#oc; candide brodeur

[lampea-by-lamplight]

death always wins

there exists a place where people say death cannot touch you, where so long as you remain under the mountain, you will not cross the glade and enter the garden of death.

in a world where death is so revered, so accepted, there exists those who seek to prevent it, to put it off for another day.

it doesn’t quite work like that for, you see, when a death is predicted by a loulrívon, there is no place they will not go to see that their duty of predicting (and delivering) the end of life and the beginning of death is carried out.

they don’t take kindly to those who attempt to cheat them out of their prize, or those who attempt to play games with them and win; they don’t take kindly to those who run.

and so it goes that a man is fated to die by the appearance of a loulrívon. and so it goes that the man flees beneath the mountain where death is said to be unable to touch you. and so it goes that a loulrívon follows him beneath the mountain to drag him across the glade and into the garden of death herself.

it would have been much easier, much gentler, if he accepted his fate.

for, again you see, the loulrívon who follows him beneath the mountain, who dons a mask beneath a wedding veil to walk through a world where everyone wears a mask, has built a reputation amongst her fellows for being a little too sadistic, a little too cold, a little too ruthless.

the moral of this story, if there must be one, is that when the electric blue lilies bloom and a blonde dressed in white crosses your path, delaying the inevitable is an exercise in futility and how to make your last moments alive and breathing hurt.