Perhaps, for a day - I suppose I was at angry at it all. But being angry over a broken heart is like being angry for the rain falling or the seas rising. It changes nothing and the waters keeping coming.
We are royalty, our people look to us - he knew that too. So we adopted our second son and a few hours later, it was only then he allowed himself to pass. We knew our roles. We only know the end of our duty when we die. So he saw to the end of his. )
[ She shakes her head - and then - realises, in a half step between the memories and herself and this all caught up in her skin - she cannot separate it out of herself. Remember the past or the present or that her own failure - her son, so small in her arms gone in a moment and - with him - everything.
She asked her ladies why they wept, with her, when she sat staring at the crib now a empty basket, in a grief that poured out and out and out. She had stopped being conscious of her tears. Or of anything else in those haze of days laughter. 'He is but one boy, why do you share my grief?''He is your son, Maharani, but he is our future. Now we will fall.' ]
(But - I know who my anger belonged too. Three months later, despite everything he had done in those last hours, the vampires and the lycans wearing British Laws and British diplomacy, took it all. My Jhansi was taken from me - and I was forced to watch as they stripped her down like jackals feasting on a corpse.
no subject
Perhaps, for a day - I suppose I was at angry at it all. But being angry over a broken heart is like being angry for the rain falling or the seas rising. It changes nothing and the waters keeping coming.
We are royalty, our people look to us - he knew that too. So we adopted our second son and a few hours later, it was only then he allowed himself to pass. We knew our roles. We only know the end of our duty when we die. So he saw to the end of his. )
[ She shakes her head - and then - realises, in a half step between the memories and herself and this all caught up in her skin - she cannot separate it out of herself. Remember the past or the present or that her own failure - her son, so small in her arms gone in a moment and - with him - everything.
She asked her ladies why they wept, with her, when she sat staring at the crib now a empty basket, in a grief that poured out and out and out. She had stopped being conscious of her tears. Or of anything else in those haze of days laughter. 'He is but one boy, why do you share my grief?' 'He is your son, Maharani, but he is our future. Now we will fall.' ]
( But - I know who my anger belonged too. Three months later, despite everything he had done in those last hours, the vampires and the lycans wearing British Laws and British diplomacy, took it all. My Jhansi was taken from me - and I was forced to watch as they stripped her down like jackals feasting on a corpse.
So, truly, what time did I have to be angry? )