The Death of Hope

Briny waves crash up against the limestone cliffs as the ocean rolls in. The tide is high, and a massive thunderstorm is approaching fast. A young man and woman walk along the familiar and well-worn path, talking and laughing like they did when they were children. They stand atop a six-hundred-foot tall formation that bulges three hundred and fifty feet out into the ocean from the coast of Ireland. There is a forest of Scots pine, yew, and ash at the inland edge, secluding the plateau with a physical and magical boundary. The roof of her family manor is just visible over the treetops, but this is their place.

The wiry youth stops at the spot at the outermost ridge where he and she would hang their feet over the edge and stares out at the water. She stands just behind him and closes her eyes, taking in the aromas of the greenery and the impending storm and feeling her body relax. Small pebbles and bits of glass litter the edge, the remnants of their adventures as teenagers, not so long ago, when they would sit, trading stories and pretending not to be afraid.

"Vi," he mumbles, and she opens her eyes to see the smile falling from his face as he turns to look at her. There is an unspoken question burning in his sapphire eyes. "I have something to tell you, something I need to say… but I don't know how." He can't seem to hold her gaze and looks around her at the pine trees in the distance, the purple-gray clouds rolling in overhead, the endless sea behind him, and finally settles on his feet.

Violette rolls her eyes, but her heart is pounding. "Quit being so dramatic," she says. When he doesn't look up, she adds, "Just spit it out, Ronnie." A scowl colors his features at the hated nickname. She is being unkind, and she hates herself for it. She wants to make him angry with her because she knows what he is going to say if she can't find a way to rid him of the familiar and terrifying emotion she sees in his eyes.

He has said it a million times and a million ways, but never outright. The thought alone is enough to make her tremble with fear, more than the thunder rumbling in the distance had when she was a child. Seeing his misery, she pushes his shoulder playfully and relents. "Come on, Aeron. How bad can it be?" she asks, bracing herself for the answer and reaching for his chin to interrupt his intense scrutiny of the crag on which they stand.

He shuffles his feet as he jerks away from her hand, and he slips on the loose gravel that covers the ground. A moment later he's falling, too fast and too suddenly for even his supernatural reflexes to prevent it. Violette reaches out with her right hand and has just enough time to take hold of his forearm before she hits the ground on her belly, the force of the landing knocking the breath from her lungs.

He slips further down, and she tightens her grip, her fingers digging into the flesh of his wrist through his satin shirt. Her shoulder is resting on the edge of the cliff, his weight making the sharp stone dig into her armpit. A bolt of lightning incinerates a tree somewhere nearby in the forest, and the air suddenly stinks of ozone as the wind begins to blow. The storm is moving in; there isn't much time.

"Hold on!" she cries. She wraps both hands around his wrist and pulls, watching his feet swing, trying to find a foothold. She can't find any more purchase on the smooth stone of the plateau than he can on the cliff. Her denim-clad knees slide out from under her, and two more inches of her chest slip over the edge. Even enhanced strength is useless without leverage. Helpless and desperate she stares down into the face of her best friend, silently asking him what to do next.

"Let go, Vi," he says. His voice is calm and resolute as he releases his grip, leaving only hers to stand between him and the ocean below. She shakes her head furiously and tries again to pull him up using only her arms. He winces at the soft snapping noise and the yelp of pain that escapes her as her shoulder dislocates and she slides forward another inch. "Damn it, Violette! We'll both go over if you don't let me go!" he yells against the roar of the tide. The wind is getting stronger…

"I don't care!" Her face is set and determined. And terrified.

"Stop being stupid and save yourself!" Her eyes open wide at the insult. He slides again, looking up at her.

She shakes her head, protesting hysterically. "No, Aeron. No! Don't give up! Don't leave me! I won't let you go; I can't. I can't just let you die!"

"I won't let you kill yourself trying to save me." He traces the contours of her face with his eyes as if trying to memorize it. There are tears in those eyes, but no fear. Only a deep, haunting sadness and a glimmer of something else, something she can't place. "Now, let - me - GO!" He reaches up and pries her fingers away with his free hand. As he wrenches her hands from his arm, he whispers, "I love you, Violette…"

And then he falls.

She tries desperately to catch him as she calls his name over and over, barely aware of the agony radiating from her left shoulder. She watches, powerless, as time freezes and her eyes follow every foot of his fall in unbearably slow motion. His words echo in her mind as she watches his descent. An eternity later, she his body hit the churning water hundreds of feet below, a fountain of seafoam rising in its wake. Jagged rocks surround the splash like the gaping maw of a ravenous beast.

She stares in dumbstruck horror at the surreal scene before her until the panic sets in. The scents of saltwater, pine, ozone, rain, and fear mingle together and permeate the air as it reverberates with the sounds of her screams and of the thunder crashing, closer than ever. Vi stands and stares down at the unforgiving Atlantic.

"Aeron!" she calls, at the top of her lungs, reaching out with her mind for any sign of his presence, any spark of life. "Aeron, if you can hear me, reach out! Reach out to me if you're still alive!" She stills, listening and willing him to survive against the odds. She watches the curtain of rain spreading over the forest, a little more than a hundred yards away. She casts her mind wide, the last ember of hope burning in her heart, and hears… nothing.

The silence overwhelms her, and she falls to her knees on the rocky ground. Her heart breaks for the lifelong friend whom she fears is doomed to rest forever in that vast and watery grave. As the gale gathers force, the wind gets stronger, and her hair whips around her in ribbons of silver and mahogany. She looks to the sky and watches the clouds gather above her head before closing her eyes and taking a quavering breath, chest heavy with a grief as deep and unfathomable as the sea that has brought it to bear upon her.

"I'll find you, Aeron. I'll always find you," she whispers to the breeze, eyes shut against the pain. Guilt tears at her heart. Even with the possibility of his death, she can't force herself to return his love the way she knows he wanted her to, and now she may never get the chance to tell him why. "I'll always find you, I promise." The heavens open up as she begins to weep, her saltless tears indistinguishable from the rain that falls on her upturned face. She opens her eyes at last, and lightning sets the sky ablaze above her…

Vi woke with a start from a dream that was both utterly terrifying and completely familiar. She had relived the death of her best friend countless times in the three years since he had fallen off that cliff in Ireland, both in her waking hours and in her nightmares, but there was something different about this time. She couldn't identify just what it was, but she knew something was somehow… off. She sat up in her bed, fingers still clinging to the silk bedding and hair soaked with sweat.

It wasn't just the dream - something felt wrong. Very, very wrong. There was a dark presence hovering on the edge of her consciousness. She reached with her mind to touch it, but it vanished, leaving behind only a vague sense of unease.

Unease, however, had become the norm over the last few weeks for Violette O'Toole. The novelist had, over several centuries, learned to spin the threads of her anxiety into gripping tales of supernatural suspense. That skill had brought wealth, prosperity, and much-needed relief from the often overwhelming fear of discovery that accompanied eternal life. Or, at least, a life that was supposed to be eternal.

Her kind was not immortal. There was, to her knowledge, no such thing as immortality. Even if they avoided all the gruesome manners in which nature attempted to rid itself of their presence or the myriad ways that others could snuff out their lives, they would still die of old age after roughly tens thousand years. Immortality was nothing but a myth, the wishful thinking of those who wanted more time than they were granted in the cruel and random lottery of life.

As she gazed out the picture window in her bedroom at a dark sky with the hazy glow of dawn beginning to breach the horizon, she wondered why the words no longer flowed. She had been blocked for nearly a month, much longer than ever before. In nearly four hundred years, this was the first time she had gone longer than a week without writing at least a page. Her desk, cluttered with crumpled notes and reams of blank paper, was just visible through the open door that joined her bedroom and office.

She sighed, looking away from the evidence of her failure to the clock on her nightstand. Unwrapping the sheets from around her, she rose and headed for her bathroom, stripping off her soggy nightclothes as she went.

She stepped into the sparkling porcelain shower stall, turning the crystal dial to high heat. She would get past the block eventually, she reasoned. Her fortune could sustain her for several lifetimes even if she never recovered from whatever misfortune had befallen her muse.

Recover. Befallen.

The words rang in her mind as she let the steam and water sink into her skin and wash away the sting of sweat. Her empty stomach clenched as she remembered the harrowing ordeal she would face in the evening. This day was the day she had been dreading since the last search party had come back empty-handed, breaking her promise. It was the day she would watch an empty casket go into the ground under a gravestone bearing Aeron's name. It was the day she had to make a choice between hope and sanity.

She still wasn't sure which one was easier to kill.