Evening

There once was a mother, dejected and without recourse other than faith, cry she did, to no avail, tears were meaningless, only serving to moisten the freshly upturned grave.

O, how small of a grave it was, soon had this nascent soul departed-

'Too soon, too late… Who knows?'

"O, bright lady, why refute this child?" asked the woman "O, pale lady, why take this child?'

Naught but silence was present to respond, but ask she kept, begging for her child to be returned.

'One child, two children, your village, the whole region… They all must pass eventually, your child is but ahead of them…'

Indeed, no one wished to answer her prayers, but silence was not taken as a refusal, nothing but the absence of approval, yet.

"O, bright lady, can you hear me?"

No one appeared.

Silence once more, the grave lull was not the domain of the bright.

"O, pale lady, can you hear me?"

And silence, spoke back.