BlueFalcon




Epilogue ~ Letter from the Lost Years


Slowly Voldemort unfolded the piece of parchment and began reading Ruby’s letter;

Dear Tom,

When you read this I am already dead. I’ve passed away with lightness in my heart. It was my turn to go, Tom. When is it your turn? I write you this to tell you that I never stopped loving you. Not even now, even though I am no longer alive, have I stopped. Love is forever, Tom. True love, is a kind of immortality.

We could’ve had forever, Tom. We could’ve loved forever, but you wanted to reach your precious immortality, to live forever. I take it you failed. Or at least you will. All this time I was living to die, just like everyone else. I wanted to grow old and die with you, but all this time you were dying to live. To live forever.

Death is my gift, Tom, my reward. I prey that you will understand. When you are human enough to die, we shall be together once more. After all, love is forgiving.

I love you,
R.A.B


Feel free to judge me. I loved him, there is no denying that. When he finally was more creature and less man he had the strength enough to kill me, but that also means that he was ready to be killed, and I find some comfort in that thought. Perhaps I was wrong in my belief that no man is born evil. There is a piece of good in all of us, but maybe this time I was wrong, and it cost me my life. And I think, in the end, it will be the destruction of Tom as well.

I sent my book I wrote, my autobiography, if you will, to someone I knew needed it more than I did. My time was over. I prey that Tom’s soon is too.

Yours truly,
Ruby Anne Boleyn,
+


Far away, in another time, a big red bird was soaring high up in the sky, its eyes glowing in the dark. In its claws it held a leather-bound book. A book he was going to deliver. The bird’s massive wings looked like burning flames when the long red and golden feathers flapped in the air. The bird with wings like fire gave a musical cry as it flew over London towards its destination.

And somewhere in England a man with raven-black hair could hear its lament as he watched a massive fire burn out. This mans appearance suggested that a great tragedy had darkened his life. Something about a boy and a mistake he had to correct. Many lives depended on it. 

The day itself was a reflection of the dark shadow surrounding the dark-haired man, engulfing him. Dull, heavy clouds spread across the dark sky, over the landscape of dead trees and the remainings of destroyed houses. The air was thick with smoke and there were several clear signs that a big fire had just raided through the area, killing everything crossing its path. The smell of death hung in the air and above him, the man could see a vague silhouette of green smoke demonstrating a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth; the same mark he had on his upper arm. The green mist made him think of a pair of lovely deep green eyes. A woman’s eyes. The bird gave another musical cry. The new war had arrived.

The influence of each human being on others in this life is a kind of immortality.-
John Quincy Adams,


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