The scene looked dark and ominous, the rain splashing and darkening
the onlooker's clothing in patches. The drops seemed to fall from the sky
slowly at first, and then with a graduating intensity that made the desire
to leave even greater for those at the locale. The sky was a dark gray,
mirroring the demeanor of those who populated the area below it. It was
silent, and not one person made a movement to break that silence, despite
the fact that it made the stress and tension that much worse. While there
were eleven pairs of eyes staring at the bleak wood of the coffin in loss
of something else to look at, one pair surveyed something else. That one
pair of blue eyes scanned the rest of the assemblage, looking desperately
for expressions that spelled correspondence with their own thoughts. But
there were none.
What was I expecting? Some kind of relation?
The previously sad eyes grew partially bitter.
Right. They all thought they knew him, and they're mourning the Edgar they thought they knew. The lecherous, womanizing, enterprising king they thought was Edgar Roni Figaro. But none of them really knew Edgar like I did. What DID I expect, though… I only lived with him for eighteen years. Edgar was like that on the outside, and it's a pity that they never knew who he really was. The sensitive, caring brother that he had been.
The pair of blue eyes stopped their merciless scanning and once again rested on the black box that imprisoned the greatest man they had ever seen. They had seen enough grief and remorse in the last thirty seconds than they had in their entire lives. Unknowing of the cold, wet drops that landed on his shoulders, the broad personage of Sabin Rene Figaro made its way to the side of the coffin sitting near the door. The dull metal door that would carry the coffin and its owner to their final resting places; the secret Figaro burial tomb. There Edgar's body would join those of his mother's and father's.
And you will leave me forever, brother. I won't be able to wake up late in the morning and find you in the kitchen, flirting shamelessly with some new kitchen maid. I won't be able to walk into the throne room at any time of the day and see you claiming the king's dais as your own. I won't be able to ask you about times after I left. I won't be able to see your proud face madly scrutinizing some seemingly meaningless piece of machinery, then turn proud as you push something and it begins to work. I won't be able to see you anymore, brother, because you'll be gone. Forever, and you will leave the reign of everything Figaro to me, your younger brother. I was never meant to be anything but an onlooker. I wasn't cut out to be a Figaro, brother. You took up that part of the gene pool.
Sabin's proud jaw clenched and he blinked abruptly, trying to hold back the stinging drops of water that would very soon run down his cheeks in pain and anguish. He looked down at his brother through the glass cover on top of the coffin, somewhat blotched by the relentless raindrops that would not stop falling. Inside of that shielding black box lay a part of him, a part that would very soon depart and never return. It was not a figurative thought, it was a very pressing one. Inside lay the domineering, monarchial half of Sabin Rene Figaro. The half he depended on throughout his life in times of need.
I don't know how to be Sabin without Edgar, brother. It's not fair for you to leave me like this. I can't do it. My throat hurts from holding my tears and my hands are cold, perhaps as cold as yours. There are eleven sobbing people who are standing behind me, brother, who are depending on me for strength. And they didn't even know you, brother. Yes, they knew you. But they didn't know YOU, the Edgar I know. The one who got me out of trouble around the castle when we were little, who played with me when I got bored of our schooling, even when you didn't want to; the Edgar that tossed that double-headed coin for me, knowing that it was what I really wanted. You were a good brother, the best that anyone could ever have. And now that's coming back to me, that I was such a rotten one in return. I laughed at you, made fun of you, occasionally beat you up, and even deserted you. It tortures me now, brother, and this is the time I really need you…I need to apologize… and you're not here.
It was impossible to hold back the tears now, Sabin discovered, as the salty droplets began running down his chiseled features. It was an odd feeling for one who had never experienced anything like this before. Even the deaths of his parents had not caused this repulsive feeling to possess him. He bit his lip in desperation, and shakily ran a hand through his blonde hair. A light tap on his shoulder caused him to jump, startled.
"King Sabin," the voice stated. Sabin nearly burst out into the sobs he had been holding in for so long.
KING Sabin? No, no, NO. That was Edgar's title. It doesn't sound right with my name, and it never will. Sabin is the name of a little boy, a little boy in a man's body… with a man's responsibilities to take care of.
The eyes were cast upon the motionless figure of Edgar Roni Figaro once again
"What," Sabin asked quietly, yet with a steely edge that shocked even himself for a moment.
"We've got to move the body in the tomb, your majesty. It's going to storm very quickly," the voice stated. "Everyone else has already gone inside." Sabin turned his head, and to his surprise, the voice was right. The other eleven had gone inside. When Sabin gave no response, the man who possessed the voice moved into action. He signaled to three men on the side of the castle, and they quickly walked forwards to the coffin. They each hoisted a corner onto their shoulders, then began to walk inside the metal doors.
NO! You can't take him! Brother, I need you! Haven't you been listening? I can't live without you! There's no Sabin without Edgar! And this "majesty" business? Edgar, I can't remain on this Earth without you somewhere on it, alive. I can't run the castle and South Figaro, I can't comfort and shelter the people of this reign like you did! I can't do it at all! We still need time together… I still need to learn so much more from you, brother! I just need some time with you, just a little bit! And our time together ends when those doors...
What was I expecting? Some kind of relation?
The previously sad eyes grew partially bitter.
Right. They all thought they knew him, and they're mourning the Edgar they thought they knew. The lecherous, womanizing, enterprising king they thought was Edgar Roni Figaro. But none of them really knew Edgar like I did. What DID I expect, though… I only lived with him for eighteen years. Edgar was like that on the outside, and it's a pity that they never knew who he really was. The sensitive, caring brother that he had been.
The pair of blue eyes stopped their merciless scanning and once again rested on the black box that imprisoned the greatest man they had ever seen. They had seen enough grief and remorse in the last thirty seconds than they had in their entire lives. Unknowing of the cold, wet drops that landed on his shoulders, the broad personage of Sabin Rene Figaro made its way to the side of the coffin sitting near the door. The dull metal door that would carry the coffin and its owner to their final resting places; the secret Figaro burial tomb. There Edgar's body would join those of his mother's and father's.
And you will leave me forever, brother. I won't be able to wake up late in the morning and find you in the kitchen, flirting shamelessly with some new kitchen maid. I won't be able to walk into the throne room at any time of the day and see you claiming the king's dais as your own. I won't be able to ask you about times after I left. I won't be able to see your proud face madly scrutinizing some seemingly meaningless piece of machinery, then turn proud as you push something and it begins to work. I won't be able to see you anymore, brother, because you'll be gone. Forever, and you will leave the reign of everything Figaro to me, your younger brother. I was never meant to be anything but an onlooker. I wasn't cut out to be a Figaro, brother. You took up that part of the gene pool.
Sabin's proud jaw clenched and he blinked abruptly, trying to hold back the stinging drops of water that would very soon run down his cheeks in pain and anguish. He looked down at his brother through the glass cover on top of the coffin, somewhat blotched by the relentless raindrops that would not stop falling. Inside of that shielding black box lay a part of him, a part that would very soon depart and never return. It was not a figurative thought, it was a very pressing one. Inside lay the domineering, monarchial half of Sabin Rene Figaro. The half he depended on throughout his life in times of need.
I don't know how to be Sabin without Edgar, brother. It's not fair for you to leave me like this. I can't do it. My throat hurts from holding my tears and my hands are cold, perhaps as cold as yours. There are eleven sobbing people who are standing behind me, brother, who are depending on me for strength. And they didn't even know you, brother. Yes, they knew you. But they didn't know YOU, the Edgar I know. The one who got me out of trouble around the castle when we were little, who played with me when I got bored of our schooling, even when you didn't want to; the Edgar that tossed that double-headed coin for me, knowing that it was what I really wanted. You were a good brother, the best that anyone could ever have. And now that's coming back to me, that I was such a rotten one in return. I laughed at you, made fun of you, occasionally beat you up, and even deserted you. It tortures me now, brother, and this is the time I really need you…I need to apologize… and you're not here.
It was impossible to hold back the tears now, Sabin discovered, as the salty droplets began running down his chiseled features. It was an odd feeling for one who had never experienced anything like this before. Even the deaths of his parents had not caused this repulsive feeling to possess him. He bit his lip in desperation, and shakily ran a hand through his blonde hair. A light tap on his shoulder caused him to jump, startled.
"King Sabin," the voice stated. Sabin nearly burst out into the sobs he had been holding in for so long.
KING Sabin? No, no, NO. That was Edgar's title. It doesn't sound right with my name, and it never will. Sabin is the name of a little boy, a little boy in a man's body… with a man's responsibilities to take care of.
The eyes were cast upon the motionless figure of Edgar Roni Figaro once again
"What," Sabin asked quietly, yet with a steely edge that shocked even himself for a moment.
"We've got to move the body in the tomb, your majesty. It's going to storm very quickly," the voice stated. "Everyone else has already gone inside." Sabin turned his head, and to his surprise, the voice was right. The other eleven had gone inside. When Sabin gave no response, the man who possessed the voice moved into action. He signaled to three men on the side of the castle, and they quickly walked forwards to the coffin. They each hoisted a corner onto their shoulders, then began to walk inside the metal doors.
NO! You can't take him! Brother, I need you! Haven't you been listening? I can't live without you! There's no Sabin without Edgar! And this "majesty" business? Edgar, I can't remain on this Earth without you somewhere on it, alive. I can't run the castle and South Figaro, I can't comfort and shelter the people of this reign like you did! I can't do it at all! We still need time together… I still need to learn so much more from you, brother! I just need some time with you, just a little bit! And our time together ends when those doors...