Word Count: 794

When Paris thought about death she thought of her father, and of a life cut dramatically short.

She'd never cared to know how she might die. Once, it had been the concern of a far off future, not to dwell upon or prepare for. In youth, it had not often crossed her mind that she might face death sooner rather than later. But that was the way of youth, preoccupied with the present at the expense of the years that had not yet come to pass.

Now Paris thought of the future and she dreaded what might be in store for her. How much longer did she have? Would she go painfully, or would her end be peaceful? Would it take her by surprise? Would it be slow? Quick? Would she know what was happening? Would she have time to say her goodbyes? Was there an afterlife, or would her soul be carried off for immediate reincarnation? Would she have a choice? Would another lifetime even be possible?

These were the thoughts that drifted through Paris's mind in the days that followed her prophetic dreams.

Before, she'd not believed in prophecy. She was not entirely sure that she believed in it now, but she had no other explanation as to what had happened to her, what visions had assailed her late in the night. Except for nightmares. And yet, she could not believe it was as simple as that. When had the war ever been simple? When had it ever made sense?

She took to visiting her homeworld, not seeking answers so much as she was searching for safety. Her visits were more frequent than before, in part because she could now travel twice as often. She did not know how, or why, but she chose not to question it. However it had happened, and whether or not she took each opportunity, it was a comfort to know that she could. When she felt lost and overwhelmed, she could look into the night sky and know that though the universe was expansive beyond imagination, she had a place within it to call her own.

Ganymede was hers. At least in this lifetime. Once it had belonged to someone else. And when the day came that Paris succumbed to death, it might belong to another. Who would be next? What would their life be like? How would they handle their duties? What would become of them?

How long before Paris was no more than a ghost in the halls of the palace, and swirling mist within a stone?

In a wing in the palace on Ganymede, down a hall into which Paris rarely ventured, a line of portraits hung upon the wall. Most were indistinguishable, having darkened over time, but the last and most recent was still discernible. Liesel's face, preserved for an eternity on canvas, bringing an end to a long line of Senshi whose lives had been lost to time, whose faces were now a mystery.

After her dreams, Paris thought it only proper to add another photo to the gallery. After all, Liesel was no longer the last, had not been for several years. His legacy continued, but his story had long since ended.

So Paris bought a large, sturdy frame and sorted through a pile of pictures for those she thought best represented her life. She chose a collage because she thought a single picture told so little about herself. When she was finished, she had a picture of herself as a child with her mother and father, she and Ladon soon after they'd become friends, she and Chris early in their relationship, and then later, an engagement photo and a wedding photo, a picture from their honeymoon, a larger shot of their family, and finally one of herself and Lilah. There were several other spaces she left empty, in the hopes that she might be able to add to it in time.

She painted each frame. It didn't seem right to leave it plain, when the other portraits were framed in expensive gold. One she painted solid pink, another pink and white stripes, a third gray and white chevron, two with polka dots in alternating colors, and another one that was solid gray. Then she hung the collage on the wall next to Liesel's portrait. In doing so she put an end to the past.

For Ganymede was alive in the present. The skies were blue, the sun was bright, the palace was slowly being restored. When she drifted through the halls now that world did not seem quite so lifeless and empty. She could almost believe that Ganymede had a future.

Let Liesel rest in peace.

And she thought, was peace possible in death where it wasn't in life?