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Lelouche's thoughts as he sits on his throne at the final parade.
Usually, I'm not a fan of mecha, but I really enjoyed CG! Please review -- critique is most welcome!
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Today I am donned in white and gold, and I fancy that miles down the blacktop, if someone were to look towards downtown, he or she may see me shimmer in the noon air, weaving in and out of the sky's bright blue. This brand new mantle flares from my shoulders and drapes from the throne with just the requisite sartorial snarl for an emperor, a prince, a fashioner of exquisite miracles. In white, I am the bridegroom, the mourner.
The metronomic rhythms of the parade tictoc against the surrounding concrete, steel and glass. Delicate, funereal scents from a nearby garden waft in the air, keenly edged with hot metal and briny sweat. I cast an imperial eye upon the thronging masses on each side. There are no wantonly celebratory gestures, either in dress or manner. Those who catch my gaze shrink as if from fire. They avert their hungry eyes and try to jimmy their way back into the crowd, to remove themselves from my perception, my presence. Who was it that said it is better to be feared than loved? What did he say about being feared by those you love?
And what of love? The ones I love most are bound to the blazing stake, chained to the plinth beneath my feet or capsuled in the best body bags money can buy. Was it love, or truth, that is said to set you free? Love, broadly, I can manage on occasion, carefully but courageously like pieces on the chessboard -- but truth? It is difficult to play, much less win, without pieces altogether.
Throttled gasps now bubble upward from the crowd and crew as they jounce for a better view. My float has stopped. In the distance, I glimpse a slim, angular figure in royal purple and rebellious black, the twin hues of confession and absolution. I watch him tighten his stance and begin his acrobatic march to our altar. I feel lighter already.
He has come at last, the one loved by those who fear.