The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back.
Seething hatred burned in her gaze, and as she charged at him, she screamed Emmeryn's name to the high heavens. Their swords clashed, the reverberations of metal on metal ringing through the desert air. She should have stuck with magic; her swordplay left her wide open, and after he had run her through, electricity coursing through the gaping wound in her chest, he tried to ignore the tears that fell down his cheeks.
The next time, you are brunette, and you do.
He found her wandering, lost and starving, through Plegia's desert sands. Though she lost her memory, she somehow remembered his name, sending fear coursing through him that somehow, she remembered the sins of his previous life. But she smiled at him, and with her aid, he won a war; the two decades before the Grimleal's betrayal were the sweetest he ever could have dreamed of.
After a while, I give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything,
When he looked in the mirror, nothing changed: crimson hair, crimson eyes, and grey skin, all reflecting back in the same shapes. Perhaps she was special (of course she was special), for no matter what form she took, he always recognized her- not her walk, nor her voice, nor the color of her hair. She was like coming home.
because even when you don't exist, I'm always in love with you.
Her likeness graced his canvas in a thousand shapes and colors. Varying forms, different textures, all a remembrance to the many lives of one extraordinary woman. He closed his eyes and reached out to her missing presence- maybe in the next life.
I remember most fondly those lifetimes when we get to grow up together,
Sunlight heated their skin as they walked through the marketplace. Normally, the shopkeepers threw a fit when he came near, but her smile could disarm the cruelest of men. The baker handed her a cookie, and she split it with him; that was their childhood- warm cinnamon and warmer smiles.
when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.
Hanging from the branches of her favorite tree, the world below and all the people there had never looked so small, even from the highest spire of Plegia castle, all those lifetimes ago. They made it their tree, carved their names in its bark, and always promised to stay together. Just him and her.
I love how you play along with my bad ideas,
He pulled the slingshot taut and aimed directly for the crack of a soldier's bottom. She covered her mouth, trying (and failing) to stifle her laughter. As he released the string and sent the rock flying, they laughed like madmen as the guardsman shrieked, and even when he chased after them, a frantic dance through the crowded market, they never once regretted their actions.
before you grow up and realize they're bad ideas.
Regrettably, he found himself on the whipping post, though he supposed that the current situation sat favorable to the alternative- always, always, better him than her. In his stubbornness, he insisted on attempting to steal a cake for her, and only the finest would do for someone so special. She shook her head no, but he went in on his own, and as she cried as they whipped him, he winked at her through the blood and the pain; for her, he would suffer a thousands lashes.
(And in our times together I have many many bad ideas.)
War never changes- the world cried out as Emmeryn fell, and suddenly, they branded him a demon. Even after his victory, the townspeople cursed his very name, hurling stones (and worse) in his direction, though he always shrugged them off with a laugh. But then they took her, if only to hurt him; they bled her and sent her head to the palace, and he cried out as this time, it was his world that shattered.
When me meet as adults, you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you.
He knew that look well, distrust, and as she stood proudly with the Shepherds, his heart sank, and it always did when fate placed her with them. And when they met two years later, she never did smile at him like she used to. He was the enemy, after all, and he caused them so much grief.
Yet always, you forgive me.
Another birthday spent alone, or so he thought. She wandered in sheepishly, bringing with her a single bottle of brandy; she didn't comment on why no one else gave him their birthday wishes. Her smile, suspicious yet hopeful, rekindled that hope that he had long since buried.
As if you understand what's going on, and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist,
Without their tactician, Chrom's army fell within mere minutes, and without their hierophant, the Grimleal never formed the wicked ambitions that they did in so many lifetimes in the past. He always lived to a ripe old age, watching his nation, or rather his empire, prosper. Time passed, and though he knew no one would come, he stared out his window for a glimpse of whatever color she took in this life; he didn't need any hints to recognize her.
and the ones where we just barely, never meet.
They took her back before she made it to the slums. He knew because the next day, the Grimleal held a ceremony for the crowning of their newest priestess, just seven years old. With that, the world was over, but it didn't bother him; without her in his life, he was damned from the start.
I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.
His blood trickled down her sword and onto the back of her hand. In their closeness, he could stare deep into her eyes, and although this life found him as Ylisse's (more importantly her) enemy, he couldn't help but fruitlessly search for some semblance of understanding, of recognition, deep within her now golden irises. With the last of his strength, he smiled and told her that he loved her.
But when all's said and done, I'd rather surrender to you in other ways.
Laughter filled the air as they danced at their wedding, with Chrom and the others putting on brave faces for the sake of her happiness. It always astounded him, the sacrifices other would make for her sake, though he knew that she deserved each and every one of them. For her, he would die again, and again, and again, for just one more taste of what they had at this very moment.
For though each time, I know I'll see you again, I always wonder
Voices murmured in confusion as he laid on his royal deathbed, laughing in hysterics in between his raspy coughing fits. With a smile, he shouted to the air that he was finally coming home to her. She died ten years ago in this world, and at ninety years old, he couldn't last much longer, especially without her.
is this the last time?
Every moment was precious as he held her tightly to his chest. He loved the early mornings when they woke up together, despite the morning breath and the messy hair. Despite the silliness of it all, he couldn't help but wonder if today could be their final day together; he chalked it all up to being the irrational musings of a man who had too much to lose.
Is that really you?
Another of his senseless fears- of course it was her… wasn't it? She was a man this time, tall and proud, and as (s)he stood by Chrom with such fierce dedication, he wondered with horror if the cycle had broken. Still, his fears proved unfounded, for at the end of everything, (s)he was a good friend to Chrom but a lover to him, despite their bodies and despite the stares.
And what if you're already perfectly happy without me?
She held her exalted husband and their children close, as the camp celebrated her birthday; her smile, like sunshine, lit up the room and rekindled something in all of their hearts, though perhaps his shone the brightest. Somewhere deep within him, he wondered if it was better this way, for she was no longer the wife of a wild heretic and a mad king, but the treasure of house Ylisse. He choked on his screams and drowned in his despair, and he held back tears as he smiled curtly at the princeling (never truly her husband) and wished her a happy birthday.
Ah, but I don't blame you; I'll never burn as brilliantly as you.
From the first time they met, he knew she was special; she floated through this world, as if on wings, above all the dirt and pettiness of this life, and she shone, like the dawn, breaking through the darkness of his past, and reteaching him the worth of humanity. He whispered prayers to her- to her soul, to her core, and to that spark that always, always drew them back together. No matter how much time passed or who spoke to the contrary, this world was theirs: just his
and hers.
It's only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes, until I find the one where you'll return to me.