When he left, Flea told herself she would forget him.
When he wasn't around, Flea told herself she didn't need him.
When he returned, Flea told herself she didn't love him anymore.
When he left again, Flea told herself they could never be together.
When he died, Flea told herself there would be life after him.
Flea told herself she would recover.
Flea told herself she needed to be Queen.
Flea told herself that's what he would have wanted.
Flea told herself a lot of things.
It didn't work.
Charon had tried to destroy her home, Porthos had been a hero, and she was just Flea. She wore her title like a crown, and her heart on her sleeve. She stole from nobles and gave to children. She stops fights and teaches children how to steal. She drinks far to much and eats far too little. She was falling apart, and there was nobody left to pick up the pieces of her. She had admirers that didn't understand. She had friends who'd stab her in the back at a heartbeat. And she'd do the same to them. She had stood among the trees in the cemetery and hadn't shed a tear. She watched his friends leave one by one. She stayed. Then she turned on her heel and left. She was just Flea. She was a Queen. She would learn how to live again one day. She just needed to survive until then.