May. 2nd, 2011

thekingsgambit: (stepping so lightly)
[It's morning in the garden and the air is still slightly chill from the recently departed night. But such things are of little consequence to the young man who rests on his knees by the largest patch of lilies, recalling another day in a garden considerably larger than this one and the jubilant companion that raced ahead of him -- through the paths of flowers, calling his name excitedly in her bubbly voice and mock-pouting when his attempts to keep up with her were frequently hampered by his own exhausted breaths. Then, another day, when it was her struggling to catch her breath, the flowered paths at her side now endless puddles of red, dark petals of the color staining her lily-white dress -- And again, she calls his name, eagerly encouraging him one last time to join her game.

The recollection is simpler than the dreams that brought him here, fantasies of them working together to forge something pure, pure and not wrenched from the bloody tatters of a bitter recovery. Something that wouldn't have been paid for by a litany of names stretching onto forever -- he had made it a point then to learn every single one of them. One should always know the exact cost of an exchange. Oh how that child that had teased him by the flowers, that woman that had beamed at him in the darkened headquarters of her precious gift to the Japanese (to the world) would have hated the entire act.

He reaches for one of the lily's fragile petals (yes it is fitting that this had been the flower she waited at those many years ago when things were still fresh and full of possibility). His eyes lower, no longer focusing on the flower but instead losing himself to his memories.]

And what now, Euphie? Would you manage a smile for the broken world I have laid at the lap of Nunnally and all the others who would claim it? It is not how you would have done it of course, but... I have never had your gentle touch. Nunnally does. You know it too. Even with everything I have done to her, bloodying her hands just as I bloodied yours, forcing her to claim each death as her own... she is still your sister. Her hands are more capable of helping to shape the world you saw than mine ever were. Just as I will always be the destroyer, you two will always be the true creators, architects of a future that I could only ever barely glimpse.

But is it enough? Even if it is accepted by our world, I wonder if it would be accepted by you. Or would you still the shadows of what could have been? I admit, I have long blinded myself from them. Perhaps, you would find some hope in knowing that those possibilities are now in the hands of the one who could always see. It is the type of simple poetry that you once cherished. Ah, Euphie?

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Lelouch vi Britannia

February 2014

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