does not surprise you, does it?  Knowing now.”

Darcie sighed in an attempt to make her anger fade, but it only lingered.  “I guess...I mean, it explains some stuff.”

Damaris seemed to smile faintly, “Yes.  Our names?  I am Damaris of Diluculo, you are Darcie Dawn.” she paused, “You know of what diluculo means, yes?”