Period 2: Literature
Theme 5: Tragedy
Words: 614
Author: Lillie Bell
*Warning* this drabble is a little graphic in nature, but still reflects the overall rating given to these drabbles.
Usagi had always known the tragedies of her life. She was a reincarnated princess who had committed suicide because of her lover's death. She was a teenager whose innocence was whisked away the moment she met a black cat with a crescent scar. She was an unwilling warrior when she was Sailor Moon. Her friends and lover fought with her and became fodder for her enemies. All this she knew.
But she also knew there was hope for a future where a pink-haired child would grace her life and she would spend eternity with the man she loved. More tragedies would befall them—wrapped in crystal and corrupted by another man's lust. But those hurdles, too, she knew she would triumph over. Because she had seen the future.
Because she had seen the future and assumed everything would come to be as was told to her she had ignored Pluto's warning not to become complacent because of what they had seen. She had been warned and still she was nothing but content to let the future catch up with her.
Well, Pluto wasn't around anymore to say "I told you so." None of them were. They fell during the battle with the Black Moon and Wiseman after he had unexpectedly allied with Chaos. The same Chaos she had been content to spread throughout the galaxy and assume it was too dispersed to cause trouble. But she never stopped to wonder. She just assumed everything was alright. Because she had seen the future.
But nothing was alright. She could see them, the dark armies on the horizon, and she didn't care. She had the power to wipe them out, to destroy them. But she wasn't going to. She had buried the ginzuishou beneath her, and there it would stay.
Her tears barely cooled her face as the hot air brushed passed. They were advancing on her in massive numbers. Thousands of soldiers to kill one, where months ago ten had stood. Now, only two. One dead, and one soon to be.
She held the bleeding body to her chest, her greatest tragedy. She had thought when Mamoru died she would never be whole again. She had felt his soul ripped from her grasp. It hadn't felt like the other times, where a small connection had stayed. It had felt like when Galaxia had thrown him into the Cauldron—when he and his soul had completely stopped existing. She had thought she would die that day.
But that was months ago and she still lived. But not for long. She had been holding out with hope for the future. With hope for making everything right again. It would be okay this time, as it had been every other time.
She had been so very wrong.
Her dress stuck to her, the blood and fluids from her body soaking into the white linen. The men were close now; she could hear the beating hooves of their horses and the clank of their armor. She could feel them training their arrows on her, their lances poised, swords unsheathed. The mages turned their dark power upon her.
If she died, Chaos would rule and the universe would be destroyed.
She clutched the cold body in her arms, pressing the lifeless infant to her breasts. The milk oozed, but no mouth would suckle those engorged nipples. No laughter would bring her hope. No child would remind her of the husband whose last gift she had nurtured inside her for less than nine months.
And so, she heralded the enemy as their blades and magic ripped through her body, sending her into oblivion, tearing her existence away from her greatest fallacy.