disclaimer: i own nothing.
a/n: this fandom pissed me off the moment i got into it. (like seriously?)
a/n2: also guilty for loving the first normal ending.
. . .
He loves the fact that she changed.
(Well, he had wanted— needed her to change in the first place. The taste of success is satisfying indeed.)
The bloody shade of her dress suits her far better than the colour of pure blue (just like the sea that's no longer there), he thinks. They are a fitting match now— red and red— like lovers, like soul mates, like the inevitable.
(Because of course, this was going to happen, right from the beginning. Everyone's happy now and the sea is how it's supposed to be.)
Though he knows, as it is an undisputed fact, that her eyes are the loveliest of them all.
(And once again, they're a match.)
He adores them, especially when the colour of her eyes had twisted into a darker tint, just like her face as it was filled with fear, despair, agony, disbelief— all the emotions he delights in, the lines and wrinkles that he craves, the trembling in her voice— from innocent brown to tainted, stunning red. He shivers from the bliss of the memory.
The cocoon had cracked and the emerging butterfly flapped her wings— changed.
Free, graceful, beautiful.
He is glad that in the end, she understands. She accepts him, his ideals, his beliefs— accepts her role by his side, as a part of the conquerors.
And she loves him as he loves her.
(It's the final requirement to reach his pinnacle of perfection.)
They are two in one— a pair, inseparable, and no one dares to challenge them because he is strong and she, in turn, is strong— too overwhelmingly powerful that it is almost disappointing. Enemies fall too fast, are too weak and slaying soldiers soon became monotonous.
(Wadanohara is not useless— far from it. Her talent is undeniable and she is improving, consistently sharpening her magic.)
He reminds himself, however, that it is for the sea, the princess and the creation of a better world.
So it's alright if it becomes a little boring.
After all, she is with him.
Always.
. . .
—end—
. . .
a/n3: throw sal in the dumpster where he belongs. you need to.