Clarin couldn't see anything in the darkness. He held tight to his harp and felt around in front of him, testing the ground with each step, fearing a sudden drop or a rock wall would come at him out of nowhere.

Nothing opposed him. And so he went on, one cautious step at a time, travelling through the darkness with no knowledge of where he was going or if he'd be able to find the way back.

Then, the tunnel began to get lighter. Even though Clarin had been travelling steadily downwards, he could see a soft glow ahead that cast shadows on the imperfections in the rock around him. As he went on, the light only grew.

Finally, Clarin emerged on a ledge, beside Lady Verita. The ledge extended over a great dark chasm. A short distance away, close enough to touch, there was a misty white waterfall, starting somewhere in the darkness far above, and ending somewhere in the chasm far below.

"There you are." Clarin said, looking at Lady Verita. With her black hair and white skin and velvet dress, she looked no different in death than she had in life. She was not faded. She was herself. In death, she had not changed one bit. Clarin did not find this comforting.

"Here I am." Verita agreed. She stared down into the darkness and did not look at Clarin. "What do you want?"

"I want to bring you home."

"I do not want to go home with you."

"Basil and Brutus say there is no way to go home."

"They are correct."

The two did not speak. Clarin listened to the waterfall. It was almost silent. There was no crashing of water below, just its rushing as it passed the ledge where they stood. It echoed around the cavern.

"Are you frightened?" Verita asked, finally looking up at Clarin with her sunken grey eyes. There was a spark in them, not of light, but of curiosity and daring. Clarin tore his gaze away.

"Yes." Clarin found himself answering truthfully. "Yes, I am very frightened."

"What of?"

Clarin looked out over the abyss. "All of it."

"But you are already dead."

"I don't want to fall."

"What if I were to push you?"

Clarin took a step back, away from the ledge.

"Please, do not push me."

"But what if I did?" There was a dark glee in her voice.

"I don't know. I would fall. Please, do not push me." he pleaded again, backing against the rock wall.

"I won't push you."

Clarin only nodded fearfully.

"Do you know why it is so grey in death?" Verita went on, looking back at the waterfall.

"Why? Why is death grey? And why is our blood still red?" Clarin reached for his neck.

"Color is hardly a memory. Color is a thought. Color is something we project onto life against its will. Color is not a memory. Color is the thought of a memory. There are no memories here. Color is the memory of a thought that we try to remember. We remember black and white and grey. We remember the color that killed us. We remember red. All else fades away. Even red fades away. Even the black and white fade away someday, I imagine. They are colors too. It all goes away with time. The colors all fade. We can't remember forever. We can't always be here, in death. Even in death, we are not immortal."

"I don't understand."

"The black rose fades in sunlight, yet it needs light to grow."

"You love black roses." Clarin said. "But I do not believe they fade in the light."

Verita smiled at Clarin. "You are correct. They do not fade in sunlight. They fade in summer. They fade with time. And so do we. So does our ability to think and feel and remember. So does our ability to exist."

"Why does that ability not cease when we die?"

"Death ends our physical form. The end of death ends our very being."

"What is the end of death?"

Verita smiled. "What if I pushed you?"

"Do not push me." Clarin pleaded. "You said you wouldn't push me, so please don't."

"I'm not going to." A clever grin crossed her face. "What if you pushed me?"

"You would fall! I will not push you, my Lady."

Verita rolled her eyes. "If I asked, would you push me?"

"Only if you were certain." Clarin said, fidgeting with his harp. "I do not want to push you."

"The abyss is after death." Verita said, staring at the waterfall. "Death is nothing. Death ends just as life ends. Death is nothing to me. I've known it for forever."

Clarin stared at her shining black hair and her lily white cheek.

"I believe you. But how?"

"You wouldn't understand. But I've always known what's ahead. It's always made sense to me. You wouldn't understand if I told you."

"Tell me."

"Push me, Clarin."

"I don't want to push you."

"Push me off the edge of the cliff. I'm asking you to. I'm ordering you to."

"And what about me?"

"That's up to you. Someday, you'll follow either way. You could follow now."

Clarin shifted nervously. He set his harp down and rubbed his sweaty hands together.

"I don't like heights."

"Neither do I. That's why you need to push me."

"What is down there?"

"What's next."

"After death?"

"Beyond death."

"How can you go beyond death?"

"You're a fool, Clarin." Verita folded her arms over her chest and tossed her hair. Clarin took a step back.

"What makes you say that?"

"You ask senseless questions. You wish for knowledge to be placed into your hands. You've never wondered at anything without expressing a desire to know the answer. You're a fool. You never would have been my husband."

"I seem to recall that you didn't want to marry any of us."

"Very true. You were all fools. But it isn't your fault I died. Life was boring. Death is boring. After death has yet to prove itself."

"You're a funny girl."

"And you're a fool. Push me."

"I'm not going to push you."

"What if I pushed you?"

Clarin shook his head frantically.

"Push me or I'll push you." Verita stood on the edge of the cliff and spread her arms. "Do it, Clarin. I'm done here. I have no desire to stay in the afterlife." Her voice echoed about the empty space.

"Must I follow you?"

"That is your choice. Push me."

Clarin rested his hands on Verita's slim shoulders. He could feel her bones beneath the soft black velvet. He considered pulling her back onto the ledge. But if he pulled her away, she would only threaten to push him.

Ever so gently, Clarin nudged Verita off the ledge. He watched her topple down into the darkness, a black and white image of a girl who had always been in life and was no different in death, following a white waterfall into a black abyss.

Clarin looked over at his harp. One of the strings had broken. He hadn't even noticed. Color was a memory. It was a thought and a memory. The harp was nothing.

Basil was dead. Brutus was dead. Clarin, too, was dead.

But Verita was beyond dead.

Clarin would have to join her someday.

Why not today?

Clarin positioned himself on the edge of the cliff. He looked up at the white waterfall. He looked down at the black chasm. He shifted his weight forward...

And he fell.

The End.

Thank you so much for reading!  If you enjoyed, don't forget to vote and comment (I'll probably reply!)  I'll have another fantasy story out soon, this time full length, so look out for that!