It Is July 16th.

It is July 16th.

A date known across this world and many more. A day forever marked in the memories of the Celestial bots. A sad day, an omen of struggles to come.

It is also the day a certain pair fully woke up. Deemed to be their date of “birth” if one were to say it so. The twins of the blood moon, though no longer at play, are honored on this day.

The day of the massacre.

That damned day.

The moon is up high, red shine illuminating the deck. A place of importance this was to the twins. A place where many others have agreed to meet.

The feral one starts, calm for once. Under their hood, white eyes look at the sky, pondering on the fate of them who shared their code. They approach a lamppost and place their offering, a giant scythe, for whatever hunts the twins may partake in the afterlife. They lower their head, uncharacteristically silent, and make their way back to the group.

It is a while before anyone else moves, though before long them who’ve retired approach. In truth they hadn’t wanted to come, at least not with the others. They hadn’t seen a point when all they shared was a name. They shake their head and look at the moon. Though not exactly the same, they supposed they still understood. At least the real ones could be at rest now, free of all the shackles and free of any pain. They place the copper dagger at the base, and turn back to the rest, for once their quietness not questioned by the fellow pairs.

The hunter and harvest moons stare up at the stars, hand in hand. They were next in line to pay respects. A basket of flower chains they’ve brought, orange, and pink, and white, they could not find any red. They place them around the lamppost, tying the strings so they wouldn’t fly away. They pause and take a look at the small memorial, wondering if without their family this would be them. They hold one another closer at the thought. They hope the flower smell could reach those separated by death and reunited once again, the not unpleasant smell was one they knew could help.

He took a step forward, then another. He hadn’t expected this to be so difficult, it was a struggle for him just to walk, but he couldn’t just not show up. Not again. Once reaching the lamppost he glances up at the sky, a memory quickly flashing by. He looks down again, trying to keep himself calm. A comforting hand rests on his shoulder, his friend had arrived as soon as he had called. Together they leave the plushie on the ground, the lone twin looking back once more, glad to know at least the other him was no longer alone.

The vampire walks up to the lamppost. They were the ones who came up with this event. Truth be told they hadn’t expected so many others to agree to it, it was meant as a small ceremony of sorts, though they supposed it was good in the end. To have so many others show their respect. They kneel and place down the charm they had prepared, a ‘good luck in the afterlife’ so they’ve read. They hoped the other them was doing well in hell, they knew how awful it could get down there.

They don’t know why they agreed to this, they really didn’t. The guy was awful, a murderer, a freak. But… it didn’t feel right for them to not show up. With unpracticed care, they wobble over to the memorial, a scarlet ribbon in their hands. They figured the originals would like that shade more than their preferred orange and wine. It took some time but they eventually managed to tie the ribbon around the post, their shared body stumbling back and nearly falling over thereafter. They went back to their place wondering if this is what Kaycee felt whenever she looked at them.

Both humans walk up at once. The older holding a bag close to their chest, a fitting sacrifice for their alternate selves they believed; the youngest had a necklace of a red stone they had found, they weren’t really sure what else they could’ve gotten. They both place their offerings at the same time, necklace on the base and cow’s head to the side. The older stood up and looked at the red sky. Such a pretty view it was, they were glad they could see it together, such luck they had had. Unfortunate the others couldn’t have a fraction of it, to be ripped apart like that was not something easily left behind. Though they were both dead now so perhaps it didn’t matter at all. The youngest stood up as well, talking out loud to themselves. They knew of the twin’s status at their deaths, so upsetting to think they’d had no one but themselves. It was small and they couldn’t answer anymore, but they had still offered a place in their family’s home, they knew for sure they’d leave an open space for them at dinner today.

Death itself was there, or at least one of them. The butterfly god had agreed to let its new soul out, to mourn or grieve or whatever they were busy at. The young god and their still mortal twin approach the place for gifts, still in sync despite the many differences developed. They place the flower down, the mortal tying the previously left necklace around the vase’s mouth. They both look back at the moon and stars, slightly at peace at seeing what will be. This is their future, perhaps not exact, but very close to it. A soul destined to death, and a pair to never separate.

They were last in line, and last arrived, recent arrivals to the group over all. To find so many others with the same affliction had been both surprising and sad, even more when learning of their brother’s reputation. Still, the new twins step forth, moral support sun at their side. They knew little of these alternates, just that they were villains and rejoiced in death, and they loved one another dearly to an immeasurable extent. Such a duality hurt their brain, but they figured they’d still pay their respects. A black cloak in their hands, one of the many they had, a perfect tool for sneaking around in the dark, they figured it’s something the dead killers would like. They step back after placing it down, their brother behind them, and all three let their thoughts wander to what in their future might happen.

Once all were done there was silence. No one really had anything to say, all of them holding their own thoughts over the death of this version of them. And one by one, each pair left, returning to their worlds and their daily lives. Some came home to celebrations of their own, some to quiet halls, some to rotten bark. But in the end, whether better or worse, they all arrived to their friends and family, and, if only for one night, let themselves appreciate what they had, what they could’ve lost.

May the twins find mayhem in the afterlife, may they burn in hell side by side. Happy birthday Bloodmoon,