~Just a short story to let people know I'm still alive. ;) It was pretty fun, I actually just let myself write for once. No grand sweeping plot, just something that's been in the back of my mind waiting for its turn. Anyway, enjoy.~
She sat upon the throne in the great hall of Whiterun as if it had been her very birthright while she listened to the repetitive, if discordant, boom of the thunder that heralded her demise. Her once lustrous hair now fell listlessly around her while her elegant gown hung in stained tatters. The roaring fires of nearby braziers crackled with a cheerful light that she could neither feel upon her skin nor within her heart.
It did not matter.
She tilted her head far back, resting it on the back of the throne's elegant carving as she stared up at the high ceiling, swirling with dancing smoke. A part of her longed to float upward and nestle safely among its wispy reaches and let the uncaring coils hide her away. But it could not be. No. There would be no escape, no refuge for her.
Beside her a log in the fire cracked, sending a sharp protest through the empty hall as a shower of sparks rained upward. Her eyes blinked heavily, and not unlike a dreamer, she absently reached out an unnaturally pale hand to vainly grasp at the brilliant display. Among it all was the sporadic drum of thunder.
Her vacant eyes turned toward the grand double doors with an apathy that startled her. But it really didn't matter, did it? She... had forgotten.
With remarkable lethargy, she reached beneath the tattered collar of her ruined dress and withdrew a broken silver amulet. The cleaved surface offered no reflection as she stared at it, caressing it with her thumb. She sat there for what felt like ages, finding comfort in the repetitive action. Back and forth in swirling circles went her thumb. This. This was an action she could control.
The thought stopped her. She blinked once, and looked to the matted red coating her fingernails with a somber accusation. The amulet fell back to her chest with a heavy thud.
The lights in this place were bright. Much too bright. She wrapped her arms around herself and drew up her legs, nestling into the chair sideways. Why had he liked it so much here? It was too bright. And far too quiet. Though… that was her fault.
Streams of solemn red decorated the solid pillars and sturdy walls, oozing down to form a hollow mockery of a regal carpet. Silent figures lay strewn amid broken furniture and scattered dishes. She stared at them bitterly before it was too much, and she turned her gaze away.
It was her fault.
She had forgotten.
Thunder shook the hardy wood beneath her crumpled form. She did not bother to react. There was hardly any point. In the deathly silence that followed, she found herself wondering. Where had he stood during the days? She cast her eyes about the room, trying to picture his gleaming uniform, his gentle smile. Among the macabre decorations, she could find no place for him. No, she had ruined it, hadn't she? All because of one single, solemn, and altogether traitorous desire.
She should have remembered. She wished she had remembered. But she hadn't. And there was no use in lamenting what was done.
She took up her amulet again, running circles around its shattered body. In a way, it was not unlike herself. Broken.
Another drum of thunder sounded, off rhythm this time. It made the silence stand out all the sharper. The wake of its echoes left her wishing for his laugh. It seemed so strange to still want it. There had been laughter when she'd entered, and a soft mirth only for her as they snuck into the shadows. Why could she not have that now?
It wasn't her fault! All she had thought about, all she had wanted… was him. She would have been happy in his arms for eternity. All she wanted was that single sweet, silvery kiss upon his skin. She had very nearly had it too, before her cursed visage betrayed her.
Condemnations clawed within her as she waved away thoughts of all she should have done differently. It didn't matter now. Their steel had been retribution enough. She did not need her own thoughts turning against her.
The firelight continued merrily in stark contrast to her mind. She watched with the abstract interest of one whose consciousness had long since departed. Smoldering, crackling embers reflected in her ruby eyes, setting them alight with a false mockery of the life that was no longer within her.
None of it mattered. She had had everything, for a brief and blissful time. But she had forgotten.
She had let him see.
A single, pale, hand lifted to cover her repugnant eyes.
Again the thunder reverberated through the hall. There was lightning this time, a splintering crack. Some lost part of her wondered how it had come after the thunder's call.
She lowered her bare feet to the cold floor, unfeeling. The gummy, red-encrusted fingers gripped the arms of the throne and helped to push her up. Her eyes stared at the crackling logs, transfixed by the flame's ethereal dance. Thunder came again, faster this time with a cacophony of cracks before strident shouts exploded behind it. She didn't mind. In fact, the din of sound was quite welcome. Flashes of light reflected all around her as metal sang before pain stabbed and speared and smouldered in her flesh. It did not matter.
This was all because she had forgotten.
Her eyes drifted out of focus as she found her legs could no longer support her. She fell backwards, landing hard. The gleam of stars caught her wistful eyes from the great hall's now open doors. They brought a hollow peace before the press of uniform armor blocked her vision. There was a small comfort in the throng of yellow sashes on gleaming mail. It was the same garb he had worn.
The gleam of the crescent moon pulled her gaze upward, past the wrathful faces. She blinked, dimly realizing her mistake. It was not the moon. Her steady gaze betrayed no emotion as she beheld the true source of the cold light. It hovered above her for a moment before the false moon fell with celestial force. There was pain, but it felt so irrelevant. A spray of crimson showered down on her even as it painted the heavy crescent in a wicked red as the wielder lifted it once more.
This time, when it hit her neck, there was darkness.
Her last memento was a smile.
She had forgotten, but it did not diminish what had been, even if she'd only had it for a moment.
Perhaps she had been selfish…
But it did not matter anymore.
A/N: As always, feedback is appreciated. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. :)