Chapter Text
They spin in unison as her scream rings out, desperate and terrified yet so god-damned determined. Those on the battlefield pause at the sight of Lady Irene (Lord Aphmau, she would always be Lord Aphmau in their hearts) on her knees… Her white dress is stained with blood that steadily spreads, and a blade is ran through her.
No, no no nononon-
They want to scream--desperate, pitiful pleas build in their lungs but not a single one of them allow it to escape their crushed throats and clenched jaws; this is a battlefield, a war, and thus weakness cannot be shown.
They want to pray, beg, prostrate themselves by the Matron's feet and offer everything they have, everything they have and are worth, in hopes that they could escape this... this nightmare.
But it isn't a figment of their overly-imaginative (and frankly, unhealthily paranoid) minds.
(Though is it paranoia when they're really out to get you?)
Surely that was not Aphmau, but rather a stranger with the same raven coloured hair, sun-kissed skin and wide, amber eyes.
Surely that was not Aphmau (their lord; their light; their love), frozen as though she had been struck by paralysing magicks during the fighting, with blood dripping agonising slowly down the violet blade.
The blade of her lover, Aaron, not theirs.
(Violet, violet, violet, not green or blue or red-- never would they let it be their blade that pierced her body)
(it never could and never would be theirs).
Shad smiles down at them, a smile of a madman, yet one of jealousy and resigned guilt.
He had won. Their battles, the grueling preparation, the children that grew up too quickly, the memorials and graves and lost ones… it all boiled down to this.
Failure. Loss. He had won.
Raven locks fly wildly in the wind as she falls, caramel eyes (wide with horror, fear, pain) staring both blankly and intensely into nothing (into the void).
Lean legs, defined with years, decades; no, entire centuries and millennium of training, in order to protect those she loved… they crumple beneath that shaking torso, and she falls to her knees, by the feet of her sworn enemy (her once lover, her mortal weakness), and she-
She pulled the knife from her chest and smiled.
"Was that supposed to hurt?"
(He wasn't really a mortal weakness, was he? Then again, wouldn't the better question, was she ever mortal?)