Empress
If power was what C.C. had craved for all her life, she would have been better than Marianne. The Emperor did terrible things for his beautiful, rotten wife-- more than he could ever know, and less than he would have believed. Sure, he'd made promises to V.V.; but who was it that eventually secured that cozy little place by his side? How much, C.C. mused, and how far, would Emperor Charles have gone to build a world without lies if this woman had never appeared? One thing that C.C. learned: strange or seemingly irrelevant people and places and forces can influence magnitudes of a decision. This was just one of many morals and lessons that she had acquired in her experience as a mortal-then-immortal creature.
C.C. the slave. C.C. of Geass. C.C. of the Salem Witch trials. C.C. of-- there were too many different elements of herself, and since it was impossible to embody all of them, C.C. wasn't any of them. She sighed and turned over, her passive body weak to stop her spiraling thoughts. So which one was she? As of now, she was C.C. of the Rebellion. C.C. of Zero. C.C. of Marianne and Charles. C.C. of Japan and C.C. of the Black Knights.
She flipped onto her back again and watched dust motes float across the bedroom sky. C.C. exhaled.
Or C.C. of many lovers.
C.C. turned onto her side and curled her body in the fetal position, her hair tickling her cheek and nose. That was perhaps the only identification that was true throughout all her millennia of gathered experience. She could remember all of them-- the early lovers-- but not clearly, and there was nothing magical about any of them. They were simply numerous. They were countless; they came in the billions and trillions. Besides, they died long ago. Still, she remembered their faces and the ever-shifting dimensions of their eyes, ambiguous orbs that only showed her dimensions of own desperate need. It didn't take long for her to hate the nun that she'd formed the contract with.
The lovers she took after she'd received the Code were different. She stopped receiving exactly what she wanted, but getting nothing of what she wanted wasn't kind to her either. Still, she'd been so young-- it took her 600 years before it really hit her that things would continue like this. Unending, no matter how many times she threw herself off a cliff or absently swallowed arsenic. And perhaps it was pathetic, but C.C. had loved many of the useless men that failed to fulfill her contract-- yet she could only watch jealously when they perished, though human death was tragic to C.C., then and always.
Now C.C. was C.C. of Lelouch. Lelouch was C.C.'s current lover.
C.C. laughed. She turned over on her other side, looking lazily at a crosshatch pattern of red marks on her wrist.
Lelouch was the most self-centered person she'd ever met. Perhaps there had been others like him, but she couldn't remember, and it wasn't necessary that she should. Lelouch was also selfless within the confines of his pride, a strange trait-- one befitting of kings, perhaps. And Lelouch wanted to be Emperor-- that much she could tell, and if having experience meant that she could have higher insight into the future, then C.C. could say with some certainty that it had a real chance of happening.
And if Lelouch were to become Emperor, would then C.C. become his Empress?
C.C. snorted.
Indeed, if it were to happen, a new label would be added to C.C.'s ever changing personality: Empress C.C., C.C. of Royal Britannia, C.C. the 99th Empress. "Empress C.C."; the title had an untried ring to it. She shifted onto her back, arms and legs extended starfish-style. And if C.C. became Empress, would she then be categorized with the like of Emperor Charles, for her multiple lovers?
C.C. laughed into her elbow, which she'd placed across her eyes. Such bizarre tangents her thoughts took her on.
