Disclaimer: Don't own V. Just not eloquent enough to have ever created a man like V.
A/N: Okay, second attempt in the fabulous world of V. Evey PoV, Movie verse, post the fifth, maybe a hint of V/ Evey if you're into that kind of thing.
-
London, like him, is reborn in fire.
She watches from the roof of his home (her home now, too) and sees the skies of London choked with smoke.
The air tastes like ash nowadays and she watches lazily over the railings as masses gather and surge, all dressed in his last will and testament. His face is everywhere, spurring her grief (and how odd that her sorrow tastes not like the brackish tears that fell in her prison cell but rather of London's sulphur -filled skies).
The city glows at night, and she watches him spread, watches his dream set the city ablaze with violence and rebellion.
She watches in silence, listens as the masses exults their gratitude, flames licking their wounds while rubbing her own wounds raw. V's night is a rush of sound and fury, forgotten orchestra chords rippling through the distant strains of destruction.
It is beautiful, she thinks, in the same way that he is—was—beautiful. It is a deconstructed beauty so pure and chaotic in its nature that to question its existence is to be blind (and Evey is not blind anymore).
It will not last. She knows this, knows it as V knew it before her. He was right when he said his time, his world, was ending. His idea has been birthed into the world in an explosion of fear and blood and heartache encompassed in a singular flame that has seeped out into the city streets. But it cannot remain forever in that form. It will change; the rush will calm. It has to.
The fire will wane and burn soft before going out in a hiss. And it is from the ashes of its founding that V's vision will rise, and closing at last the Party's Era—V's epoch—and London will at last truly begin to heal.
Evey knows this and does not fight the truth. But for now she does not move.
For now she is content with the ever mortal feeling of grief that rages within her, throbbing in time with the ruins of the city beneath. For now she stays within his catacomb and lurks in his shadows and watches from his perch (and all the while pondering what will come after, the edge of her new consciousness cutting into the tear soaked corners of her mind. Because Evey is not blind anymore and London burns. But she will not burn with it).
-
End
-
Feedback is Love