Author's Note: I was thinking about how it was always too soon for Shoone, and how if only they had had more time they could have had something really beautiful. This is the result of my random musings.
In Another Time
I have loved you always. All ways.
You graced a balcony as Paris and Hector returned, your face expressionless amidst the fanfare. I watched from the streets below as you stood beside your father, bathed half in sunlight, half in shadow, looking disdainfully at the crowd from your gilded cage. All of Troy was captivated by Helen, but I remembered only her carriage, which blocked you from my view as it passed.
You danced at the king's Renaissance court, bedecked with jewels that shone in the warm candlelight. I laughed with the other courtiers and kept you in my eye's periphery, never missing a step in your dance. You caught my intent eye once, and flashed me your artful courtier's smile as you leaned on his arm. I penned you sonnets that became ashes in my fireplace, silenced like the miserable longings of my muted heart. Every day, the King laughed. You smiled indulgently. I roamed the castle a hollow ghost.
You met me in the woods while the British rushed in, furtively glancing around from beneath your cloak as you slipped me a letter. Your hand brushed against mine and my heart stopped. I ached as you disappeared into the trees, your retreating figure illuminated by the ramparts overhead.
Revolutions swept over the nations, thousands fell in wars, kings were crowned and beheaded. But our scrawled letters were the only manifestos, our stolen kisses the only treaties of import.
The moon waxed and waned, graves were filled, the seas swept back the shore. But through the rain and snow and smoke, I held your gaze. I lost my balance, I lost my sanity, I lost my life. And somehow I held on to your hand.
Somehow our love has lived on, our souls have called to each other across the ages. But gravity eventually claims the sand from every hourglass. And we just never had enough time.