The Moonlit Grave

“I am going to die tonight.” 

The words of Elatha Yukiko, the Witch of the Full Moon echo in my mind as I push open the double doors before me. 

The full moon bathes the library in gentle light, illuminating the silhouette of the white-clad Witch, who sits in her high-backed armchair, gazing up at the sky through the large bay window. She clutches a wood-bound black book in her lap. 

There is a recurring symbol on her left hand and mine, painted onto the floor of the library, and branded onto the cover of the book as well – an orb representing the full moon, surrounded by a circle with branches like a snowflake. It is the sigil of the Full Moon – her sigil. 

I place the two wine glasses on the small table beside her chair. I hold up the pristine, unopened bottle of red wine, and tap the very tip with my index finger. In an instant, the sigil on the back of my hand glows silvery-white, and as I pull my finger away the seal and the cork inside both come free on their own, with a satisfying pop. 

I fill both glasses and place the bottle down. I hand Yukiko her glass, take mine, and we clink them together. 

She looks so small and frail, bundled in her white fur cloak, her blueish-black hair cascading down her back. A silver engagement ring sits loose on her slender finger; it is adorned with a round, blue diamond housed in a snowflake, with tiny white diamonds lining the top of the band.

I stand at her side, towering over her small frame, and watch as she brings the deep red liquid to her frosty, pale lips. Her crystal blue eyes drift from the moon to my face, and she reaches up and takes my hand.

“Would you sing for me, my darling?” Yukiko asks. 

I drain half my glass and take a deep breath. 

“When other lips and other hearts
Their tales of love shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts
The pow’r they feel so well,
There may perhaps in such a scene
Some recollection be.
Of days that have as happy been,
And you’ll remember me.
And you’ll remember me.

“When coldness of deceit shall slight
The beauty now they prize,
And deem it but a faded light
Which beams within your eyes,
When hollow hearts shall wear a mask
‘Twill break your own to see,
In such a moment I but ask
That you’ll remember me
That you’ll remember, you’ll remember me.”

I take another sip from the glass as I finish. Yukiko squeezes my hand, but her grip is frail. 

“My sweet Wolf,” she says, her voice sounding unusually labored. “I will miss… the sound… of your voice.” 

I look out the window and past the garden just outside, to the frozen lake beneath the moon. “It’s a beautiful night.”

Yukiko’s hand starts to feel limp, but I just hold onto her a little tighter. I hear her book and her glass hit the wood floor, spilling wine all over. 

“Yukiko?” I say. No response. A weight starts to form in my chest – a dense pit of anxiety and fear. “Elatha?”

She stares off into the distance, her lips slightly parted and her body limp and cool to the touch. I place my glass on the table, kneel in front of her, and shake her shoulders a little. “Yukiko? No…” 

I can feel hot tears forming in my eyes. Her whole body shivers and she lets out a sharp gasp, and her breathing ceases. 

“No,” my voice begins to crack. “Please don’t go yet. Please, Yukiko, I’m not ready for this!”

I pull her from the armchair and fall back against the base of the window, cradling her as the tears flood down my face. I want to call to her, beg her to come back, plead with her not to leave me, but I can’t form the words – everything comes out as a desperate, jumbled howl as the growing, agonizing well of despair inside fights to escape my body through my cries. 

Even as the sun begins to creep over the horizon, warm red light replacing the moon’s pale glow, I hold her in my arms. I gently close her eyes and caress her soft, cold skin. She always felt so small in my arms, almost like a doll, but now more than ever she looks and feels like porcelain. 

I press my lips against hers one final time, though they are cold, and I press my forehead to hers. “I will always love you,” I whisper to her.

I bring myself to my feet and carry her out of the library and out to the front porch of the manor, where I set her down. Just out front is a small pound and a mound of grass. I step back into the house for a moment to retrieve a pickaxe and shovel, and I spend the morning digging a grave in the mound. The earth is almost unbearably cold against my bare feet, and my wool button-up shirt does nothing to shield me from the wind, but I ignore the elements. 

Wiping the sweat and tears from my face as I finish, I throw the shovel and pick aside. I climb out and walk over to Yukiko, and gently pick her up. I bring her to the grave and lay her on her side, curled in a ball. That’s how she always liked to sleep every night. 

No matter how much I cry the tears just won’t stop. My eyes sting fiercely, but I don’t care. I climb from the grave and fill it in without taking a break, and once it is finished, I sit on the bottom step of the porch of the gothic manor and just sit there. 

Exhaustion starts to creep in. The last of my tears fall, and my eyelids begin to feel heavy. The falling snow that lands on me melts from the heat of my body, and steadily my clothes become soaked through. I slump over against the railing and close my eyes.

My mind drifts, and it feels as though I am falling in and out of sleep, and I lose track of the passage of time. The cold seeps through to my very core. 

I bolt upright and find myself propped up against a yew tree on a small island surrounded by an infinite void of pure, ankle-deep water. 

The full moon looms large on the horizon, and I can sense its immense power in this dream world. 

“I need you to get up, my darling Wolf,” Yukiko’s voice fills my ears. I blink and there she is, right in front of me, radiant as ever, wearing her white witch’s hat and her pale blue, ombre dress that grows dark and sparkles like the night sky at its hem. She smiles at me and offers her hand to me.

I shake my head. “I can’t do it. Not with you gone. I just can’t.” 

“I need you to, my love. Don’t give up.” 

“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t make me do this on my own. I’m begging you, Yukiko, don’t leave me alone, take me to the other side with you!” 

“It’s not your time yet,” she replies. She kneels in front of me and caresses my face, running her fingertips through my beard. “I need you. One day, there will be a new Witch of the Full Moon, and when that day comes she will need your help to guide and protect her, just as you protected me. All of my hope for the future rests in your hands.”

“I belong with you,” I tell her. 

She presses her hand against my chest. “And I with you. But you will always carry my spirit with you, in here. And when your time finally comes, I will be waiting for you. But until then, I need you to live.” 

My eyes shoot open and I let out a gasp. I’m back at the manor, outside of Yukiko’s fresh grave. How long have I been here? The snow is nearly two feet deep now, and I am half-buried. 

In my head, I hear Yukiko’s voice whisper to me “I am counting on you.” 

Every part of my body stings as if a thousand needles are piercing me, and I collapse as I try to stand. I raise my left hand – which is turning dark in color – to the door of the manor, and the sigil on my skin lights up momentarily as the door opens on its own. 

My body struggles to respond to my will. I cannot bring myself to stand, but I crawl across the porch, into the house, and to the left, past the split stairs leading up, and into a living room with two couches sitting parallel to a fireplace. 

I drag myself across the room, pushing the coffee table out of the way and knocking it over as I go. My sigil glows once more, and the wood in the hearth ignites in front of me, just as my vision blurs and my mind goes blank. 

One Year Later

Yukiko’s library has grown so dusty. I gaze at her empty armchair, her wood-bound magic book in my hands, and I cross the room, placing the book down on the little side table. I take one last look at the garden and the lake beyond, not yet frozen from the cold. Finally, I turn on my heels and head out, closing the doors of the library behind me, and enter the foyer. My long leather coat and scarf sit on the banister, and I put them on over my charcoal sweatshirt. 

I pick up the black duffel bag by the front door and sling it over my shoulder, and I walk out of the manor. 

The wind blows my hair into my face – it’s a bit longer now, along with my beard. I hadn’t cut either since Yukiko passed. 

Atop Yukiko’s grave is a very young yew tree – less than five feet tall. I walk over to the grave, and kneel down, patting the earth.

“I miss you,” I say aloud. I hope that she can hear me from the other side. 

The halls of the manor are haunted by the crushing emptiness left in Yukiko’s absence, and it is something I no longer have the strength to endure. All I can hope for is that fate will guide me to Yukiko’s successor somehow. The power of Yukiko’s moon will lead me where I need to go. 

I begin walking down the path through the surrounding woods, turning my back on the manor. I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans and head forth with no plan or destination in mind.