Just Another Loop in the Hangman's Noose
by Draic Kin of the Balance
"We used to swim the same moonlight waters
Oceans away from the wakeful day
- My fall will be for you -
My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I will bleed forever
Scent of the sea before the waking of the world
Brings me to thee
Into the blue memory
- My fall will be for you -
My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I will bleed forever
Into the blue memory
A siren from the deep came to me
Sang my name my longing
Still I write my songs about that dream of mine
Worth everything I may ever be
The Child will be born again
That siren carried him to me
First of them true loves
Singing on the shoulders of an angel
Without care for love 'n loss
Bring me home or leave me be
My love in the dark heart of the night
I have lost the path before me
The one behind will lead me
Take me
Cure me
Kill me
Bring me home
Every way
Every day
Just another loop in the hangman's noose
Take me, cure me, kill me, bring me home
Every way, every day
I keep on watching us sleep
Relive the old sin of Adam and Eve
Of you and me
Forgive the adoring beast
Redeem me into childhood
Show me myself without the shell
Like the advent of May
I`ll be there when you say
Time to never hold our love
- My fall will be for you -
My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
You were the one to cut me
So I'll bleed forever." ~Nightwish, Ghost Love Score
He knows he is too late. It doesn't matter if he reaches her; the deed will already be done. The screaming of the crowd deafens him, and all he can see is Mary, kneeling at the block, the executioner's sword raised high above her neck.
"MARY!" Francis screams. He can't run fast enough; so many of the people are crowded together, eager to catch a glimpse of Mary Stuart's last moments. No matter how much and how loudly he calls out her name, she doesn't hear him. "NO! MARY!" He shoves aside one, two, three, four … it doesn't matter how many people he has to push his way past. All that matters is Mary. This has to stop. He has to save her. The crowd suddenly gasps, and the executioner reaches down to the bloodstained ground, grabbing Mary's head by the scalp. He hoists it up for all to see and the spectators are rabid with excitement.
"God save the queen!" he bellows. Francis can scarcely hear him over the mob, nor the ringing in his own ears. Blood oozes slowly and steadily from her – no, her bloody head – and a strong wave of nausea comes over him as the queen's justice tosses her head onto the ground and it rolls, leaving thick and profuse trail of blood in its wake. The spectators are yelling and shouting, but Francis can't hear them. All he can see is Mary's severed head resting on the ground, her life's blood drenching and dripping off the sword's edge. He hears a cry of anguish as he collapses to his knees, a hand clutching his chest, trying to suppress the excruciating agony that cripples him. It takes a moment, but he realizes the cry came from himself. Francis weeps in horror, but not a soul knows of his presence … nor his indescribable anguish.
Time seems to slow down, as if in a dream. Francis is still shaking, tears still cascading down his cheeks, but he rises to his feet. The crowd is dispersing; some of them are silent, others are abuzz in conversation. Of course they're talking. Mary, Queen of Scots, has just been brutally put to death after four years of imprisonment. Her execution is going to be the talk of all of Europe for months to come. The questions are already on the people's lips: Will James Stuart reign as Scotland's new king? Will King Francis wed again? Will the Valois line end with him, a king without his queen? Will Francis declare war on England? So many questions without answer. A servant is kneeling on the ground, wiping away the blood. Mary's blood. Her body is nowhere in sight, the blood-soaked ground the only evidence of her killing. He runs a hand over his face, letting out a shaky breath. Tears are still making their way down his cheeks, and he just can't stop shaking. He doesn't trust himself to ask the servant what they've done with Mary – no, Mary's body – for he knows that if he starts talking, he will start crying and won't be able to stop.
Francis wills himself to enter the castle. Much to his relief, the people are too immersed in their gossiping to notice him. If anyone knows who he really is, they say nothing. He sees Elizabeth; she is immersed in talk with some noblemen. Before he can let his rage take over, he quickly tears his eyes away. Just the mere sight of her makes his blood boil. He hurries to the throne room; he can't explain it. He can't explain what it was that draws him there; it is like a strong pull that can't be resisted … and he does not.
Francis's hands are trembling as he pushes open the doors to the throne room. The hall is vacant, not a soul in sight. Why, he isn't sure, but he is grateful nonetheless. Mary's body rests on the floor before the throne, covered in a white sheet that is stained with blood. It takes all of his willpower to move his feet towards her. His knees almost buckle and more than anything, he wants to flee from the room and never look back. Mary can't be gone, this is just a nightmare and he will wake up with her beside him. This can't be real, it can't. The pain is too much; just the mere thought of never seeing her again, never feeling her soft skin against his, never hearing her voice …
He kneels beside Mary and, with an unsteady hand, pulls the sheet back. His heart catches in his throat as he quickly rises, staggering back in horror from his wife's … body. A scream mingled with a sob erupts from his chest; he covers his mouth with his hand, barely suppressing it as violent, choked, broken sobs overcome him. This is real, and not a dream. She is dead, Mary is dead, she is really gone and she isn't coming back.
This is a nightmare … but he is wide awake.
FIN.