Hello, ello all! This is the oneshot that I said I've been working on. This is a songfic, the featured song called More Like Her by Miranda Lambert. (Which I DO NOT OWN! :D) Now, normally, I'm not into country music. Just don't have a liking for it. But I heard a friend play this on the guitar, and inspiration struck to write this unique little oneshot! It's Sheelos, but from a different perspective; the Princess of Tethe'alla, Hilda.
The song is about a girl who was in love with a guy, but he left her for his previous girlfriend. Now, this isn't the situation in the song, so I've cut it up to the parts that really make sense with the story. So, no, this story isn't about Zelos having a fling with Hilda and leaving her for Sheena! Zelos wouldn't do that. :( This is more about Hilda's unrequited love for Zelos, and Hilda watching Zelos and Sheena's relationship blossom. But it's more of her feelings towards it then her watching it on the sidelines. So it's still a little sad. :(
On another note, this story IS NOT associated with the I Should Have Never Thought universe. It is a completely different universe. If it did follow it, there would be spoilers to the end of the story, and I don't want that. ;)
Ok, well I'm gonna stop talking now! Please read and review!
This story is dedicated to every girl out there who's ever gotten their heart broken by unrequited love.
More Like Her
By Eyelash of the Twilight
"Who is she?" I had asked him after she had attended dinner with us at the castle, leaning as close to him as I dared.
"Someone special to me," He smiled, and I did too, even though I didn't want to.
"I see."
"What do you think of her, Princess?"
I didn't answer him.
She's beautiful...
In her simple little way…
I hated watching him leave.
No matter what minute, hour, day, week and so on.
It would tug on my heartstrings with so much force, I could feel my heart trying to rip out from the skin on my breast; the most painful experience of my life. Every time he turned around—when I knew he wouldn't be turning back around—my hand reached for him of its own accord, as though if I managed to get a grip on him, feel his skin on mine, know that he was something physical and not a specter, then he wouldn't go anywhere. He'd stay with me always.
But even when I did touch him, when part of him was connected to me…it never failed to be futile.
He still left me.
And even though I knew there was nothing keeping him here—nothing that he wanted, nothing that he cared about enough for him to stay—I still clung to a thin strand of hope. Hope that one day, maybe, he would listen to all the things I longed to tell him. He would sit by me and allow my heart to open, for my love to pour out to him in strong ocean waves; like his eyes that reminded me of the beach on a gray day. Maybe, one day, if I prayed hard enough, if I wished hard enough, then he would hear everything, even the things that I mumbled under my breath.
It was something I dreamed about constantly, but every night when the dreams came back, I would wake up, realizing that they were just that; dreams.
Dreams were something only meant for fantasizing, not something that could ever come true.
But still, some part of me just won't let it go. Some part of me, the part of me that's yearning for his love, his touch, is determined to turn those fancies from dreams to reality. And the rational part of me believed her. Wanted her to be right. Convinced by her that there was a chance that all those desires could be achieved, so that they didn't have to hurt us anymore. That we could be happy, be in love, be with him.
But every day that passed that he wasn't a part of, all of that started to dwindle.
Eventually, those dreams were the only thing that I had left to keep the hope alive.
Until, one muggy day, he came back. He lit up the room with his laugh, his smile.
I saw the brightness in his eyes, a brightness that I've never seen in him before. True happiness; something that he reached for but never held.
Wistfully, desperately, I thought that maybe it was because of me. Because he'd realized how long I'd pined for him, how he believed that my love was sincere and he thought that no woman could ever have a candid devotion for him. I'd wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him and tell him how I dreamed of him every night. How he was the only one to make me laugh. How his presence made the whole world stop turning. How difficult it was to breathe when he was gone.
But then, I saw what those eyes, so beautiful when they were full of bliss, were really looking at.
And all I could remember thinking was:
Why can't he look at me…like he looks at her?
The first time I saw her, I remember thinking how I wished my eyes were as lovely as hers. Amber-gold, like topazes when you hold them up to the sun. Her eyes much narrower, slits, which gave her face, her stare, her smile, sensuality. I remember wishing that I wanted her hair, which was darker than an ebony cane, a raven, the sky at night when the stars refused to shine. I remember wishing that I wanted her figure. Muscled, but not overbearing. Ample breasts, hips and a slender waist; the perfect figure. I wished for her delicate tan; how she looked so healthy with it instead of a farm hand.
But most of all, I wished for her ability to be strong. Her ability to be undaunted when she wanted to speak her mind. To be courageous in the face of danger instead of running away. To jump into things head on, even though the outcome might not be in her favor. To show all of my feelings, even though I was a little nervous about doing it. To be able to defend myself, not relying on the strength of others. To be able to take care of myself like I knew she could. To be as free as she was.
I wished to be able to stand as close to him as she could without shaking.
For her ability to know him, to put him in his place when he needed it.
And I knew it wasn't her beauty, but her strength, that made him love her.
She understands.
She don't let go of anything;
Even when the pain gets really bad.
I guess I should have been more like that…
It wasn't until the four Sylvaranti that I heard her name again.
And as soon as he heard it, as soon as her name hit the air, I felt him shift, felt him breathe it in, like he'd never known how to breathe before.
The way I breathed when he was near.
And I did take long for that light in his eyes came back with a fiery force.
"What business do you have with Sheena Fujibayashi?"
And I'm certain that's why he went with them.
He didn't go because of the Pope, my father, me or even all of Tethe'alla. He went because he longed for her the way I longed for him. The thought of her face danced in his head, like candy being dangled before a short child. Even though the light in his eyes had vanished when she had left, gone away to fight for him, to save his life, to do something I could only do in my world of Make Believe, he still loved her with the heart of ten men. He would die for her, the exact same way I'd die for him.
He wanted her more than he wanted anything.
Especially me.
"Why are you going with them?" I asked, not looking at him, hiding my concerned sneer under my fan. I didn't want him to see me with a sour face.
"I've got to keep tabs on them, Princess," out of the corner of my eye, I could see him tightening his belt that held his blade around his waist. "Pope and your Papa asked me to, and, naturally I obliged."
"You hate the Pope."
"Yeah," he shrugged. "I'm not really doing it because of the Pope."
"Why are you doing it, then?"
I turned to him; saw his grinning, merry face staring straight at me.
Thus, my heart hurt again, knowing it wasn't me that made him so brilliant.
"For Tethe'alla of course. It's my job as Chosen—"
"You're not doing it because you're Chosen, either." I said a little too caustically.
He folded his arms across his chest. "A little persnickety today, Your Highness? What's got you so bitter?"
"I just wish you wouldn't lie to me."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean…" I brushed past him, heading for the window, watching the children play in the street, the peddlers buy and sell goods, the travelers meander around with their faces up to the air instead of in front of them.
"I'm certain I don't. I think you should probably lie down, Your Highness. Did you get enough sleep last night? I've heard that a lack of sleep can make a person unnaturally crab—"
"I've slept fine," I whipped myself around to look at him. To search his face for some sign of deception, for a clue to let me know that my suspicious were correct.
But there was nothing. Just a constant smirk, a happy-go-lucky façade.
"Are you sure about that? Or, could it be that you're worried about me? Well, fear not, Milady. I'm much stronger than you give me credit for."
He patted his sword, winking.
But I kept my cool, unwavering.
"I wish you could just tell me the truth."
"Princess, I don't—"
"It's her."
The joie de vivre disappeared in an instant.
"…What are you talking—"
"It's her. I know. Stop lying this minute. You are not going with them because the Pope wants you to, because my father wants you to. You're doing it because you want to find her, aren't you?"
He bristled, and turned away from me.
"…You've got it wrong…"
Then he left.
The room was hollow, void of vivacity; I felt claustrophobic even though I could see the outside world bustling below.
And after all that, he still couldn't be honest.
And I was too weak to force it.
I should have held on to my pride.
I should have never let you lie.
She was even more beautiful when I saw her next, even though nothing had changed. Same eyes, same hair, same build, same smile. But, somehow, I'd gotten much plainer looking, much more unattractive. I supposed that's what happens when you see the only person you love in love with someone else. To them their loved one is perfect, so you must be terribly flawed. Something was wrong with you, and whatever that might be, it made you atrociously unlovable. My hair was a boring gold, eyes a boring green, my build boringly flat, my smile boringly small. She was Goddess, and I was a mortal.
She was the princess, and I was the peasant.
At least, I was to him.
The only person that really mattered.
I watched the both of them, how close they always stood to each other even though it seemed like they weren't as close as before. How she scrutinized him when he was near someone else, like me. How he did the same when she was near someone else, like the boy clad in all red. Even though I observed until I couldn't anymore, I couldn't figure out what exactly had gone on between them that made it to where they could only look at each other through hidden glances.
And even though I wanted dreadfully to understand everything, part of me really didn't care.
Because that flame of hope that had been so dim had begun to kindle. Maybe he didn't love her as much as he thought? Had she rejected him, and he was trying to move on? All the thoughts wouldn't leave. They were a cacophony in my head, one right after the other pounding like a drum; I could almost make out the beats with my ears.
I saw his friends heal my father, and even though I wanted to follow them, my heart planted me, held my feet to the floor, reminding me that my father was the one that needed me then, not the rest of them.
He didn't need me at all.
"Hilda…" he wheezed. "Thank you…for letting them in..."
"The…" I mumbled, sitting beside him. "The Chosen insisted…"
"…Did he?"
"Yes, Papa."
"And you didn't refute him?"
"…No, Papa. I trusted him…"
My father smiled up at me.
"You're in love with him, aren't you?"
I blanched.
"I-I…I do not think that matters at this juncture, Papa. What matters is that you are going to get better soon. I've been so worried…"
He laughed, but he ended up coughing at the end.
"You don't have to hide it from me, Hilda. I know you love him. I've seen the way you look at him. I'm not surprised you fell for his charm."
"P-Papa…"
"Lucky enough for you, Chosen are usually married off to royalty…"
My father winked, taking my free hand.
And even though his words should have transformed the Flame of Hope in my heart into a raging inferno, it did nothing.
I merely shook my head.
"No, Papa. Don't force it."
"Oh, I won't. The church will. And, since you're my only daughter, I do not see a reason why he shouldn't take you to wife."
I bowed my head, hiding the tears that had started to fall.
And a cynical smile formed on my lips.
Lips I longed for him to kiss.
"…His heart isn't mine, Papa…"
"Well, that part doesn't really matter, does it? The marriages are supposed to be arranged. That's just trivial, of course. The point is, that doesn't mean he won't fall in love with you, dear…"
I pulled my head up.
"…That's what I pray for…"
And when I walked out, did what he asked me to and returned, hoping to hear something that the back of my mind whispered I wouldn't, all I could see him, with those gorgeous eyes on her, laughing.
When he asked her to do something for him, she refused, telling him to do it himself.
And he just beamed, like her abstinence had stoked the blaze that crackled in those baby blues, following right after her yet again.
Hope fluttering away with every tap of his step.
And all I could think was:
Why…
Why wasn't it me?
I guess you got what you deserved.
I guess I should have been more like her.
She was there at the party too, and she was simply stunning.
Somehow, though, it just made me resent her more.
Yet again, she had the beauty of an exotic flower, a figure that some girls only prayed for, the eyes of a seductress, her all of these things emphasized by her appearance that had been crafted for the ball.
And she was sitting in a corner.
And he was standing at the front of the room with Father and me.
While I was glad he'd stood with us, I couldn't stand how intoxicating she was, how all of the men ogled her, how she could easily wrap him around her finger and drag him wherever she wanted him to go, but not. She would not do it, didn't understand how much I ached to do what she could. To have what she had; his unfaltering attention. To have the opportunity to make him mine, like she did.
She squandered all of her chances by remaining immobile, acting stoic.
But I would take the chance now, before she could steal it away from me.
"May I have this dance, Chosen One?" I attempted at flirting, fluttering my lashes like the noblewoman did.
"Now, now, Princess," He wiggled a finger at me. "Is it not the man's job to ask the lady?"
"Is that a no, then?" I frowned.
"Of course not, Milady!" he held out a hand for me. "I was merely insinuating that it would have been more gentlemanly of me to ask you first."
"Well, I was tired of waiting," I grinned as roguishly as I could, taking his hand.
He chuckled under his breath, leading me out onto the dance floor. "Forgive me, then, Milady."
He held me gently as we waltzed, light on his feet as always. The rest of the world, including her, faded away with the soft caress of Jazz, and I could hear him humming with the tune, closing his eyes and immersing himself in the music that floated around us. It was such a fascinating thing to witness. I knew the Chosen loved music, I'd seen him play the violin and cello, and I knew he could play the piano as well as the saxophone. Long ago, even, I'd heard him sing with a voice that had first put me under his spell.
"Do you sing often, Chosen One?" I attempted.
His smile shrank, but only by a fraction.
"No, not particularly. I've found I enjoy the instruments much more, Your Highness."
"But you can sing, can't you?"
His hand that held mine twitched.
"Well, I suppose so. I'm probably rusty now, though, Milady."
"You should sing for me sometime, and I will be the judge of that."
He snorted, as though I'd just asked him if the moon was made of cheese.
"We'll see."
It wasn't long after that that the song ended and a new one began.
He let me go.
I felt like a piece of me had gone missing.
"Perhaps you'd like to ask me to dance once more?" I placed a subtle hand on his arm.
"As much as I would love to, Princess," He took my hand and bowed deeply. "I've promised a dance to someone else as well."
And then he made his way towards her.
Her face reddened—probably from a comment that he'd paid her—but, nonetheless, when he offered her his hand, she took it without any hesitation.
She was clumsy on the floor, not like we'd been. She'd obviously never danced like this before, but that didn't surprise me in the slightest. I counted seven times she tripped and five where she had stepped on his feet, but he never once provoked her, slated her, mocked her. He just dug into her eyes with his own, burying himself in her company.
And when she finally met his gaze, I saw that same light that roared in his eyes spark in hers.
And she was smiling, laughing, holding on to him as I had done.
Like she never wanted him to let her go.
Like she needed him with her, else she would perish from the inability to breathe.
But instead of discarding her, he kissed her instead.
And I felt my heart stop for the first time.
Then I realized it would never be me.
It would always be her.
It's plain to see;
Desperation showed its truth.
You love her and she loves you with all she has.
I guess I should have been more like that…
When he came in one day after collecting some messages from some of the government officials of Sylvarant, which had since merged with Tethe'alla to become a blossoming new world, I can remember quite clearly the way my heart and lungs had stopped working; like someone had struck me in the chest.
Still handsome, if not more so, then from that year ago when we'd danced together to his beloved Jazz music. His hair matching the red of the sky at dusk, his eyes bluer than the sea—beauty that was just painful, especially when you knew that it didn't belong to you.
"What brings you, Chosen?" Father asked regally.
"Returning with the papers you ordered, Your Majesty. You'll find some letters and signatures of some of the mayors and leaders of the major Sylvaranti cities, such as Palmacosta, Asgard and Iselia, where Lloyd is from. Pay close attention to that one."
"Thank you, Chosen. This kingdom certainly wouldn't be functioning as well if it weren't for you."
"I second that," sending all my adoration to him in the phrase.
He offered us a curt bow, smiling coolly as he did so.
"It is not I that you should thank, Your Majesty, Milady. You should be thanking our Emissary of Peace. I am just the delivery boy. She is the one that collected all of the letters."
"Offer her the thanks of the Princess and I, Chosen, if you are willing to act as our courier."
"I would be more than happy to, Your Highness."
I grimaced.
"Now there are a few other matters which we need to take care of before you go."
"Yes, Your Excellence."
"I have a letter addressed to Lloyd Irving about some matters in Iselia he's asked me about. Also, a letter to the Governor-General in Palmacosta regarding some of the artifacts from the Kharlan War. These need to be delivered immediately, and I would like you and our Emissary to give it to them."
"It is my pleasure, Your Highness."
Of course it was.
It always would be when she was involved.
"And, lastly…Hilda and I have a proposition for you."
I looked at my father, who winked at me.
What…was he talking about?
"Chosen One," My father's voice boomed across the throne room, causing him to back up slightly. "I offer you my daughter, Hilda, Princess of Tethe'alla, to be your wife."
My stomach fell.
Even more so when he did smile like Father and me.
"…I-I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?"
"You are a good man, Chosen. You are strong, intelligent, and compassionate. Things that I approve of. A perfect match for my daughter. I would be honored if you would take her to wife, succeed me in the throne, for I believe that you could take care of her and Tethe'alla as well. Not only that, but I know that my daughter is quite taken with you."
I flushed, eyes burning. It took all of me not to run out of the room.
Father didn't know that he didn't care about Tethe'alla.
Father didn't know that he knew not of my love.
Father didn't know about her.
He just shuffled his feet, giggling like none of what my father had said really mattered.
"Your Majesty, Milady, from the bottom of my heart, I am truly grateful for this opportunity. Princess Hilda is a wonderful, beautiful girl. Certain to make any man's dreams come true…yet…"
He placed one hand over his heart, clutching the cloth over it as though he were trying to keep it inside while it tried to burst out.
"I'm afraid I must decline."
Father straightened, shocked.
I didn't do a thing.
"Why is this, Chosen?""
He looked down, then back up.
And when he did, I saw the light.
Her light.
"I'm afraid that my heart…belongs to someone else."
I almost fainted.
"Is that so?" Father asked, but it seemed like he wasn't that curious about it.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am engaged to Sheena Fujibayashi of Mizuho."
Something started killing me.
For a week I didn't sleep. When I did, they were just dreams of him in my arms. And my heart just couldn't take it. I didn't eat, and my skin had begun to sink, making awkward concaves around my bones. Average pallor turned into a cloying pastiness. Constant exhaustion. I drug myself around, walking only when I had to, spending the rest of the days in bed. While Father insisted that I be monitored, everyone, including the servants, knew I really wasn't ill.
"Heart-broken, she is." they'd whisper. "The disease of unrequited love."
But I didn't really care.
Because the hope that had been my life preserver was murdered.
Murdered with the sound of one name.
I guess I should have been more like her.
It's been ten years since the day I found out.
Father is still well and alive. In fact, even though he's at the end of his fifties, he still has the same fire and zeal that he always has. Though his face is a tad bit sunken, and he's gotten a little bit more sallow, he's still the same.
I still live at the castle, alone, not really thinking about what marriage is like, or the feeling of true love. I've thrown myself into helping the citizens. Feeding and clothing the needy. Speaking for the equal rights of the Sylvaranti and the Tetha'allans; this, even after a decade, still seems to rear its ugly head wherever I go.
I'm advocating for the upper class to make an effort to assist the jobless by granting them work, housing the homeless through donations, educating the children by having free seminars from tutors willing to cooperate at the Imperial and Elemental Research Academies.
Demanding the civil treatment of half-elves.
Something that he usually liked to do.
I see all eight of them; usually it's on business with me or the King.
They've aged well, but he's aged the best out of them all.
Still handsome at thirty-three, and when I see him, my heart starts aching as if he'd only confessed his love for someone else they day before. I can't help but feel happy for him, even though it still hurts.
And she is, of course, pure loveliness personified at thirty. The same autumn leaf eyes, same coal-colored hair, same genteel smile, same spectacular figure. I can't help but envy her still, even though I've resigned to ever be as wonderful as she was.
And they're still with each other. Love each other with a fierceness that I've never seen before in my life. They still look at each other the same, and the light, the light of their love that will never flicker, that will smolder while they both shall life, still shines within them. And that makes me smile, even though I shouldn't be.
The only difference, however, is a little redheaded girl that is cradled in Zelos Wilder's arms.
"What do you think of her, Princess?" He asks, smiling up at me.
But I don't answer him.
She's beautiful…
In her simple little way…
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