[P] whom the gods love die young

[Elena]

elena

I've hidden memories in boxes inside my head before. Sometimes it's the only way to deal with things.

She once stared into a city, and the city stared back at her. So maybe, the abyss everyone keeps peering into like some god forsaken realm, is not an abyss at all, but a city, with a castle at its center.

Why do you think we want the thing most likely to hurt us? He had asked her.

Her answer—it will change after today, when she emerges from the hospital, knees bruised from kneeling, blood on her brow, and a crown perched atop her head.

History is a mirror and everyone is just older versions of themselves; children shaking inside adult skins, children crying behind tired, adult eyes. She is still that little girl next to her mother, thinking if she just wished hard enough, she could keep drawing heart beats inside her chest. She is still that little girl watching in horror as her father fell, the way his amber eyes whispered how much he loved her even as he knew he would die protecting her. She is still that little girl Marcelo found, feet cold in the snow. She is still that little girl crying besides rivers and waterfalls.

She is still that little girl— and little girls shouldn't wear crowns. And so she has to try to shed this skin and leave that little girl behind.

She is tired.
For perhaps the first time in her life, she is bone-tired.
And now is not the time to be.

Marisol’s eyes open, but Elena wonders if she is truly seeing her. Elena feels small against her, and it is something that makes her her shake, and want to curl up next to her commander. But it does not cloud her judgment nor her intelligence. She inhales fear, but breathes out admiration for her leader. “Rest, Marisol, please,” she tells her with that soft, quiet smile, eyes still blue like summer days, no matter how hard it is to smile in this moment, no matter how hard it is to keep those eyes free of fear. Marisol has given her much, Elena can offer her this.

She is reminded in this moment, the first time she realized that life was not infinite. She remembers her mother dying, her father, the soldiers on the battlefield. But, memories can't hurt anyone, unless they are shared. So Elena stays quiet as she watches Marisol, watches her tears, pretends not to notice. (“it’s just the rain,” she would say if she was asked.)

“With you as its sovereign.”

She hadn't realized it was possible to feel this cold.She could feel it like a cold wind sweeping through her, rushing through the edges of her so that she felt nothing but the bitter bite of all she has seen, experienced here in Novus.

She takes a steadying breath and rights her shoulders.

There’s a moment where she feels the space between her breaths. She feels herself floating away, but suddenly, it is Terrastella that anchors her. This feeling of weight responsibility sits inside her, it has taken up residence in a valley between her ribs. “Marisol…” she says. And, not for the first time, she resents her weakness. Not for the first time, she wishes she were someone stronger. She shouldn't be this, she couldn't do this. She wouldn't— but Elena is Elena, through and through.

So she would.

“Do more giving than taking. Power can corrupt those who have everything and those who have nothing.” The once sterling regent had told her so long ago when Elena ventured on a patrol with her. She calls to Aletta know, her heart reaches out to her, she wishes she were here. “You’re right,” she says, feeling her pulse begin to steady slightly. Her breathing more even. Another swallow as she feels her head clear, her thoughts beginning to settle. There’s a pause and a muscle in her jaw jumps before it settles into a smile. “Marisol, I can do this,” she says, she doesn't say it is because she has to, even though the words still stand unsaid between them. Elena plants a kiss on her dark cheek. “You will always be my commander, I hope you know this.”

Find what you love and let it kill you. Isn’t that how the saying goes? Because it is better to be killed by a lover than anything else?

But with this decision, it is decided, Elena will not be killed by a lover—but by her country.

« r » | @Marisol