With the Will of God

He stood towering above them all atop a hill, overlooking and overshadowing the crowd gathered in her remembrance. Her casket was lowered just as the sun was setting, casting a violent array of crimson red across the sky, and from where he was standing he could hear the soft whimpers of her family and loved ones being carried through the gentle breeze. Because it had been raining only moments before the service, all the bark encasing the dead trees that surrounded this ancient graveyard, and all the dirt that had been up heaved for her burial, were dark, an unnamable shade between dark brown and black. It had stormed ever since her presumed time of death, and it seemed as if the world had shed its tears for her and could cry no longer for fear of breaking to a point that no one could ever come back from…

As the people below began to leave one by one, Donavan waited patiently. He didn’t want to be seen, not now, not in his present condition, yet he knew he may have to wait for quite some time. Delilah had always proved to be dependable and loyal to those she cared for, and somehow or other Delilah could find it in her heart to care for anyone. She was charming with her wit, yet sassy should she find the need to be. Never did she walk over others, and never did she allow others to walk over her. Her personality and grace in presenting it to others went without saying that she was breath-takingly beautiful. She’d had long, curly lochs of brown hair bouncing up and down her back as she walked, with her bangs cut shorter up front so as to see with her brilliant hazel eyes better. Her rosy lips always seemed arched into a smile, however faint it may have been.

Donavan’s looks used to be just as outstanding, as well as his personality, but since he’d heard of her death he hadn’t worried with any of it. His once well-groomed head of straight, white hair long enough to sway across his back seemed flat and unkempt now. His bright blue eyes were glazed over and slightly red at the corners from heavy drinking with dark shadows circling them from lack of sleep. He’d been trying to avoid everyone at all costs without it being clearly, painstakingly known that he didn’t care to socialize with anyone ever again, save maybe the bartender at the inn he’d taken up room in. Even there, only a swift motion of the hand was all that was needed to order another swig of alcohol.

For years now, Donavan had been traveling, becoming a known bounty hunter, and to some underground associates he’d even become known as an assassin for hire. The quiet life of this small town of Dunnberry in a territory known as Engraved (in the country known as Helmer) had never been quite satisfactory enough for his taste. It was perfect for growing-up in, and he’d always enjoyed memories of all the mischief he’d gotten into during his younger years here, not to mention his growing passion for Delilah as they aged together. Still, it seemed he was just too quick to the draw, too zealous in his yearning for knowledge of unique places outside the under populated town, and the wisdom that would come with his travels. Gunmanship was what had peaked his interest, and luckily so because most of the few people who could travel for a living were top notch, skilled weapons specialists. In times like these, if your name was well known you needed protection. Everyone was opinionated, and if you stood up to broadly for your beliefs there was bound to be some crazy coon out to kill you with their own reversed ideals. Assassins were never asked their opinions on the matters, nor were they often told what their boss’ interests were. If assassins started taking up campaign, they wouldn’t be able to travel, so it wasn’t usually delved into. Donavan had made friends and enemies on the job, but most were never seen again once it was time to move on.

He had left Dunnberry when he was nineteen, and though it pained him, he knew it was best to have left Delilah behind. She was strong and courageous enough to hold her own, but Donavan would take no chances. He had planned on returning one day with a ring filled in its radiant glow with proof of his passionate, undying love for her, his growth into full-fledged adulthood, and his prosperity, which he would gain through absolute perfection of his trade. Sadly enough, after three years (and just before he had started planning to pack up and return home to her) he received a letter from Delilah’s grief stricken father. She had become ill with an incurable disease. Her father pleaded that Donavan travel quickly; she longed to see him once more. She had only just been diagnosed the day his father wrote the letter, yet the doctors said she wouldn’t last much longer…

With that, he rode his horse viciously day and night until, finally, he was home… And now he staggered drunk towards his lover’s grave. As he reached the foot of the pile of Earth that had been put back in it’s place solemnly with her lifeless body underneath it now, he could see that her name had been engraved in a feminine cursive font, outlined with stone flowers as well as a stone humming bird drinking from their nectar. Below her name were the words:

“To strike with the might of God is to strike with the will of God.”

Donavan was unsure of what it was supposed to mean, but he didn’t worry with the thought. Too much contemplation right now, he could only assume, would not do him any good. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the case which was meant to hold a ring symbolizing everything he’d ever loved about this woman. As his lips parted, he heard a voice he almost couldn’t recognize saying, “Delilah, my love… How can the gears that run this world continue on without you? To me, this clock is broken, glitching, twitching violently in utter delirium without your heavenly essence to guide it through the darkness and the pain…”

The gentle breeze turned furious almost instantaneously, and as Donavan looked up towards the sky it began to storm once again…