Page 141 of The Ballad of a Bard

She floated by from time to time, as did Imp who liked to often test West’s patience.

He adjusted the stiff shoulder pieces with the stars and hooked the matching cape on until it sat right, shuffling his back and adding the belt around his toned waist. Still clad in charcoal trousers, as always with his usual black boots that folded over on themselves right before his stocky knees.

West peered up as he heard the doorclickclosed, her back to him as she searched for the gown she’d purchased for tonight. Not red, like West eventually told her that he adored her in, but a pale blue-grey that matched her brother’s eyes. That complimented the captain coat that West wore. Constellations were embroidered in white along the strapless top that curved in a heart to meet her lower chest, painstakingly detailed to the exact descriptions that her partner had told her.

He’d taken her stargazing once a month for the last thirteen years, showing her every single one and telling her the story behind them all.

Crimson found it on the bed beside him. He wordlessly handed it to her and she smiled fondly at him, her heart feeling as though it would burst into a million, glittering pieces.

She’d found her father, her family. She’d saved Cobalt. Together they were forever bright, forever light, and forever safe in the night. She had fallen in love with the star that had belonged to no one. And to her utter surprise and eternal delight, the star had loved her back.

Epilogue

They’d made it as plain as day, as light as a feather, and as easy to find as a needle in a golden haystack. Or perhaps it was the other way around, because that seemed easy to them but the mortals might have argued otherwise. Even the name they’d taken up as an additional title held the meaning trickster in it, mischievous jokester but no one had picked up on it much to his disappointment.

It didn’t matter.

Imp had been the one from the start, there had never been any other to pick up the mantle. How else did they think the author had managed to stay alive for thousands of years?

Truly, it was beyond their comprehension as to how no one guessed it yet. And as they dipped their pen into the glass jar, lowering it to the page, they wrote another end to another wonderful story. One of their favourites in fact. Two of the Saints remained in their play-pretend, enjoying the life that the mortals had, even in their forever shells.

Imp, included.

Heartache left, reclaiming his place above them all as Dream and Imp stayed behind. There was a feeling inside of them that they would never leave Hisaith’s plain again, nor did either of them seem to want to. There was a certain madness in playing a mortal that was like a fine wine.

Ageing and always wanted.

The tip of the pen tapped against the paper, scribbling away in hasty writings of a madman, but tidy news of a sane one.

The Emperor Cobalt Bard Talon- because he didn’t want to discard the last name that meant the world to him, lived until a very healthy, very prolonged age of four hundred and forty-two, with many changes that turned the world upside down and right again. Within his rule, life prospered and thrived. Trade was far more prosperous than before and it was one of the best era’s the Empire had ever seen. His most notorious accompaniment was that the gate levels had been demolished, leaving everything to find its own place. The previous Empress, Osira Talon, better known as the Saint Muse, would have been extremely proud of her grandson.

His daughter, Cerise has plucked up his mantle and taken over in his stead, named after the sister who became a mother in his most desperate time of need and raised him.

Cobalt passed away peacefully within the night with the assistance of the Saint Dream, who lured him to slumber and let him fade away into nothing as the Emperor wished. Tazali has fallen into a mourning period for the beautiful soul. Flags of black and cobalt blue line the ramparts,honouring the greatest ruler that the realm has ever seen.

A pause will be held for a few months before his daughter is crowned in front of the might of Tazali and a new reign shall begin. There are high hopes when it comes to Cerise, raised in the footsteps of her father and aunt.

North and his partner, the Saint known as Heartstrings, returned to the sky with the passing of her brother. Immortality graces them both with a delicate elegance that none other could hope to compare with. At long last, the Northern Star found his once-again home in the sapphire tapestry of the night sky, shining bright for all eternity, watching over us all.

And there, forever by his side- a second, smaller star gleams with him.

Imp reread the last paragraph, smiling to themself at the poetic justice of it all before dipping the pen back in the ink for one last sentence. They’d continue to write for as long as they found fun in it, with a dash of imperfection and a hint of madness. But for now, the last line was all that they would add.

A name, scribbled at the very bottom of the page before they handed it over to the booksmiths and it became an entirely new work of art. One that would be read and admired for the ages to come.

And so Imp wrote their pseudonym.

Rapscallion Voss.

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