How long had it been since she had died? A year? Two years? He had lost track of the days, the lonely nights he spent in the garden, wishing for her to return. What had been the last moment they had shared together? Not a happy one, that was for sure. She had never been happy while she was with him. And he regretted shooting the boy in the throne room, he regretted making her cry for her poor boy, he remembered how she took the gun and aimed it at him, firing, but leaving no wound. It was because he had been selfish and angry and jealous that she had died. That she had … it was his fault.
What I would give for one more day, just a day to show her how much I… He dropped to his knees in front of the great tree. He had considered burning it, but she had begged him not to. He had gotten the throne room cleaned up, and most of the castle had been restored to its former glory. And in a desperate attempt to keep her happy, he did not burn down the tree.
In his hand, he held a flower. He had been placing flowers at the grave every day since she had died. The other members of the new royal court watched as their once commanding and nearly tyrannical king had become quiet, almost sickly. He barely ate; he didn't sleep often, for when he did rest, he had nightmares, flashbacks. He would wander in the gardens at night; he would sit by her grave for days on end. And of course, he hadn't found a way to kill himself yet. Not yet.
Laputa waited seven hundred years for the return of the king.
Seven hundred years?
Your clan forgot.
And when he had shot the boy, he had taken her away. He had told her his secrets. He told her of seven hundred long years of waiting for a princess, waiting for someone he could take home with him. And she had cried and asked why he had chosen her, of all the girls he had met in a seven hundred year lifespan. His response didn't go over well with her.
Because I am a pureblood like you? I'm nothing like you!
And she had tried to leave. He knew she would do something drastic. So he held her back, he asked her what he could do to make things better.
You can bring back Pazu. You can let me go, I don't want to be with you! You took everything from me! Even my poor Pazu!
And he had become harsh with her, he had thrown her down, trapped her in the room. And she had cried, because she knew that he was blinded by his jealousy. And later that night, while she was curled up on the bed, while he sat a distance away, when he had finally calmed down, he finally went over to her and pulled her into a sweet embrace. She cried in his arms, and he said such kind things to her, he told her how sorry he was, how he had only ever wanted a queen to love him as he loved her. And she had buried her face in his chest, sobbing, asking why.
That night, he had taken her, he had tried to show her how amazing and wonderful he could be. He wanted to show her what beautiful things love could produce. He had asked her for forever, he had asked her to stay, to promise that she wouldn't leave. And she felt obliged to promise, although she didn't mean it. She wanted to see Pazu again, she loved Pazu, and he knew that well. But he knew that for her to see Pazu again, it would mean for her to die. He wouldn't let that happen. But he tried to find a spell to bring Pazu back, but of course there was no spell to reverse death. And she had grown more miserable each day. Even when he loved her, when he held her, she was distant, unresponsive.
And their last moment, when he snapped at her, when he threw her to the ground, commanded that she obey her king, she ran. She ran to the garden. He followed her, and watched as she finally collapsed, lost the will to live… And he remembered scooping her up in his arms, remembered crying for the first time in many hundreds of years. And he carried her to the great tree, and asked a gardening robot to prepare a grave for her, he had built out of magic, a little golden coffin for her, he had placed her there, and surrounded her with flowers. And when the gardening robot had finished preparing the earth, the king put his queen to rest forever.
He sat there, alone at her grave. He placed the flower on the grave and stood up. I am sorry, Sheeta. I never wanted this… I only wanted your love… I never wanted to hurt you like I did… I am the cause of your death, and I will never forgive myself.
He heard a voice behind him, a pageboy had come to see if he was alright. He looked up at the boy and smiled a bit. He said he was fine, he said he just needed to think, to ponder what he would do next. He had no heir to the throne, if he died, then what would happen to Laputa? He didn't want to be king anymore. It wasn't worth it. Power wasn't worth it. He went past the pageboy, telling him to go back to the castle. And so the boy ran off, leaving the broken king alone again. He made his way back to the castle, heading to his bedchamber. And when he stepped into the room, he nearly died. Sitting on the bed was …
Are you a ghost? Am I going mad?
No, I'm here… Even if only for a day.
Why come back here? Why torment me? Have I not suffered enough for you?
Her spirit approached him; he took a step back. He felt the tears stinging behind his eyes again. She took his hand, to him, she felt solid. She pulled him to the bed and had him sit. He wasn't sure what was going on, he was confused and lost.
Why are you here?
Because you need comfort, and it is against my nature to hold a grudge.
Is it really only a day that I get to spend with you?
And she was silent. He finally let all the walls come down. He buried his face in his hands and cried. He wanted to die, he wanted to get away from the pain, but surely if he died, he would never be in Paradise with her. He felt her arms around him, why was she so kind?
After all the things I did to you, you still comfort me.
You need comforting.
No!
He pushed her away, hiding deeper within himself. Go away! When she moved to touch his shoulder, he shied away. Go away. And so she backed off for a bit. Why do you recoil now? When you were so forceful before? She sat down near him. He looked up and then turned away. I must be going mad, I… I put you to rest two years ago… Yet here you are, with me, as if you had never left. He felt the volucite crystal around his neck warm up. He put his hand over it, closing his eyes again. When I wake up, you'll be gone. I'm going mad. I know it. And to prove his madness, he drew the golden sword from its sheath, where it had been around his waist. He sighed and stared blankly at the sword, pondering what to do with it. So he put it aside and stood up. He headed over to grab a dagger made of volucite. I'm sorry…
If you can, wait for me, Sheeta.
The king's hand dropped to his side.