The Black Cat

"Is it death that you fear, or meaninglessness?

All things begin and all things end, you have known this all your life; is it truly your own end that you fear, or that it might mean you purposeless?

Do you fear the death of flesh or of memory?

All things end.

But that doesn't mean echoes don't still remain.

Everyone, everything, has an impact. The stirring of breath rustles the leaves, no matter how small. The alignment of atoms in this universe changes with your every movement, with your every breath, every blink of an eye.

Perhaps it may not seem like much to you, but that doesn't mean it isn't there.

Your echoes, your memories, can never be unmade.

Even if they are countered, that which countered them would have been something else if not for countering you, and so in that your effect lingers still.

You are here, in this moment, and that can never be undone.

You will never be truly forgotten, so do not be afraid.

All things end, but by virtue of ending it means that they were, and that can never change.

Hm?

Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just a silly little cat, passing by.

Ah? A wolf, you say?

How... ironic.

Yet... equally fitting.

Aren't we truly a cycle; eh, sister?

Ah, don't think too much on it; you only see that which you expect to see. I'm quite simple, really; nothing to trouble yourself over.

Remember what I've said, and keep your head high, my friend; your meaning is abstract and yours to determine, but your memories are true and unchanging, eternal.

Every breath contributes to the ultimate, beautiful picture; do not scorn the wonder of reality in pursuit of a lie told to you by others.

You have an impact, and will never be forgotten.

Because you exist, and that is all you ever have to do.

Be well, my friend, and know that we will meet again.

And not a breath of yours will ever be forgotten."

the goddess death, the keeper of memories; manifests as a little black cat with shining white tears, each one a memory of those now gone, whom she only chanced to know when it was time to say goodbye; but if she cannot be our friend, for she only came to know and love us as our last whispers passed her fingertips, then she will keep our memories close as she grieves and cries them real, and she will hang them in the heavens like stars, so that when all is said and done and the universe is dark and still it will be filled with light eternal, the empty void shining with the memories of every moment, of every breath, of every life, ever lived