Amethyst Died That Saturday
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Epilogue

ONLY TWO THINGS are certain.

Amethyst Cambray is a murderer.

And Amethyst didn't die that Saturday.

I can remember her hair on the sea, the death on her eyes staring at the moonlight, the void of her soul, the way she was so broken, her heart in a million pieces, her soft, soft lips against mine as the cold of the sea bit on our skin . . .

Amethyst Cambray would probably live forever in my heart, but one day, one day, I will look for her, find her behind the tall trees, behind every seas, behind every cities, the obscurest of the villages, and there, when I finally see her, she would be stained by the sunlight. She would be like a rich flower in spring. She would be like a calm sea in the night.

Amethyst would smile at me.

Her hair would dance in the air. Her eyes would be like two gemstones in the light. Her skin would be like honey under the golden stream of the sun.

She would return to me like she'd always planned to. The past would be buried. The scars would start to heal.

And she would never cry anymore.

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