The Passing

By Ash Night

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Author's Note: Two little drabbles that more or less reflect on the same theme. One about Risika. One about Aubrey. My love for the two is everlasting. And yes, a drabble is exactly 100 words.

Disclaimer: Amelia Atwater-Rhodes still owns my soul, Aubrey and Risika. These drabbles are based more or less on her In the Forests of the Night book.

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It was a mere trinket. Risika didn't know why she bothered with it. After all, it was a rather pathetic thing made of thin, alloyed silver, so delicate that it threatened to fall apart when she fumbled open the locket or unclasped the ends to wear it.

But then again, it was her mother's, and before that, her grandmother's.

She lost it the day she gained another, more permanent memento in the Appalachian mountains. Instead of instinctively fingering the necklace, she now traces the scar stretched across her collarbone and is always reminded of the life that was left behind.

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When Aubrey died, he was clutching his father's silver dagger and had only managed to slash a transient scar across Ather's belly. That strange lady had beckoned him down a strange alleyway, and being young and naive, he had followed.

The next evening, he woke up alone somewhere in the grassy outskirts of the city. The sky lingered at the brink of sunset, and he was surprised to find that the dying rays of the sun hurt his eyes.

That night, he wrapped his father's sleeping hands around the blood-streaked dagger. His father would wonder where his son had gone.

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Author's Note: Yes, I'm lapsing into my phase of writing narrative teaspoon fics. Feedback and reviews make an author's heart burn a little brighter. And send a few challenges my way, and let me stretch my writing muscles. *bows to the noble reader*