Epilogue

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you

I could walk through my garden forever.

Alfred Tennyson

Anne stirred in her sleep, a distant sound reaching her subconscious mind.

She couldn't tell if it were only seconds, or hours later – the sleep covering her thoughts in a blur – as the faint clank resounded again. This time, her heavy eyelids fluttered slowly open.

Confused she brought herself in a sitting position, pondering if she had only imagined and dreamed it all.

She covered her mouth as she yawed, and decided to simply ease her mind. Removing the white covers from her body, she left her warm comfortable bed, small silent feet tiptoeing over the cold floor, until she reached her window.

Anne pushed the curtains aside with her hands, the moon immediately filling her dark room with a warm soft light. Curiously she peered out, looking to every side in search for a cat, or a branch, which could have caused her to wake up.

Her eyes found nothing.

Just as she decided she must have dreamed after all, and wanted to turn around, a small spot on their front porch caught her attention.

Anne stretched herself up so she could get a better view.

It looked… It looked…

She narrowed her eyes.

Why, it looked almost like flowers!

Before her mind had completed that thought, hope was rushing through her, causing her body to tingle with anticipation, and her heart to pound wildly.

Excited she bit her bottom lip while pondering what she should do. But her feet made the decision even before her head could.

Bare- and soft-footed she rushed downstairs through the house, careful not to wake anybody.

Gingerly Anne opened the door, sending a silent prayer of thanks upwards that Marilla had just oiled it a few days ago, and hurried outside.

Wearing nothing but her white nightgown, but far too eager to feel any coldness of the night, she knelt down beside the small bouquet, almost afraid to touch it.

Afraid it could be only her imagination, a mirage, a Fata Morgana, and as soon as her fingers would reach out, it would disappear into air.

Anne felt as if she would be captured in one of her daydreams. So surreal and magical this all seemed to her, that goosebumps appeared on her arms.

Slowly she reached her fingers out, brushing the blossoms.

Lilies of the Valley.

Jasmines.

Cornflowers.

Her eyes widened as realization sunk in.

Lilies of the Valley, Jasmines, and Cornflowers!

She had to press her lips together to not let out a cry of delight. Her heart made a jump as she encircled the bouquet gently, lifting it up to her face.

Carrying it just as cautiously as one would carry a treasure, Anne stood up and walked to the railing, somehow hoping to find him somewhere, or only a hint of him. But there was nothing. Nothing but white moonlight falling onto the street, and an owl hooting faintly somewhere in the distance.

She looked down at the flowers again, having the feeling she could almost sense his presence on them, almost feel his fingers, which must have hold them just moments ago, his warmth.

She lifted them up to her nose, breathing in the sweet scent.

It wasn't until then that her hands made contact with something else. Something, which was not a stalk, or a leaf, or a blossom, and she finally found a little note attached to the ribbon which held the flowers together.

With trembling hands she opened it, revealing Gilbert's handwriting. Midnightblue ink on white paper.

I wish to believe in immortality, I wish to live with you forever.

Anne pressed it to her lips, a shiver running down her spine as she could almost hear his voice whisper these words in her ear.

The End

(…of my story, but the Beginning of theirs)

AN: I can't believe it. It's really over. I will miss writing it *sigh*

I want to thank all of you, who read and reviewed, and followed Anne and Gil's story!

A special thanks to Miss RHrGreatnessstein, who kept encouraging and inspiring me (I got you Tom, because Spidey's mouth is always masked! "Breathe, girl! Breeeeeaaaaaaatheeeeeeeeeee!" ^^).

And thank you Mina-chan, for bearing with all my writer-blocks and crises, and always sticking with me.