All love stories are ghost stories
Post-Young Blood oneshot, Blossomfall's POV
This is a love story, this is a ghost story.
This is my story, this is your story.
This is the story of all the ghosts we ever loved.
I loved her like it was in all the kit stories.
But they would never tell our story to kits.
The story of two she-cats, second time lovers (once she told me about her first, I wanted to kill him).
The story of two survivors, driven by envy and guilt.
The story of us, swooning, stupid, perfect.
The story of how we fell in love, and how she became a ghost.
The night she left, I slept in her nest because I loved her scent, ghosts sleeping on the moss.
The night she left, I wanted to dream of the Dark Forest, and fight them with the wrath of BloodClan, fight until they were all dead.
All I dreamt of was her and how she loved me.
If one wants to be rid of a ghost, one must perform an exorcism.
Remove anything the ghost touched.
The next day, I bundle up her moss and shove it in my mouth. It smells like her, it smells like me.
This is what our love smells like.
I take the moss down through the forest, avoiding her grave.
Past the shores.
Throw the moss into the lake.
She is dead.
She is gone.
Banish the ghost from your mind.
Don’t say their name.
Don’t you dare say their name.
Don’t do i-
To Thornclaw, I must be a ghost.
The she-cat who loved him, played him.
It is impossible to say sorry.
“If you love me, let me go.” I say instead.
“Shouldn’t Ivypool be saying that?” he snarls.
We do not speak again.
As an apprentice, I had a ridiculous fascination wih Toadstep. I stalked him and worshipped him like StarClan.
It was just the stupid apprentice daydreams, it was never real.
I thought it was the same when it came to Ivypool and Hawkfrost. I was wrong.
They loved eachother, but not in the way cats were supposed to love.
“I hate him, but I always come crawling back for more.” Ivypool whispered in the Dark Forest one night.
“Loving him leaves me breatheless. But if you stay breatheless for too long, you suffocate and die.”
Nobody should love like that.
I like to pretend she went to StarClan.
But I remember Brokenstar’s lecture too clearly.
“Die twice, you turn into oblivion. Die once and stay long enough, you turn into oblivion. Die once without believing in the afterlife, you turn into oblivion. Take your own life the first time around…” the massive tom paused to sneer at a few trembling trainees.
“What happens to the cowards who resort to suicide, hmm?” he whispered to the terrified apprentices.
“You turn into oblivion.”
It was Whitewing, Birchfall, Dovewing, and me.
We smeared her in rosemary and buried her in that special spot, where the petals fell onto our fur like raindrops.
The sharp, herbal scent is suffocating, it makes me want to choke.
But it does little to hide the scent of death as we cover her body with dirt.
Envy is our undoing. It is a vice we can never be rid of.
“Were you in love with Hollyleaf?” I ask one night, after a terrible day. Mother hates me, she loves Briarlight. My jealousy has hit a high point, and I hate the way Ivypool speaks of the black she cat, starry eyed and sad.
Ivypool doesn’t speak for a moment.
“It was platonic love. Deep, deep platonic love.”
“Tell me you love me more.” I whisper.
“I love you more.”
Why was I so selfish?
At night, I dream about her.
At night, I live another life with her.
At night, she is no longer a ghost.
She is one of the greatest unsung heroes the Clans have ever seen.
But this isn’t a tale for kits.
Heroes don’t get what they deserve.
There is no moral to the story.
There is no happy ending.
There is only ghosts.