It is very simple, this grief: he is dead, London barely blinks, she misses him.
And so on and so on and so on.
It was very basic, his death: stagger and fall, blood and love in her arms, the last words of redemption.
And so on and so on and so—
Enough to know there are no happy endings in life, only trite endings with no background music. And in the groaning cry of London's rebirth, in the bleak emptiness of a sulphur-lit sky—
It will be very simple, the rest of her life: she will grieve, she will strengthen, she will love another again.
And she knows this: she has been through this before, yet her heart will not stop aching.
And she fears this: that already she is forgetting the sound of his voice, that this quiet grief that is numbing her slowly in a thousand inconsequential ways will always be there, beneath her breathing and smiles and time.
And so on and on and on…
In some ways she did not know him at all, and vice versa. In some ways she will never forgive him completely, and not vice versa. But her heart will not let go even though she wills it to; she is not afraid anymore but still she misses something, this part of herself that V will always have. For she had hated and she had loved and he had known her in a way she would never understand, and though they had more secrets than truths between them, it was enough: this is life, she thinks through her ache-blur of her grief, and it is rarely simple.
V/Evey is a pairing which I will never understand why it fascinates me so because frankly, I don't quite get the characters. Hence, beware the OOC in this collection. Writing is often spontaneous and plot-less. Thanks for all feedback. :)