Chapter Three: Another Troy
AC 181
Dunkirk, Northern France
Colonel Auber's jeep pulled up to the city council building and parked in the street, running over the road side in the process and settling the vehicle at an odd, but non-dangerous angle.
During carnival season, the city streets used to be filled to the brim with chahuts, crowds of people dancing and huddling about to keep warm as music played over the houses and through the alleyways. But since the Alliance had subdued northern France in AC 170, the carnival had been outlawed as it was seen as too much of a risk to the new order. The citizens had protested at first, but the first rally had ended with five civilians dead and nothing else accomplished.
The national government of France, as it had been then only a central figurehead, had petitioned the military to reconsider the situation, but two chief council members had ended up dying mysterious death instead and the controversy over the carnival in Dunkirk had ended there.
The marketplace was still an open one. The first Alliance leaders had tried to station guards all over the premise, but the locals had taken to buying fruit just so they could throw it at them and so the latter leaders had given up securing the area completely (though there were constantly manned security garrisons on either side of the Le Marché de Natural).
And despite the constant military oppression of the people by their Alliance rulers, the French people had not lost their spirit nor relinquished their traditions (even after some of them were outlawed).
Which is precisely why places like this should be razed to the ground first.
Whatever his conqueror's philosophy, Colonel Auber reminded himself that it was not the reason he had been called here today, however he wished it would have been.
Banishing that thought to the back of his mind, Xavier Auber bounded up the steps to the Town Hall, his ward officer struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. For some reason, the colonel had more faith in the recruits within his own regiment than his own commissioned officers, so he had chosen a young man at random from the group he had encountered the night before and had made him his a cadet officer.
He had needed a man who he could test the limits to, someone who he would be able to train to be loyal to him, not an officer who had been trained by someone else like Halevy or Grafton.
Someone who would be loyal to him; someone who could warn the colonel to threats being made towards him within the Alliance and who could also take care of those threats, discretely of course.
Xavier Auber had yet to know the limits of this particular ward, but he was determined to find out where his loyalties lay soon enough.
When he reached the top of the stoop, the iron doors were opened for him, introducing Auber to the columned receiving chamber. A middle aged man stood in the center of the foyer, his arms at his sides though he was as ease and did not come to attention when the colonel entered the room.
Auber, impatient, moved to sidestep the elder man, but the other stopped him with his words.
"Colonel Auber, I presume."
How he hated these little shows put on for civilian benefit.
"Yes, what is it?"
"The mayor has been expecting you."
Auber stepped back and readjusted his stance, lifting his chin momentarily just enough for it to be above that of the man he was speaking to.
A local man, with the accent to prove it…a local man with an overly smug smile.
Auber detested these people. The sooner they could do away with them the better.
"Why have I come?" He asked tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes accusingly.
"As I said the mayor is expecting you." The smug smile on the man's face widened and the sparkle in his eyes got brighter, tipping Auber off even more so that something really was rotten with the whole situation. "It you will please follow me—"
Auber bristled at that. He turned briefly towards his ward officer and the cadet casually moved his hand to where his pistol holster rested at his him, reaching down and soundlessly undoing the brass button that connected leather protectively over steel.
Spinning back, Auber stared the elder man down though he didn't seem to see the twenty year old colonel as much of a threat.
He was just a boy, just a stupid motherless boy from Paris, the son of a whore and a drunkard….
Xavier set his jaw and lowered his head, that sentence finishing itself off in his head. This grey haired attaché with his expensive suit and his silk tie had no right to judge him and he was, everyone always did.
He would fix that.
Auber stepped up to the surprised man and stuck his finger into his chest.
"Enough! Listen, idiot, I am not going any farther unless you tell me where I am going and why." With his other hand, Xavier grabbed onto the man's collar, stopping him from backing away. "Now, tell me."
"The mayor has requested your presence at the behest of Monsieur Banzhaf, he would not say why."
Auber increased pressure against the man's neck as he lifted him up by his collar.
"Who are you?"
The smug smile disappeared and the man was visibly shaken. "Albert Gassion, I'm Albert Gassion."
Gassion? Where did he know that name from?
Pulling the man closer so that they were almost nose to nose, Auber looked into his eyes, scanning them for any hint of recognition.
Eyes a rich blue-brown that hated him almost as much as Xavier did them.
Gassion….Gassion, ah yes, that boy...
Jacques Gassion had been a former young man of the city around Auber's age. One of the many who had not passively accepted the Alliance take over of the region.
Xavier remembered him specifically.
Xavier had been a cadet when they took this part of France ten years ago and Jacques Gassion had been his first kill. He had shot him in the head and could vividly remember having the pleasure of watching the light fade from his eyes at close range.
Eyes the same color as the ones he was staring into.
He understood, mon Dieu, Xavier understood now, just how funny the truth really was when it was spelled out in someone else's eyes.
Having successfully turned the tables on his snobbish little attaché, the colonel smiled and pushed the diplomat back roughly on his heels.
"Lead the way then, Albert Gassion. Let's not keep the mayor waiting any longer."
As Gassion turned his back to him hurriedly, Xavier glanced at his cadet officer and the younger man dropped his hand from the leather holster where it had been resting, not bothering to redo the button.
----
Christina Dermail lay sprawled across her bed, dead asleep with her legs wrapped tightly in the sheets like the plaster cast of a renaissance statue. Her breathing was even and her relaxed pose, as graceful as she made every one she was ever in seem to be, gave the dark haired woman the disposition of some sort of divine creature and, for his part, Arthur could agree with that.
He sat in a chair across from the bed, near one of the open windows watching the shadows play over her face.
He adored being able to see her at peace.
Whenever Arthur was away, he tried to picture his wife like this, an angel in the sunlight none the less bereft of just how wonderful she really was.
Always, peaceful, always divine…in sleep that was.
Arthur stood stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked over to sit softly on the bed…or at least he thought he had sat down softly. Apparently the bedsprings were a little less forgiving these days than they had been when the two were a newly married couple.
General Catalonia, known for his fearless charges into hostile foreign territory, grimaced and closed his eyes as the mattress dipped and creaked unavoidably beneath him.
Uh oh…
Guiltily, Arthur sighed and opened his eyes immediately noticing his now very awake wife glaring at him as if expecting an explanation as to why her few quiet hours of sleep were being cut short on a weekday.
Arthur swallowed and bowed his head sheepishly, a smug smile appearing on his face, betraying him.
"Sorry."
Christina squinted her cornflower blue eyes at him, not really appreciating the open drapes this early in the morning. "You should be. It's the first good night's sleep I've had in weeks."
Arthur leaned down towards her on his elbows, as she tried to block both him and the glare of sunlight streaming in through the windows out by using her forearm to cover her eyes.
"You can't blame me for all of that."
"Not all of it, no." Then she lifted her arm just enough resume her mock glare at him from underneath it. "But most of it."
Arthur chuckled good naturedly as he reached up to wisp away a stray lock of Christina's dark hair from her forehead and pushed it behind her ear.
How he loved her. Arthur leaned down and propped his head up on his elbow so that he was just above her, looking down into her eyes comfortably.
"Guess who I just got off the phone with?"
"Hmm….let me guess, now, don't tell me." Christina made a display of pretending to actually think about who the man could be when she knew perfectly well who it was. "Is he about 5'9" with black hair and an ill temper who, despite six years of marriage to you, still calls me the 'French wife' even though his own is from Toulouse?"
Arthur chuckled at the description.
"The very one." He said.
Christina scoffed as she rolled her eyes up at her husband, "The hypocrite…"
Despite everything and anything Arthur Catalonia had been able to do to discourage tthe two for the past few years, his wife and brother still enjoyed picking on one another with a predictable vehemence that made the current war they were in look like little more than a lover's spat. Thinking on it, Arthur had chalked it all down to the fact that his wife was a severely stubborn and independent woman and that his brother, being the oldest among them who had basically raised he and Victor, was also both of those things to the maximum making the combination of the two something in between uranium and crude oil.
Something that was dangerous and sure to light up the night with fire sooner rather than later.
"He sends his regards."
"Oh I bet he does." Christina narrowed her eyes suspiciously up at him, "They came complete with a poison apple for me too right? I bet he can't wait for that day to come."
Arthur shook his head at her, but couldn't keep the smile off of his face. "You're never going to let that joke slide are you?"
"No!" Christina sprouted at him and he had to laugh at her suddenly undignified demeanor. " 'May this kill off the witch in your life and give you back instead a princess, if at all possible, a little less French….' The bloody man should have known better."
Arthur leaned back from her as he tried to bit back another laugh. "Honestly Christina, he doesn't mean anything by it, he's just having a little bit of fun because he knows it eats at you."
"I'll get even yet." She looked away from him as an evil little grin lit up her features in a way he had come to somewhat like and be apprehensive of at the same time. "We'll see how he feels when he receives an anonymous package in the mail containing a truss at his new military base. I'm sure that would improve his relationship with his fellow officers."
"Christina!"
"What? You know he has been asking for it for years with this whole 'French wife' business? Six years is just a little much don't you think?"
Arthur bent to kiss her cheek as she grudgingly relinquished her angry feelings with a frustrated, the show of affection he was giving her relaxing her some.
"I think that you're far too beautiful to let any of this bother you, for the time being at least."
A catty smile set itself over Christina's features as she draped her arms slowly around her husband's neck and stared into his eyes, "And what would you recommend I do instead?"
When Arthur looked down into her eyes, there was no question in his. "Kiss me."
A full laugh erupted at her and Arthur narrowed his eyes unappreciatively, "I hadn't meant that as a joke."
"You're just such a romantic, General."
With that, Christina leaned up and kissed him, willing to hold him close to her and away from the rest of the world for as long as she could.
-----
Xavier Auber was livid, absolutely livid as he stormed out of the back entrance of the Dunkirk town hall and into the alleyway behind.
Who in hell did these academy trained nitwits think they were sending him a half cooked second in command? Who in hell had decided to send him Halevy in the first place?
Xavier wanted them raised up and nailed to a wall by their thumbs!
During his meeting with Albert Gassion and Dunkirk's plump mayor, a messenger had rushed in with a telegram from the base.
Apparently, Lt. Halevy had tried to commit suicide in plain daylight during the execution of the prisoners who had been captured last night in Calais and had just about succeeded. Unfortunately a few younger officers had managed to subdue him before he could pull the trigger and as of this morning, Halevy had been 'honorably' discharged to a mental hospital in Tours. Bloody man. Men like him should be weeded out from the rest and liquidated before they can infect the ranks, but every once in a while a few stragglers made it into qualified positions that they shouldn't have and that was when the trouble usually started.
Jacques Gassion had been one of those men, Xavier, had deduced from their quick encounter together and apparently so was the boy's father.
The stupid imbecile of a man. Did he actually think he had any power left? Xavier made a mental note to kill him sometime later, when no one was looking. It would give him something to do while he was still in town.
Leaning against one of the walls behind the town hall looking out towards the alleyways that resembled those he spent his childhood in, Colonel heard footsteps come up at a sedate pace behind him and chose not to startle. There was no need, he knew who it was.
His cadet officer stopped a few feet from him, relatively calm. When he spoke, his voice was composed and nothing less than professional. "How was the meeting, sir?"
"Tedious, what else is there to be had with these frivolous little men in suits?" Auber turned to look back at him, "We aspire to a higher ideal, Nigel. They and their petty institutions have nothing to offer us anymore. The only reason we keep this up is to give them the illusion that they still hold some sort of identity that hasn't been melted into the subterfuge, people will cooperate better when they think they still have a choice. That's what we want."
Nigel Neuilly, always stone faced in all the time he had worked under Auber's command, had always followed orders and never revealed what he was really thinking and that was what Auber wanted in a subordinate. Someone who could do the atrocious and knew better than to think they had committed the worst sin in all the world, who knew that humanity was outmatching his sins every day with its own.
Someone who realized that people and their sins were made obsolete by their own expendability.
"Cadet Neuilly, do you have another commission waiting for you after this one?"
"No, sir, I have not requested one yet."
"Don't." Auber's limitless gaze angled away from him and over to where a steady stream of muddy water was trickling down the old stones of the building across from them and disappearing into obscure lines of the street. "You've just been promoted to lieutenant. You'll be given new quarters when we return to base."
"Yes, sir."
And just like that, the vacancy for a staff lieutenant at Forte de Crecy had just been filled. So much for Halevy, Auber smiled as he pushed himself off of the wall of the building.
-----
The Khushrenada boys had retired to one of the various dens situated within the family apartments they were always given while staying with their father in the palace. It was only the two of them who occupied the room as was always the custom of the two boys to withdraw from the prying eyes of society when they had the rare opportunity to be in one another's company.
"Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With Explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—"
Treize stood near the central fireplace of the small study they occupied, holding an aged looking book in his hand, reading the words therein while hardly being distracted by his brother's droning monologue. The two boys may have been close, but their respect for one another had its limits.
"So we ended up somewhere in Prague, Lexi completely plastered and myself with a killer headache and my belt tied around my knees." Richard leaned back in his chair, lost in the fun little memories, making these huge gestures as he described everything that had happened to him on this vacation that had left Europe reeling and its respectable world. "Needless to say, Alexandrei Vivski and a good bottle of Bordeaux don't mix well…"
"We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our Statures touch the skies—"
"…Now that was good. Coming up for air in Vienna was the best idea I've had in years, if I must say so myself, though Lexi did look a little green around the gills for the first week though…"
"The Heroism we recite
Would be a normal thing
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be King—"
"…It was like looking into the sun, Treize. You would have appreciated it too, had you been there, I believe."
Treize looked up from the old yellowing pages to the dancing flames licking the sautéed surface of the logs where most of the bark had already melted away. An ironic half smile caused the corner of his mouth to twitch up on one side.
No, whatever rubbish his brother was talking about the first half of his winter holiday, Treize was almost certain he would not have enjoyed it, for he and his brother very seldom agreed on what was and was not appreciable.
Two sides of a coin, the Khushrenada brothers. One newer, keeping a refined polish to its exterior never to be hidden, and the other was scratched, scared beyond the help of any well intentioned shining
"Are you married yet?"
Richard reclined at an odd angle in one of the ancient leather chairs surrounding the fireplace in an inclosing arena, one leg strung up over the armrest in an undignified and devil-may-care manner. At the offhanded question, he bent his head towards his brother and let it lull, similar blue eyes staring at him nonchalantly.
"Should I be?" Richard asked.
Treize snapped the book shut and turned his attention fully onto his brother, the ironic smile still in place.
"Father thinks so."
The older of the two huffed and threw a loose string from the upholstered chair he had pulled absently out of the offensive leather pattern into the fire, which hit the floor midflight instead.
"His thoughts are like grains of salt; small, inadequate, and very quickly tossed over your shoulder without worry." Richard glanced lazily up at the regale portrait of William Peacecraft II over the mantle and sighed, annoyed suddenly at the complete respect of decorum this small corner of the palace seemed to be flooded with. "Besides, when in your experience, has our father ever shown that his marriage has ever meant anything to him?"
Treize swallowed. It was a well known fact in higher social circles that Theodore Khushrenada, like many men of his wealth and position, was not faithful to his wife and he made no secret of it.
Even his children knew.
Treize himself had known for himself since his mother threw their maid, Becky, out of the nursery and accused her in front of him.
Though the Khushrenada children seemed to be ambivalent to all of their father's affairs, their mother, the Duchess Sophie-Bushon Khushrenada had never been a woman to take being second place lightly. Part of the problem lay with Theodore for that.
Being a Khushrenada, the Duke would not have a simpleminded, dear, singly obedient woman for a wife. He would have an heiress, a bullheaded siren who was not afraid to lead and actually invited bullying and patronizing of her own person by the highest social circles of debutants at their own detriment.
Treize chuckled at the thought. Oh, his mother was a proud woman, but she had every reason to be.
Sophie was a Bushon, or had been and theirs was one of the few remaining purely French families related closely to the Bourbon-Vendomes, the last ruling house of France. A fact Sophie would make good use of for her children, as even France's own Prince Rene was a godfather to both of her sons.
Outwardly, she was a blessed woman.
Treize's mother had often told him that she and her family had been ordained by God to be who they were. Though Treize did not believe this for himself, he could see how it could make some sense. After all, it had been a fantastic turn of events which had led to his mother's rise to power in the first place.
And none of them concerned his father.
Sophie's own father, Francois Henri Bushon, had been the third born son of the family and had not been expected to inherit his family's lands or title
However, his fate had been sealed for him after his oldest brother had married a beggar maid and sealed his own by being disinherited for it. Then the second brother, who would have taken over anyway, had been killed in a car crash in Paris just weeks before he was to be granted their ailing father's inheritance.
Not having been pinned down with the expectations of holding his family's future in his hands throughout his childhood, Francois decided to make the most of his inheritance. He had taken on a number of philanthropic enterprises as well as increasing his own investments, more than tripling his fortune and for it, his family had become prosperous and practically legendary.
Treize could see it every time he looked into his mother's eyes when they took on that wistful look to them. She was proud of her father, but she also missed him and her brothers and her mother. She missed her own family identity. In France, Sophie was a Bushon, a great lady with a celebrated name, anywhere's else in the world she was a Khushrenada and no one hailed her for that.
When it came to royal marriages, being the perfect wife meant you moved wherever your new husband's family was and bore him children to carry his name while at the same time becoming popular in the higher social circles to enhance the future prestige of your family. It was a hard task so much so that it was said a woman could either do it well or fold completely beneath the pressure of all of the expectations placed on her shoulders.
And being married to a Khushrenada made a wife's duties no easier.
Theodore was the 18th Duke Khushrenada. The 18th bearer of an ancient title and generation after generation of royal blood that had roots to the lineages of Ivan IV of Russia and Joseph II the Holy Roman Emperor. It was a family as old as her own and just as integral in this world's history. The Khushrenada family motto read like a track record of the duty which consumed each leading members' lives from the time they came of age to the day they died, 'To the world I am a servant, shall I do only all that is necessary to uphold her'. It had become a trademark of the Khushrenada family members, to uphold this motto no matter the adversity of their times against them and it had becomes a mark of the line to do this.
And then there was Theodore. To be married to him was a philanthropic enterprise of its own and it had been a shock to twenty one year old Sophie Anastasia Bushon.
And how had she been repaid?
With her husband's pathetic fallacy, his pitiable weakness to have every beautiful thing on two legs.
Or maybe four….there were rumors….
Treize swallowed and shook his head. What people wouldn't say…
It was the very reason why his mother spent all the more time with that wistful look in her eyes as the years passed by.
It was why people at court tossed their prestigious family name from corner to corner like a glop of glorified mud.
Treize turned towards his brother who now sat staring aimlessly into the fire.
It was also why the Duke's eldest son had decided to go away for his education instead of attending one of the closer colleges and also why he hated their father.
Richard was the oldest out of all of them and because of this he had reached his breaking point first. No longer could he stand to watch their proud mother fall into disrespect and her reputation fall into disrepair while their father's suffered no such fall that he would ever feel ashamed of.
It was a hard reality for all of the Khushrenada children to bear. Even the youngest, their only sister Pasha had a hard time dealing with it all as she spent the most time out of all of them with their mother everyday.
It just made them worry more for her and her well being, watching her slowly slip everyday.
So many years living here in a loveless marriage with their father had convinced Sophie that she was completely alone, so much so that she almost could not see her children anymore.
They were the invisible witnesses to everything that went on in that house because they had grown into Khushrenadas, a surrogate mutation that was not her own family even, but her husband's, with her husband's pedigree and his overzealous pride. Sophie, being the good wife, had raised them in his image, relinquishing all that she was for them and how had her children repaid her? They had become like him and because of this fact she felt and openly showed that she did not believe her own children could understand her or everything that she had lost to give them this life.
It was for this very reason that Treize felt a great deal of ambivalence towards his father, however…the man was still his father no matter the way one looked at it and he could not, no, he would not ignore that fact.
It was beneath him.
His father was his father and he would always love him for it, but it would not resign himself, no, limit himself to a life of hatred and loathing. He would rise above it instead and create his own legacy to add to the prestige of the Khushrenada family, bring a new sort of glory to it.
And erase the tarnish of his father that was smothering it.
Treize cleared his throat and stared back into the fire. "He did love her once, maybe he still does", he tried.
Richard snorted indignantly, slumping farther, if it was possible, into the ancient chair. "If his lies were crowns our father would rule all of Europe by now, besides, an illegitimate lovechild is a fine way to show the woman in your life that you're madly devoted to her, is it not?"
Treize scowled and noticed the stalk of angry betrayal burning like a piece of kindling in his brother's eyes. It was true, their father had become a traitor to his family and his name and he knew it, he just didn't care at all.
Treize felt a stab of indignation rise up in him at the thought, but he ignored it. "Surely, Richard, the beginning of everything starts with an impulse from the heart."
Richard closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the plush leather cushions of his chair, he didn't even try to hide his reaction, he laughed out loud. After Treize's cheeks had colored in a humored tinge of embarrassment and Richard's laughter had subsided down into languished chuckles, the older of the two opened his eyes to mere slits and stared into the creamlike abyss of the ceiling.
"So young…" Richard muttered to himself.
Treize was confused as his attention rebounded back to his brother. "I'm sorry?"
Richard cleared his throat, preparing to better clarify what he meant. "You are so young, little brother, too young still for the times we live in. This is a time for hard men and ruthlessness and iron fists. You'll see soon. The outrage that has taken over our entire world is about to envelope us here as well. It's death, persona non grata, in motion. In a few months it won't matter if I'm married or not, those trivialities will cease to apply."
Treize stared at him incredulously for a long moment, but he knew Richard was right. Getting wasted was not the only thing he had been doing on his winter vacation. While traveling across central Europe, Richard had seen the bare truth laid out before him, had seen the Alliance troops swarm like so many bees upon a place and demolish it to a shadow of it's former self. And it would not take long before the swarm of locusts over took the Sac Kingdom like they had everywhere else.
But at the same time Treize realized this place was different from all the rest. The Sanc Kingdom was the last outpost of pacifism to remain standing directly in the face of Alliance tyranny after so many years of conflict and when it fell…it would become another Troy.
As he stared into the fire, Treize lost himself in the image of flame devouring wood.
----
Albert Gassion slipped quietly out of the town hall and into the sunset darkening the sky over the coast of northwestern France. Meetings held by the town's elderly council members were growing longer and more tedious as the days went by. Letting out a frustrated sigh, the man reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out an imported Cuban cigar. He ran the length of it under his nose, admiring the scent of the foreign tobacco before casually pulling a double guillotine style clipper from his other pocket, cutting the cap off, and then lighting it with a gold plated Zippo lighter.
With that done, Albert descended the steps and moved discretely to the alleyway beside the building, lest his cover for leaving the meeting early be completely blown.
"Damn Alliance thugs." Gassion let out the first puff of smoke as he leaned comfortably against the building's stone wall. "They get worse and worse as the years pass by."
"I'm sorry to hear you feel that way."
Startled, Albert turned on his heel to see Cadet Neuilly standing contraposto behind him, his cold stare boring into him.
"Now, listen here, son, you know better than I do what your people have done to this place." Albert felt the need to defend himself, nervousness creeping into his voice as he watched the young man's hand fidget on his belt near where his holster was situated. "Can you begrudge me my feelings on this entire situation? I have a right to be angry…especially after what your colonel did to my son."
A small smile crept onto Neuilly's face and Albert's heart sank in his chest.
"But haven't you heard, sir? All's fair in love and war."
"Now, young man, don't be hasty-"
But the holster cover was shrugged aside anyway and the sound of the gunshot rang through the alleyway, startling the few people on the evening streets, but it only took a few minutes before they went back to their lives again, none the worse for wear than they had been before they had heard it.
"Ever my hap is slack and slow in coming,
Desire increasing, ay my hope uncertain
With doubtful love, that but increaseth pain;
For, tiger like, so swift it is in parting.
Alas! The snow black shall it be and scalding,
The sea, waterless, and fish upon the mountain,
The Thames shall back return into its fountain,
And where he rose the sun shall take his lodging,
Ere I in this find peace or quietness;
Or that Love, or my Lady, right-wisely,
Leave to conspire against me wrongfully.
And if I have after such bitterness,
One drop of sweet, my mouth, is out of taste,
That all my trust and travail is but waste."
-Sir Thomas Wyatt-
(1503 – 1542)
"Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?"
-William Butler Yeats-
(1865 - 1939)
A/N: Thank you everyone for reading!! Hope you liked it!! Tell me what you thought of it!