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The thing is. The thing is.
Pearl sits at the very top of her and Bigb's tower. It's a fantastic view, but the wind is so cold and sharp. It sweeps her hair around her head, which is rude, because she spent a whole five minutes untangling it, thank you very much. She can see pretty much everything from up here, from the TIES tower to the Scott's coral reef. It's peaceful, or it would be if it weren't for this incessant ticking in her ear, reminding her of the limited time. Pearl checks the pocketwatch around her neck. It's a beautiful old thing, bronze wolves circling the frame, rubies in-laid for their eyes. She's not quite sure what the hands are made of, but they're void black against the quartz face. And it goes tick. Tick. Tick. Like a bomb.
So the thing is. The thing is.
Last time, she sat at the top of her tower and let the cold wind cut through her threadbare cloak. Tilly wrapped herself around her, and she had her wheat and powdered snow and that was all she needed. It had been so, so cold. Freezing, even. Last time she was alone, and the entire server was against her. This time- this time she has Bigb, and Scott and Martyn and maybe Cleo and- this time she's not alone. She's not alone. It's a bit warmer.
Now the thing is. The thing is.
It was always uncertain. Pearl only needed a dozen swings of her axe to kill the others. It's skill that kept her alive, and her skill that killed them. Their deaths were as certain as the sun setting. She knew it had to end, but her only warning was five blinks of tnt and Scott yelling "Tilly death do us part!" before pain ripped through her and she died. It's not that Pearl likes the constant ticking in her ear, but she appreciates the warning. She appreciates knowing when her time runs out, because now she knows there's a way out without violence. They could bury themselves in the dirt and wait. They could. They should. It would be a nice way to go.
And then thing is. The thing is.
When Pearl was deep in the bloodlust, it was so warm. Energy constantly thrummed through her, coursing her veins and guiding her every move. It urged her to keep moving, to keep running, to keep her axe swinging. If she kept moving, she didn't have to grieve. If she kept moving, she didn't have to think. If she kept moving, she didn't have to waste energy on burying dead bodies. If she didn't bury them, she didn't have to feel guilty. And it was so warm. It was so warm.
Right, so the thing is. The thing is.
Pearl thinks about it, sitting at the top of her and Bigb's tower. It's so cold up here, but the view is worth it. Froggy curls her way onto Pearl's lap, purring deeply. Everyone seems happier. Hardly anyone remembers last time. So really. Hm. It's not cold anymore. It's not quite warm either. She knows the time is ticking. By the gods, she knows. It's ticking, and ticking, and slipping away, but it feels like honey, instead of sand. And so- and so they could wait. They have time. They have time. There's time to watch the sunset. It's- they have time.
Pearl thinks about it. In another life, where she carries a scythe instead of an axe, and a crown instead of a helmet, it's traditional to bury the dead with sunflowers. In her land of rolling wheat fields and magic, sunflowers represent hope for the dead and rebirth. Funerals are about celebrating the life lived, and guiding the dead to the next. It doesn't matter who died, only they deserved to have another chance to do better. Be better. Live better. And in that world- long gone, but it's traditions and values carry on in others -there's always someone left behind. There's always someone who had more sand in their timer. There's always someone left to grieve.
Finally, the thing is. The final thing is.
There's never anyone left to bury the bodies.