The Weight of What Should Not Be

[annanicole__ 2802]

Spoiler

 

 

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⥼──────⥽ The Last Time She Memorized His Face ⥼──────⥽

Penned by 

Her Ladyship, Ipera Amelya 

16th of Harren’s Folly, 636AA, 2063

 

 

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Ipera gasped when she saw Alexandre’s body. Her hands flew to her stomach as if something inside her had torn loose, and a broken cry ripped from her chest. She threw her arms up, palms out, as though she could ward off the truth standing before her.

“No!” she screamed. “No—this was not meant to be. We were wed for only a saint’s day. No—no!”

Her strength failed her. She collapsed to her knees, breath shuddering, head shaking as though denial alone might undo what her eyes had seen.

“No… no, it cannot be.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, thin and trembling. “Someone is playing a cruel joke. Alex isn’t dead. He told me he would return. He told me he would not leave me.” She fell forward, sinking fully to the floor, and gathered Alexandre into her arms.

Her hands moved over him desperately—through his hair, along his brow, down the familiar planes of his face. “No—no, this cannot be,” she murmured, her fingers trembling as they came away slick and red. She stared at them, uncomprehending. “Where is my Alexandre? This is not my Alexandre. Someone—someone bring me my Alex.”

She drew him closer, pressing her cheek to his cold temple. “No,” she whispered again and again. “I will not leave him. Bring him back to me—please. I need him.” Her sob broke free as she looked down at him. “Where is my Alex?”

“I cannot leave him,” she said hoarsely. “I am his wife—widow—no. Wife.” She dragged a bloodied hand through her hair, her breathing ragged. “I need Valentina. Someone must write to her. I need someone—anyone—who knows this is not my Alexandre.”

She continued to trace his face, committing every line to memory. “This will be the last time I see him. I must take every moment I can.” Her voice cracked. “Please—find Valentina. Or someone who can help me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as fresh tears slipped free. “Can you find a friend within the walls of Alba?” she asked weakly. “Someone I may go to when the time comes. Please… I need someplace that is not here.”

Her words dissolved into heavy, shuddering sobs as a servant quietly opened the door and then retreated, unable to intrude upon the devastation before them.

Ipera lay upon the floor, drenched in red—her hair, her hands, her face, her dress all stained. She cradled Alexandre’s lifeless body, rocking him gently, humming softly beneath her breath. Her entire body trembled as her fingers traced his face again and again, memorizing what she would never touch again.

“He cannot be gone, Romhilda,” she whispered at last, her eyes hollow as they flicked toward her. “I truly have nothing left.” Beside them lay a white sheet, folded and waiting.

“No,” Ipera said, shaking her head as she pulled him closer. “I do not want to leave him. I will never see his face again. I need to remember.” Her hands shook violently as she turned toward Romhilda, grief laid bare.

“I am with child,” she whispered, covering her mouth with trembling fingers. “I have nowhere to go. I want my Alexandre… please… bring him back to me.” She reached out weakly. “Romhilda… may I stay with you? I do not wish to return here until I am ready.”

At last, her strength gave out. She released Alexandre’s body, her hands falling slack at her sides. “I do not want to be alone,” she whispered. “I have lost my mother, my father… and now my husband.”

Slowly, reverently, she reached for the white sheet. Her bloodstained hands darkened the fabric as she drew it over him. Before Romhilda could move him, Ipera pressed her palms gently to his face one final time.

“O, be still, my heart,” she whispered. “For thou will not wilt.” She stood at last, clutching the white stone behind her for support, leaving a crimson streak in her wake.

 

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I call your name
and the world does not answer.

They say you are gone,
yet my hands still know your face,
still search for breath
that should be there.

If this is truth,
it is a language I was never taught.
If this is loss,
then I do not understand
how the heart is meant
to go on beating
when it has been taken with you.

And yet—I remain.

I will carry your name
where my voice still reaches.
I will speak of the life you lived,
of the light you left in my hands,
so the world may learn
what it has taken.

They will know you were here.
They will know you mattered.

I will not let silence finish your story,
nor time erase the shape of you.
If I must walk forward alone,
then I will walk bearing your memory,
and call it survival.

Oh heart, be still — thou wilt not win.
For though you ache and break and plead,
you must yet beat,
and in each breath,
I will remember him.

Alexandre Matthias Devereux 

Lord Regent and Heir to The County of Trier

2030-2063

 

 

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SIGNED BY, 

Her Ladyship, Ipera Amelya Devereux 

Lady of Rethel, Lady of Deveruex, Master of Imperial Regalia, The Widow

 

[Frisket 4538]

“You and I will work together, and I expect your full support while my dear mother is away. Is this understood, I depend on the help of the house, that includes you.”

“…”

 

”You are of my Kith, you and Haythem alike. I will let no harm come to you”

 

Where did it all go wrong, was this what the creator intended for HOREN to bear?

 

a life of, pleasantries built above the carnage which humans wrought through unrighteous conquest?

 

a life of luxury and warm lies, where man walks with a mask to appear pleasant while they seethe in depression and despair?

 

The question lingers as Vivien sat in her room, her wife sleeping soundly and she up writing a book. Her golden hair locks fall before her as it snaps her out of these thoughts. 
 

Why did Alexandre take his life. What was it and who was it that betrayed the young Master?

 

”Anwser me Oh master Devereux… who dares taint an emerald?”

[Metamancy 1759]

•───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────•

 

"But the quarrel, the public display of Alexandre... and now this? The Empire seems focused on stepping on Alba's toes as much as possible these days,"

 

A distressed Inku Vierto told Avaline, following a series of darkspawn tests by the Imperials upon the citizens of Alba. @Festive Fate 

 

"What are you trying to say? We serve the Crown, and as citizens of Saint Godwinsburg, it is our duty to obey. Unless you are a traitor? A deserter, perhaps?"

 

"That's-! That's not it, ma'am."

 

"I jest."

 

•───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────•

 

"I appreciate your words, Avaline. It's nice talking to you."

 

"Of course,"

 

Avaline nodded.

 

"We can only do what we can to live meaningfully, mm?"

 

•───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────•

 

"Stay safe out there, Avaline."

 

"A good night to you."

 

•───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────•

 

As Avaline took the long walk back to Myre Hall that night, Inku's mention of Alexandre Devereux rang in her mind.

 

Had she not attended his wedding just a saint's day ago?

 

Had she not seen him smile beside his wife, walking the very same streets she walked now?

 

She began to shiver, though it was not the winter cold that bit at her.

 

The only constant is death,

 

She thought to herself.

 

And all shall die.

 

The Lady Helvets stopped some paces few from the front door. Lost in her thoughts, the walk had gone by rather swiftly.

 

Yet, how is it that Alexandre Devereux is dead?

 

•───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────•

[Amesti 247]

Loss after loss bore down on the Devereux household. Armand could not help but wonder who was next as he carried the lifeless shell of his brother down to the catacombs. He descended those dark, cold stairs till he reached a place to set it. While Alexandre's corpse remained unprepared for burial, it was better than sitting in the front hall of the keep, where any of his sisters could see. Armand laid the body down and carefully tucked the bloodied sheet about it. He stood there for a while, staring in shock. He could not wrap his head around it. Nothing lined up to him. Every possible twist of the story he heard was terrible. He didn't wish to believe any of it. "Repose en paix, mon frère." He muttered then before he finally departed.

[0mnip0tent 338]

The statement of Alexandre being dead rung through her head louder than any clap of thunder, any ringing of bells. It stung further than any slap pressed upon her cheek, though a bruise from such Alexandre himself seemed to be a reminder of her own guilt. 

"I put the nails upon the coffin, the hands of others hammered them in."

 

Such words were choked out to her dear friend, and Alexandre's sister-in-law. The masses would believe his blood to be upon her hands, surely. The physician who had aided the ailing man a great many times. 

"Rest now, Lord Lion."

Edited January 13 by 0mnip0tent

[Yeetboy0206 1574]

A tulip would be mailed to the grieving widow. She wouldn't get a note of who it was from, just that the tulip was wrapped in a napkin with a rose and a star on it. On it was the message, "Grief is simply love persevering. Hold onto the good memories with your husband; you have my prayers."

[kuerbis 3802]

That Asturian had received the grief-struck widow at nightfall. Her features were riddled with a great sense of conflict upon listening to Ipera's words. She had been told one side of the story, and for now, this would do. Late at night, Valentiná began drafting a letter to the Countess Devereux…