Page 85 of Wild Ivy
A small group of souls draws my attention - these ones feel different, more focused. As I move closer, I see they’re a group of the worst souls that Death has collected over the millennia. Some of them even the souls who tormented me when I first arrived here, my own kills. Nervously, I approach them, but there is no hostility now. They know I hold their future in my hands. I need to set them free, and what they do with their rebirth is up to them. Most of me thinks they won’t change their ways, but you never know. They might surprise me.
We don’t communicate. I just do my job, and they go on their way to do whatever it is they are going to do.
I turn slowly, my power extending with extra sensitivity. In a quiet pocket of space float two souls, their lights intertwined in a double helix of silver and gold. They’re not newly arrived. Their energy has that softened quality that comes with time spent here. But they’re not ready to move on either. They seem to be waiting.
The recognition hits me like a hurricane. I know these souls. Know them in a way that goes beyond sight or sense or power. The silver light holds echoes of bedtime stories and gentle hands braiding my hair. The gold carries memories of laughing lessons in shifting and pushing the boundaries.
“Mum?” My voice shakes. “Dad?”
Their lights brighten in response, pulsing with love so pure it brings tears to my eyes. They’re not exactly my parents anymore, I know that. The souls here exist in a state of in-between, neither fully who they were nor who they’ll become. But their essential nature, the core of who they were, remains.
I reach out with trembling power, not to guide or transform, but simply to connect. Their energy meets mine halfway, wrapping around me in what feels like an embrace. Memories flow between us. I see myself through their eyes: a beloved daughter, watched over even after they passed. They’ve been here all along, choosing to wait rather than move immediately into new lives.
Through our connection, they share more. They show me how they’ve been helping other souls adjust to this space, using their own acceptance of the cycle to ease others’ transitions. They’ve become guides in their own right, helping preserve the knowledge and wisdom souls bring with them.
But there’s something else, a gentle suggestion carrying hints of farewell. They’re ready now. Ready to move on, to begin new journeys.
Grief and joy tangle in my chest. “I’m not sure I can do this,” I admit. “Help you transition. It feels too much like losing you again.”
Their lights pulse with gentle understanding, then something more. Pride, encouragement, love. But in the circle now, nothing is ever truly lost. Everything transforms.
Taking a deep breath, my power flows differently now, coloured by love and memory and understanding.
They move in perfect sync, their lights still intertwined. Even as they prepare for separate journeys, their souls maintain a harmony that will echo into their new lives, I just know it. Fatedmates. I’m sure they’ll find each other again, and again, always finding their way back, lifetime after lifetime.
When they’re ready, I create not one path but two parallel streams of possibility. Their lights brighten one final time. A farewell, a blessing, a promise that all things continue. Then they flow forward, accepting their rebirth with delight.
I stand in the starlit space, tears flowing freely. But they’re not tears of loss. They are out there now and who knows, maybe I’ll see them again one day, not as them, but who they have become.
That makes me smile and brush the tears away.
Love doesn’t end. It changes form, becomes potential, and finds new ways to bloom.
Around me, thousands of souls continue their gentle drift, each one a story waiting to begin again. My power feels steadier now, more complete. I understand better what I am - not just a gateway between life and death, but a guardian of transformation itself.
I turn to the next cluster of waiting souls, ready to help them find their way forward. After all, every ending is just another word for beginning.
And in this space between spaces, everything is possible.
45
IVY
Aunt Cathy’shouse looks exactly the same as it did when everything went to hell and back, seemingly a lifetime ago. It appears the time reversal or the rest, possibly, fixed the roof.
The herb garden still blooms with organised chaos, wind chimes dance in the breeze. It’s the same house I grew up in for the second part of my childhood, but everything else has changed. Especially me.
I find Cathy in the kitchen, naturally brewing what smells like her signature clarity tea. She turns as I enter, and for a moment, we just look at each other. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, but her smile is warm and proud.
“So,” she says, pouring two cups of tea, “it’s time.”
I settle into my usual spot at the kitchen table, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “MistHallow is where I need to be,” I say slowly, knowing she wanted me at Thornfield because that is where she is working with The Resistance.
Aunt Cathy nods, sitting across from me. “I know. I—,” she trails off and chews her lip. “I applied for you to go there years ago, while you were still in high school. I wanted to see if theywould accept you and give you another option if things went sideways here.”
“Sideways? You knew something was coming?” I ignore the other part for now. This seems more important.
“There were rumblings, big ones. I needed an out for you if the time came. Turns out, you were what all the fuss was about.” She snickers into her tea and takes a sip. “The point is, they accepted you on your merit back then, which means a lot in the academic world. So now, yes, it is definitely the place you need to be.”
