Author's Note: Obviously I don't own Shining Force 2. Anyway, this is Sarah's take on the whole Bowie/Ellis thing, after she runs off and Kazin goes to comfort her. Enjoy.
The Death of Heroism
All it would take would be a kiss. Just one simple motion, and he'd be hers. Hers forever, and hers to keep. She should be happy; the kingdom would have a future king, and with that, political stability, even if only the time being. There'd be the royal wedding and gala, feasts and festivals displaying the happy couple to the world, blushing and new. Innocence incarnate.
Sarah was not happy. Not in the slightest. When that kiss occurred, there would be no more adventures, no more goals. There would be nothing left for her. She would be, in effect, useless.
That was not a good feeling.
What hurt worse was that she would still see him. He would always be there, with his new bride, happy and joyous. Her life would be simple, quiet even, as she would count the days until death finally took her. Without the threat of devils or danger, she had no purpose. The kingdom already had a priest.
She supposed that she could go off on her own, to find her purpose. If Fate had its way, they were never meant to be in the first place. But even Fate could not change the pain, or hide the hurt from her face. Unwilling tears streamed down in two steady flows.
Life, it would seem, was over. There could be nothing now but peace.
The danger, the turmoil, the mixed feelings of uncertainty and purpose; she would miss them dearly. She would miss playing an integral role, the knowledge that she was needed. That she was doing something that was of worth. But most of all, she would miss him. His kind words, his concern, his drive, and his courage. He was her beacon, and now that flame has gone soft.
The door opens, and someone walks in. She knows him, but she doesn't care. A hand is placed on her back, and she is too weak from the pain to shrug it off. He pulls her close, and a fresh flood of tears flows onto his robes. She beats his chest, flings curses left and right, but he does not relinquish his grip. In fact, he holds her tighter, almost as if to squeeze the raging storm from her chest.
The tears subside, and she pulls away to look him in the face. His look is not one of pity, but of sympathy – of knowing the pain of losing the one you care about the most. Though she did not like the look of it, she did not shun it.
Somehow, it had... hope. And that was, in light of all that's happened, a good feeling.