Written for a request on LiveJournal [Lelouch - uncertainty]. It turned out, um... well. What's your opinion?
He sits in the garden and his robes are white. Well, of course – he is their saviour and he should dress accordingly – so he thinks as he watches the cliché clouds drifting through the cliché blue sky.
What a picture, he thinks.
He is sure he looks magnificent. (Doesn't he?) Lazily he rises from the stone steps and today the camellias are blooming. That's nice.
He thinks about sitting on the grass but no, that would stain his robes green (what does it matter because tomorrow they will be stained with red) and the palace is so very empty. It echoes – not that he has a problem with being alone but god he hates being alone –
Grandeur, he thinks, is not grandeur without an audience. Perhaps he is vain.
He has thought before that he is vain (why else then, the white robes, or the purple suit – the mask? the mask hides his face, though) maybe he is right.
A second opinion, does he need a second opinion, he wonders. Yes. Not that what he feels could be put into words after all he is far too strong to cry –
No, he won't. He will stay out here and he won't go back to that house, he won't because of the memories, are they haunting him? Are they? They won't be here for long.
Fuck, he thinks, tomorrow I die.