"Adolescence Post-Apocalypse"
Epilogue
(Do You Still Pretend to Hear Angels Cry?)
The city was glowing in the near distance. Specks of light cluttered the vague outline of the buildings, painting a new starry sky on the ground to imperfectly mirror the one above. From his vantage point, the chair by the window, he could see the tiny lights of homes he would never visit and lives he would never touch flicker.
He took another sip from the bottle. The glass had been forgotten long ago. It was just a relic now, broken on the carpet, its shards sharp and bloodthirsty. Even though he hadn't taken off his uniform, he felt more like a deserter in that moment than an aristocrat like she had said.
He didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear the no-sound of bare feet as they lightly treaded the carpet. It was only the scent of roses, not too strong but not too faint, and a gentle hand on his head that he even realized she was there.
"The city's beautiful this time of night." She said. Her fingers slid into his hair and she began to play with the strands.
"I sometimes imagine that heaven looks like this." He replied, taking another sip, "Distant, brilliant and eternal. All the angels safe in their boxes. Smiling, always."
"Angels can cry, you know."
"Do you still pretend to hear them when they do?"
Her fingers playing with his hair got rough for a few moments, and then they relaxed again.
"You are angry with me." she said.
"I think you underestimate me sometimes." Touga said, "Just as often as you overestimate me."
"Never." She whispered, her lips close to his ear, "You did what I needed you to do. Don't think I'm not grateful. I promised you the end of the world, and you will have that."
"You put too much trust in her. Yes, she's alive. But is she the Prince..? I don't think so."
Her hand withdrew.
"You issued the challenge." She said. She turned away, stepped over the broken glass, "It's up to her now. She'll decide if she can rise to it."
She got to the door and opened it, which was when Touga spoke.
"And... if she can't?"
He turned to look at her, to read her expression. In the bright light bleeding from the door standing ajar, her ebony skin seemed to glisten, ever-so-slightly, and her dark purple hair, let down, falling onto her shoulders in gentle curls, seemed silken.
But her eyes, unreadable, were two glass orbs - reflecting everything, revealing nothing.
"If she can't," Anthy said, ",then she is not my Utena."
She walked out and closed the door behind her, leaving Touga to the imaginary heaven in the distance, and the last sip at the bottom of his bottle.