Disclaimer: The characters, objects, and places that pertain to The Prince of Persia belong to Jordan Mechner and Ubisoft. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: This chapter was written on a whim; please excuse any mistakes made. Thank you.
VII.
You plague me.
…Eyes of the fey, dark and fathomless, enchanting whatever falls upon their line of sight…
…A warm smile that soothes all wounds...
The seconds of time must not concern you, my beautiful wraith. No…no, they do not. Always a vision of comeliness you are in my mind's eye, despite what sorrow fills my heart.
The air is cold like a mid-winter's harsh frost and the rain falls like war arrows, piercing my skin with numbing ice. I allow myself to become drenched in the storm as I place the last of the gold inside my sac. If I, myself, cannot fill my soul, then perhaps soaking in the spearing ice will do something for me.
I remember you…so tender, so heavenly, but like a dream, you are slowly drifting astray upon the dark shores of my consciousness. As I check if the sac is secure upon my back, I try to recollect, I try to grasp hold of what I have left of you, but like a cloud, the vision of you grows faint, threatening to fade away at any moment.
I look up into the grey sky, mouth agape. Spreading out my arms, I take in the aroma of decay that lingers in the air. It is faint but I sense it nonetheless. I consider letting out a scream, but I smother the thought. I think of life and its chaotic events…a pattern unfound. I wonder: Does the day ever leave you hollow, my love? Do you bleed like I do? Is your blood as red as mine?
A disease of lament and torment, you are. So many regrets lie tangible they form a wall upon my heart. Regrets and sorrow…they are all that remain of yesterday. I stopped breathing when I left your side. Yet, as far out of reach you may be, there is no escape from you. I cannot escape you...
I am your prisoner.
Ask me of anything and I would have done it…
Quietly, I climb over the railing, a soft smile plastering to my face. There is a somewhat muted splash at the end of my fall, but as I drift carelessly, I think of only one thing.
…I shall be free.
VII.
Come What May copyright © 2004 by Elfin Empress & HystericFreak
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