Don't Let Me Drown
By Draic Kin of the Balance
"What doesn't kill you makes you wish you were dead
Got a hole in my soul growing deeper and deeper
And I can't take one more moment of this silence
The loneliness is haunting me
And the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up
It comes in waves, I close my eyes
Hold my breath and let it bury me
I'm not okay and it's not all right
Won't you drag the lake and bring me home again
Who will fix me now? Dive in when I'm down?
Save me from myself, don't let me drown
Who will make me fight? Drag me out alive?
Save me from myself, don't let me drown
What doesn't destroy you leaves you broken instead
Got a hole in my soul growing deeper and deeper
And I can't take one more moment of this silence
The loneliness is haunting me
And the weight of the worlds getting harder to hold up
It comes in waves, I close my eyes
Hold my breath and let it bury me
I'm not okay and it's not all right
Won't you drag the lake and bring me home again
Who will fix me now? Dive in when I'm down?
Save me from myself, don't let me drown
Who will make me fight? Drag me out alive?
Save me from myself, don't let me drown
You know that I can't do this on my own
Who will fix me now?
Who will fix me now?
Who will fix me now? Dive in when I'm down?
Save me from myself, don't let me drown." ~Bring Me the Horizon, Drown
It has been four months. Four months since Mary's execution, and Francis can't remember when she starts to manifest before him. He sees her everywhere, all the time. It begins as mere flashes; one minute, Mary will be there and the next, she will be gone. Am I going mad? he can't help but wonder. Am I going mad in my grief for Mary? All of court speculates on what he will do now that his queen is dead. A king needs heirs. Mary gave me a son, but her brother killed him in cold blood. Hysterical laughter threatens to bubble from his chest. He can't go on like this anymore. Mary's rebellious death has haunted him and tormented him; it is a wonder that he is still even half-sane.
With a trembling hand, he opens the door to Mary's chambers. Since her execution, they have been vacant, save for the servants. Mary's belongings are packed in chests to be sold to the highest bidder in an auction, at Mother's insistence. The aroma of her perfume still lingers in the air, after all of these months. Roses. He remembers the flowers in her hair that she once wore during her first few days back at court. She wore roses in her hair the first time I ever held her in my arms. Tears burn and he closes his eyes, sighing shakily as they slip down his cheeks. Why must she haunt him so?
Francis, you need to let me go. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. She is behind him, and when he turns to face her, he can't breathe. Mary is here with him, and yet she isn't. She is a ghost, a mere image projected from his subconscious, but he can't give her up – no matter how hard he tries.
"Mary, I…" The words catch in Francis's throat.
It's been months. I don't want you hurting like this for the rest of your life, Mary continues. She takes his hand in hers, but he can't feel her touch.
"You aren't really here with me," he chokes out. "You're buried in the crypt." Francis furiously shakes his head, opening one of the chests and reaching for one of Mary's dresses. He sits down on the bed, bringing her dress to his nose, inhaling her scent. This is all that is left of her: her ghost and her possessions and they too will be gone, sold to the people almost like hand-me-downs. She sits beside him and reaches for him, stroking his cheek.
I don't want this for you, she whispers. Move on. Be happy. It hurts me to see you like this. Mother knocks on the door frame and Francis jumps, startled.
"Francis, what are you doing?" she asks, not unkindly.
"Nothing. I was just leaving," he answers hastily. He discards Mary's gown, hastily wiping his tears from his face, unable to look Mother in the eye.
"I know you loved her," she says gently, "and I know the agony of losing the one you love most. When your father died, I was…the pain was unimaginable, but in a strange sense, I was also…relieved. Relieved because he wouldn't be able to hurt this country, hurt this family, ever again."
"How did you do it?" Francis asks. "Move on?" He feels Mary's eyes piercing him as he speaks and with every word, he can't help but feel as though he is betraying her. Betraying her memory and their marriage. "Because every time I let it sink in that I'm never going to see her again, I feel like I'm going to die." His voice catches on a ragged sob and Mother sits down on the bed next to him. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a warm and consoling embrace.
"Shhh, shhh," she murmurs. "I know, I know." Francis clings to her, hiding his face in her shoulder, as he begins to sob. She winds her hand through the back of his head, whispering words of comfort in his ear. "There is no shame in grieving for her, Francis. I hope you know that."
Francis doesn't trust himself to speak, so he merely nods. His sobs gradually slow to shudders and he pulls away from Mother and rises to his feet. "I have to let her go," he began shakily. "I know that."
Then do it, Francis, Mary urges him. Let me go and spare yourself all of this pain. Her eyes are wet with tears, pleading with him. I've been gone for months now. It's time.
"I'm here if you need me," Mother says softly.
Cold. Desolate. The crypt is dark, save for the candles lit. The dead surround him: Father, Bash, and all of the dead Valois kings and queens and descendants. Mary lies entombed in her casket before him, her body slowly decomposing until there is nothing left of her but dust. Her body is here and yet, he can hear her voice even now.
Francis… she begins.
"Mary, you…you can't be here," says Francis resolutely. "You're not even real." He blinks back the tears that are burning in his eyes. "You're a mirage…you're not here, not really. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I can't live like this!"
Then don't. Mary approaches him, cradling his face in her hands. I am only here because you want me to be here.
"Goodbye, Mary," he whispers. "I love you." He kisses her softly, but when he opens his eyes, she is still standing before him. Disappointment is written all over her fair features as she shakes her head.
You're still holding on, Francis. It isn't a question and her voice is colder than the dead.
"No, no. Mary, I-I said goodbye!" he protests. Mary brushes past him and he turns to face her. "Mary, please… it's over. You're gone!"
I'm not angry with you. I'm disappointed. How long before Catherine starts suspecting that you've been hallucinating me ever since I was executed? How long before France falls apart because you can't say goodbye to me?
"No, no, no, no, no. Mary, stop it!" The tears streak from his eyes against his bidding. "This is the last time –"
Four months since I died and you still can't let me go! Mary laughs humorlessly. Let's see how many people you have lost over the years. Your father, Bash, our son…and finally, me.
"Mary, Mary, please don't. Please don't do this; you're getting in my head, please stop!"
I suppose losing me was the one thing you could not fathom. And look at you now! You're hallucinating me just so you won't have to accept reality. I AM DEAD, FRANCIS. GONE FOREVER. And now? A lifetime of agony and grief, and you'll feel it all until the day you—
"NO!" Francis shouts. He is scarcely aware that he is sobbing openly as he grabs the candle-stand and hurls it to the ground. The unmistakable shatter of glass echoes throughout the crypt, breaking the deadly silence. He is blinded by tears and the stone cold wall kisses his back as he collapses, weeping. The pain suffocates him, chokes him, drowns him, and there is nobody to save him.
FIN.