Never again would I feel that way. I loved him, I really did. I thought it would be a fairytale come true. He was the prince. I was the princess. But I found out why people tell fairytales. It's because in real life, fairytales never come true, no matter how much you wish. I remember our last battle, how he had finally realized the truth behind Team Plasma.
I remember him telling me to follow my dream, and I cried because him leaving would be the end of my dream. I remember calling out his name, chasing after him on my beloved swanna. But no matter how fast she was, she couldn't keep up with Zekrom, there was no way that would happen. Finally, I was forced to wake up, to see reality. And I didn't like it one bit.
I remember crying there alone in the castle, then feeling hands shove me through the gap in the wall. It felt like flying, except in reverse. I remember thinking that it felt like I was back inside Skyla's gym, except this time, there were no mats to catch me, nobody to be there for me. And so I fell, and hit the ground hard. I continued crying. Nothing mattered anymore.
My pokemon found me hours later, buried under the ruined castle, which had been completly destroyed. Swanna flew me to the nearest hospital, where everybody I knew told me how sorry they were, and some kind of shit about how they were too busy hunting down the other Plasma Grunts, how they thought I had left the castle, after seeing someone fly away on a dragon. If they had bothered paying attention, they would have realized that the dragon in question was black, not white.
A couple of months went by. Everybody forgot about the girl in the hospital. I cried myself to sleep every night. I realized I had more in common than him than I thought. We were both pawns. As soon as the crisis was over, I was forgotten. Left behind. Everybody talked about me like I was gone. "White left on a journey," they would say. Eventually, when I was finally released from the hospital, I left. Now they could truly say I went on a journey without lying.
I found myself on Mt. Silver, and I would spend long hours just standing on the empty mountain, lost in thought. One day, the truth, the cold, hard, truth, caught up to me. Thanks a lot, Lady Reshiram. I wish I knew this 2 years ago, back on the Ferris Wheel, back when I was still happy and naive.
They don't call them sweet nothings for no reason. No matter how sweet they are, at the end of the day, they're still sweet nothings.