A/N: No, I do not own this, but it is a drabble bit for you to read, a letter from Evey to anyone who follows the similar path.
There was a time when I was more powerful then any Queen or any King who has ever lived. There was a time when I, a simple girl, held the fate of a nation, of a world, in the palm of my small hand. There was a time when I was given all the power, all the strength of a whole people, and it was given to me by one man. There was a time, you see, when I was the love of a god. No, not God, not the God of church, or of the Muslims, nor the Buddhists, no. I was in love with a man. And this man, he loved me in return. He, of course, was no ordinary man, nor a politician, nor royalty. He was something far greater.
The man I loved was immortal in the eyes of everyone else who ever saw him. It was not because he was incredibly handsome. No one ever got to see his face, not his real face. And he wasn't immortal because he was smart, or funny, or strong, or brave, or anything else that you think would make him a hero, he wasn't Hercules. He had no real name, he was a number, he was an alias. You see, he was immortal because he was the human embodiment, the physical being, of an idea, of hope. He was the man that carried the mantle of everything that was good and right and just and kind in the world.
This world which is ending, because he gave his life for it. Not because he was particularly a martyr. No, he wasn't, not really. He was a hero. He was a hero because he saved me, he loved me. He gave me back the power I had lost to a corrupt world. He gave me freedom, he gave me his everything. There is some inexplicable attraction to that which he gave me. To my angel, my savior, my knight in shining armor.
So why am I telling you this? Who are you even? I don't know, I don't think I shall ever know, because I should think that by the time this world is in need of another V, another Guy Fawkes, another hero, I shall be long gone, tucked away in a history book. You see, I am writing this much as woman in a prison cell wrote to anyone who would read it. This isn't my autobiography, no, that'll probably be published when I'm on my death bed. This is something more important. This is a letter to any girl or woman, any man or boy, anyone, who ever loves the man behind the idea.
You are instrumental to their success. You see, they fight for justice, for revenge, for vengeance. They forget their fighting for humans. For people with names, and emotions, and fears. They forget they're struggling to help save, not just destroy. Sometimes they need to be reminded. That doesn't mean you have to give a passionate speech, a blood stirring composition mixed of scolding and reminding. You simply need to love them. Let them know you, let them love you. Let the man, the woman, the child…..Let the man behind the idea people are fighting for love you in return. Keep his heart open and soft, gentle hearted, so that as they fight, they fight to save. Not just the people, because they don't know the people. You…You are a blessed soul…Because you are the reason they fight. They know you, you give the people a face, a name, a past, emotions….You give the people a representation.
You are not the only woman to love a revolutionist. You are not the only woman to love the human embodiment of an idea. You are not the only woman to love the man behind the idea, nor the only woman to love an icon, a figure, a symbol. You are not the only woman to look beyond that and see the man that is the lifeblood of such an idea. You see, I loved a man, who was an idea. At least, he was an idea to everyone else. He was immortal, he was perfect, he was hope. But I knew better. I knew, he was a man. I knew he had fears, and remorse, I knew he felt badly for things he'd done, I knew he had a heart that beat in his chest. I knew he was human, just as I was, and am. I knew V, and I loved him, I loved him deeply.
So whoever you are, dear heart, take comfort in the fact that you are not the only one to love a man who is so great. Be at peace, and love your revolutionist, and love him deeply. Stand behind him, always support him, because he is a symbol to everyone else, but he will rely on you to be his symbol, his hope, his faith. You, dearest of the dear, are more important to the revolution then the idea, because you are what makes the man strong enough to be that human embodiment, and I love you, for being my kindred spirit, and knowing what it is to love a man like Guy Fawkes, or a man like V.
-Evey.