Myra looked up at her, her own confusion and curiosity raw and uncontrolled on her soft features. "Consider the Price Paid." Myra replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. As she spoke a soft smile curved the Reaper Goddess's lips. She leaned forward, placing her lips to the skin beside Myra's eyes. As she pulled back, a black raven seemed to be engraved onto the skin.
"Thank you, my child." She smiled at Myra, before turning to walk to the Matriarch who was still trying to take in everything going on. There was so much concern and pure loss in her eyes. One grandchild on her deathbed, the other making deals with a Goddess that she hardly recognized. What exactly was life coming to? Her family… would there be anything left?
"What… What do I call you?" Crystalsa asked honestly deciding to try and be polite as the Reaper Goddess turned to her.
"You may call me Reaper, Lady Matriarch. I did not intend to see you so soon, dear lady. You have lived a full life, but your time is not at its end." The Goddess said soothingly as she came to stand before the tired elder. "Let us revitalize that flower."
The Goddess allowed the air in the room to warm and shimmer. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to ground out. The air began to swirl and vibrate with the power in the room. The pool of blood seemed to swirl and slowly form into shapes as it floated up into the air again. Thin, delicate crimson feathers slowly swirled up to her outstretched hands. The Reaper opened her eyes, those silver pools suddenly glowing brightly.
The magic seemed to make the air thicken and as the family watched in curiosity as the blood slowly seemed to be caught by her power. Tendril like feathers formed and swirled up into the air as if being teased up into the air. The Matriarch watched the tendrils with sadness in her heart, it was hard to believe that blood once coursed through her grandchild's veins. The crimson feathers drifted closer, and the petals of flower reached toward drifting feathers, as if they were aware of what those feathers were created of.
The matriarch lifted her hands to gently caress the white petals, tainted yellow at the wilted edges. They seemed to move under her fingers as The Reaper Goddess waved her hand at her chest so the little feathers seemed to obey her motions. As the blood touched the velvet petals the flower closed tightly, as though it had never bloomed at all. LIght seemed to seep from the center, purifying the petals and bringing back their life. The yellowed edges slowly turned white and pure as the first moment the blossom had been embedded in her chest.
Cyrstalsa's eyes closed as she took in a deep breath… her lungs filling with the power enriched air. There was a rush through her system as her boy responded along side the flower. Her elegance returned, the graying hair turned white, streaked with the pale colors of the sky lights. The Matriarch's body suddenly seemed as though it had been restored to her true form, no longer drained by the flower that had been drinking her essence. As her body was restored, a beautiful woman of 104 years but the body of a 50 year old sat in the Matriarch's place. The flower bloomed again, petals white and edged with the thinnest line of crimson.
Bryson watched in shock, his hand reaching out to gently touch his mother's arm, concern in his eyes as Crystalsa's eyes opened again. Her eyes a bit dazed and but there was life in her again, not the exhaustion he had become so accustomed to seeing. "Mother?" He whispered.
Her smile was electrifying. "My son.." She whispered softly as she reached out and touched his cheek.
"Grandmother?" Myra asked as she came to kneel beside her grandmother, accidentally reminding her of Kyera who had sat similarly days before.
"I am well, Myra. Much better than I have been in a long time, but Kyera… Is she?" Crystalsa asked as she rose from her seat and turned to face her bed where Kyera lay, covered in a blanket. The Reaper Goddess had already taken her place beside her niece again, as if she had not just given life back to the Matriarch.
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