He remembers but does not. When people ask him why he does not talk about his first wife, he tells them the truth. "She was a witch," he says, and they all giggle and smile and say that surely he is exaggerating. She could not have been so terrible, his father tells him. She was passably kind, if a bit distant, whenever they'd met her. He stays silent, for he knows protesting them would be futile.
He remembers a face unremarkable and younger than himself by a few years. He remembers a name and wonders if it was her real one. He remembers she'd loved him and almost feels bad.
But then, he also remembers what it is like to be trapped in unwanted love, unable to protest and not really wanting to, because you feel so good inside, even if a little voice in the back of your mind whispers that you do not want this completion, not this way.
He goes through the motions of a life returned to how it should be, unencumbered, unloving, totally and completely normal.
And sometimes, when the lights go out at night, and everyone sleeps, he almost cries, because he misses it.
Well. That was weird, if remarkably better than my other fic. If it was inaccurate, too bad. This was written on a whim and the events it was written around were not researched vigorously, or, at all, really. They were simply written from my far from perfect memory and if that does not please Your Highness, then you can go stuff it up that place where you keep all your sticks, for all I care. It was short because I needed a quick outlet for my weirdness.
Wishing you much angst,
-WhiteRoses96
Have a pleasant day and be sure to fly with us again.