A lovely blossom of the summer
Almost blinding it's so bright
But when the snow comes every bloom
Is fated to wilt in dying light
Chapter 1: Autumn's Reaping
Barton Town
Though they had little gold to spend, in the dim light of the candle she had purchased she could see her father was dying. No, that wasn't quite right. He had been dying for nigh upon a week, but now it seemed the death stroke was near at hand. High fever, sweats, coughs and chills had drained him of his strength and eaten away at his good features... his thick, brown hair matted and grimy, cobalt eyes lackluster. Lavender crescents shadowed his eyes, although between trying to care for him and run the bakery by herself on little sleep, Aislinn was sure she had the same. It had been three weeks since he first took sick with the illness that had been spreading around Gaia, even rumored to strike down the Lady Gambino, but seeing her father waste away in such a fashion had nearly caused her to forget the witty, caring man he had been. Her father had taught her to fish, had read her stories before bed, had given her all that was in his limited power to give, but most importantly, gave her love. Her father could not be this sad, shattered body that clung on its final breaths.
And yet... he was.
I can't bear to see him like this... her mind cried in anguish, as she held his frail hand in her own. She couldn't imagine the suffering he must be feeling, but it pained her further to think that it was all for her. For when he died, she'd have no one in the world, as she never knew her mother, and while she could manage the bakery for a little while, she could not do it alone forever, not at her young age. It was this matter that must have preyed upon his mind and caused him to hold on to this world as long as he could.
As Patrick Hanrahan stirred slightly and lapsed into another coughing fit, her fingers flew with skillful alacrity to the pitcher, pouring a cup of water and then urging his chin up enough so that he could swallow. "Shh," she pleaded, more with the illness that threatened to steal him from her than to impeach him to drink. "Rest now, Da. Save your strength."
Patrick laid his head back down, but shook it feebly. When he managed to speak it put Aislinn in the mind of Missus O'Leary who sold them milk and chain-smoked for thirty-six years. "Nay, lass... I have none left to save."
"Nonsense... just rest, and... and I'll make you some soup and--"
"Aislinn..." he interrupted tenderly, but firmly enough to cease her weak pleas. "When I am gone, take all you can... anything of value or use... then burn the bakery."
Having always thought that to dropped one's jaw was merely an expression, Aislinn was quickly corrected, as her green eyes widened with shock and her mouth begin to stammer.
"W-what... ? Da, no!"
Her father gave a mighty rumble, gaining a bit of his old character as he issued his last will. "Am I not still your father?" he gruffly stated, before releasing a heavy groan. "You can't run the bakery alone, and you shan't starve so you can be payin' for my funeral, nor will I let you fall into the hands of the Personal's people." Unconsciously, she gave a shudder. She'd always been warned to not stray near the great red building, for orphan or lost children could easily become their property and be used for their sick ends.
"Please, lass. Do as I've asked, then go beseech Logan over by Bass'ken to give you shelter until you've a place of your own. He's fond of you, and will help." Another sudden coughing fit seized him, wracking his chest with fitful spasms, and Aislinn's eyes began to tear up. This seemed the end. "Y-you know... how to live off the land and you're smart, lass... You can handle... a-anything that comes after this. Just... h-heed this last bit of parenting, and promise me..."
Struggling to not become hysterical, she clutched her father's hand, holding it to her cheek, as if her grip could stay the Reaper's hand. "I promise, Da, but please, please don't leave... " she sobbed.
Patrick smiled faintly, a smile that echoed in his sad blue eyes as the darkness began to close, and with what little strength he had left, stroked his daughter's tear-strained cheek. "You've... your mother's spirit, lass..." His failing mind briefly settled on the memory of a graceful woman with fiery hair and jade eyes, before dissolving into his daughter's grieving face. "...'tis a miracle the illness passed over you... Thank the gods..."
As his hand touched her hair, she felt the strength leave it, and releasing it in shock, gravity did its work. "No... " she whispered.
"May they... bless you..." His voice almost inaudible, blue eyes closed for the last time. "...and ...keep you..."
Trembling, she laid a hand on his fallen arm, shaking him as if he'd only fallen asleep. When she had no response, that same hand rose to cover her mouth, tears spilling over her fair cheeks as she closed her eyes. She remembered her promise, aye. But action could wait a little while longer. Now was the time for grief.
