Plumeria lies dreaming.

Within the close trees and dense bush and twisting roots, in a sunspotted glade with a golden mushroom circle, encircled by a patch of shimmering violets, Plumeria lies dreaming.

It is cold. Frost glazes the ground and crunches beneath her hooves. She shivers, wondering where she is. It is not at all the warm glade in the Forest she knows.
She glances down, and sees the violets, the violets she often speaks to, growing around her feet. As she watches them they begin to tremble their icy petals and sing. They softly sing the melody that always brings burning tears to her eyes...

To my angel in blue
In a Plume of desire
Doth my heart ache for you
Doth thy pelt light the fire
Deep 'thin; of my being
I care for you so
But time has come wailing...
I must let thee go...

And again it is sung as the tears stream down her cheeks. But then it is no more the voices of the violets; it is of
"Taint!"

The cry rips itself out from her mouth. From the violets around her feet sprouts warm golden wisps with firey streaks, and they twist and wrap and twine to form the shape of a doe Plumeria knows so very well.
Taint gives a sad little smile at her, and continues to sing softly. Unable to contain herself any longer, Plume springs forward. She longs to wrap her neck around hers, she longs to be with her at last, and she is so close, just a few more steps-

"I must let thee go..."

And Taint fades away, wisp by wisp. Plume crashes through her fading form, scattering golden flames like frail leaves in the wind.
Her heart explodes with pain. Again, lost. Again the one she loves, gone. She feels like her chest is shattering and she screams to the sky, wailing out the name of her beloved. Tears fall, one by one, and the violets die, one by one, succumbing to the bitter icy wind and the spreading frost.

Since Taint said goodbye, Plumeria has been having this very dream, again and again. Again and again she has seen the fading form, and felt the pain. Again and again, she has fallen, sobbing, to the hard ground, cracked her head against the stone, and let blissful darkness envelop her.

"Plume? Plume! Are you all right?"

She jerks and is awake. Above her with a concerned look is her brother, Olive. He helps her head up, saying, "You were crying out in your sleep... The dream, again?..."
Unable to speak, Plume nods weakly and buries her head between her forelegs again, squeezing her eyes tightly.
Olive lies beside her, wondering what in the Forest he should do. My attempts of comfort don't seem to do anything, he thinks sadly.
Sighing, he nudges a small pile of button mushrooms and blueberries toward her.
"Eat," he urges. "You haven't for the past few days... You'll starve..."

Plume simply trembles. Olive knows she is crying again.
He rests his head on her back, trying again to be some support. But he does not know, he does not know at all what it must be like. He does not know what to say. I cannot do anything for her.

He stands and watches her, worried. He perks his ears and he catches the scent of his own love. His gaze flickers to Plume and back again, torn between the two.
A violet, Cobalt, quietly murmurs "It's all right; we'll take care of her."
They lean their leaves toward the body of Plume protectively.
"Thank you," he breathes, and giving Plume a last nuzzle he trots away. But his steps are heavy, and as he walks he mumbles sadly,
"Oh, Lady Taint... Why'd you have to go..."

He is gone, and Plume slowly turns her tear-streaked face to the side, bleakly staring out at the fuzzy landscape. She blinks blearily, and shivers, even though it is warm midday. Her stomach growls and hunger gnaws, but she ignores it. What was the point, anymore?

"Take me, Death," she whispers, and the black stag appears before her.
He stands proud and strong with his great antlers of white bone, and stares at her sternly.
I shall not.
"Please..."
No, barks Death, dark eyes glittering. It is not your time.
"I have no more to live for," she cries bitterly.
She is not dead. And what of your promise to her, flower fae?
"Where is she?" she asks desperately. "Tell me-"
I know not. I rule my own realm.
And he is gone.

Plumeria grits her teeth and staggers upright. Her mind is jumbled, and without knowing where, she walks.
It is a beautiful noon; she finds herself pacing through the rich-toned birches, long grasses waving and brushing past her legs. Shafts of bright sunlight illuminate the wafting motes and bring out the reds and golds of the shimmering forest floor.
She wanders to the Playground. The sparrows flick about, and they call out cheerful cries that almost irritate her. One lands upon her flowered antlers, but she lets it be.

The sun is hot, here. Seeking shade, she brings herself slowly 'neath the slanted rock. Her mind is blank. She leans against the wall of the stone that supports the slanted one, and stares dully at the horizon.

She feels something scratch against her cheek.
She glances over at the wall, and sees something that makes her heart skip a beat.

For there was a drawing etched into the stone. A drawing of her. A beautiful representation of her, the flower fae. Flowing wings, gentle face. A single little plumeria tied to an antler.
And in the bottom right corner, a signature... A jumble of letters.
"Taint," whispers Plume, and her eyes well up with tears.
The etching is quite old; Already the lichen and moss has begun to creep into the cracks. But every mark is filled with love, and Plume lays her face against it, her tears washing away lines of grime and dust.
"Thank you, Taint... I only wish I could tell you face to face... Oh, it's beautiful, Taint."
She raises a delicate hoof, and begins to scratch into the rock beside her portrait. As she works, she talks quietly; to who, perhaps herself. "Death was right. I can't go. I can't break my promise, Taint. I'll keep waiting, don't worry... I'll wait for ever, if I need to... Painful or not." Scratch, scratch, scratch. Sniffle. "I'll be here for you..." She labours long and hard, and the sun is low when at last she lowers her now-blunt hoof.
"I hope you like it, Taint."

And the tiniest of smiles pulls at the corners of her mouth.