I do not own League of Legends.
This is dedicated to my beloved RrenDa whose favorite champion in the League is the Maven of Strings herself. =D
Enjoy! =D
She never blamed me.
She never held it against me.
I wonder how many children I've orphaned or how many wives I've widowed.
Sometimes I think I killed more men than I thought I would.
I didn't directly kill them, she would tell me.
But I killed them. Directly or indirectly, I know that I killed those men; those soldiers.
Countless died from the conspiracies my colleagues and I staged.
And she, she never minded.
I love you; she'd remind me when the scars would open up again and tell me to my face that I'm the messed up individual.
And because I'm selfish, I'd reply: I love you.
She'd smile then because she knows.
She knows that there's truly nothing to give a person like me peace.
But she's beautiful and radiant and wonderful and just… so loving.
And I don't know how she can bear to be with a murderer.
I love you; she'd say again, her voice chiming like bells in the hollow spaces of my bones.
The softest touches of her hand could make me shiver because I feel everything being patched up.
She doesn't know, but the problem in being patched up is that it makes one think that it's whole.
But it's not.
She tries her best and I appreciate it. No one would ever try to love or care for someone as despicable as me.
I kiss her, because I feel surreal, ethereal, and just… transparent.
And her kisses have never failed to make me feel real.
I'm selfish. And she knows. But she doesn't care.
She doesn't care because she's being selfish too.
I can't leave her; she knows that.
At the same time, she can't leave me.
And I take advantage of that, as she does to me.
Her mysterious smiles are slowly unfurling, uncurling and exposing themselves before my eyes.
I grasp at them. They're the sole things that keep me sane in this life.
The mere fact that she's here, sitting beside me and holding my hand, makes all the nightmares that haunt me all the more in my consciousness flee.
I love you; I tell her.
Her head is on my shoulder and I dare to bring her closer.
I kiss the crown of her head, reveling in the softness of her hair and the smell of sunlight and flowers emanating from her.
But when the sun kisses the western horizon and gives the moon her place in the sky, and the light fades into darkness, everything comes back.
The blood flows like rivers, branching into smaller canals coming towards him. His feet touch the crimson pools and soon my hands are stained with them.
Blood crusts his fingers and mats his hair. The dying groans of men surrounding the criminal. They call for the ones they love: their lovers, children or parents.
Some even cry for the glory of their city-states.
And it makes him scream.
The mangled limbs find purchase on his legs and he flails.
They know. And the most he could do is ask for their forgiveness.
But he knows that they will not grant him that luxury.
They want his death.
But he's a coward and his mind is filled with nothing but thoughts of her and the solace she gives him.
He knows that he doesn't deserve her, but he still craves for her.
A sword is tucked in his belt and he draws it fearlessly. He fights at the phantoms that want his life.
More blood clings to his clothes and he just doesn't care.
He's a murderer after all.
With a loud cry, he swings his sword down and blood gushes out.
The smell of sunshine and flowers mingles with the metallic smell of blood.
And to his horror, he has struck her.
She lays there, by his feet, dying and gasping and calling him that.
Murderer…
And he can't take it. The smell of her is fading and her smile is no longer opened to him.
Her touch is cold and cruel and filled with so much loathing for him.
And her eyes shine with pain and agony and betrayal and pure, pure love.
He falls to his knees as she finally dies. A smile etches on her face and it pushes him off the cliff of his own sanity.
Gasping, he feels a hand in his.
It was a dream; a dream that plagues me often.
I register the soft touch that is hers and the sweet voice that only I hear.
And just like that, I cry and weep and wail like a child.
There's nothing more painful than losing her, dream or no.
She wraps her arms around my shuddering shoulders and I bring my head to hers. She kisses me, over and over just to remind me that she's there.
I call her name, relieved that she still responds and sit to his full height before dominating her with my own arms.
And just like that, one of the patches go loose.
But she's there; she patches me up.
There's no hope of being whole again, but I'll endure.
Being patched up is better than completely shattered after all.
Who doesn't like Sona? XD
To be honest, I only write about Sona when I'm too inspired or too bored... XD
And there's a small pressure since she's the favorite of my best friend/technically husband... =D
So please do not hesitate to click the REVIEW button and feel free to convey your deepest darkest thoughts regarding the fic as it is greatly appreciated... =D
Thanks for reading!
chquine_harvinellisse