"I'm not sorry she's dead. I'm only sorry I wasn't the one who killed her."
Unsurprisingly, Charles DeMuer had no response for Sophie's outburst. Birds called to one another, the leaves rustled in the breeze as if so much death and destruction hadn't occurred only miles from here less than a week before. She exhaled a heavy breath of air, trying to bite back the bitter anger that threatened to overcome her. Her hands shook with it, her stomach churned restlessly with it. Leaning back against the thick trunk of the large maple that hung overhead, she shot a look upward into its leafy canopy.
"I couldn't be around the refugees anymore. Not after I read that obituary. A philanthropist, it had called her. Not a mass murderer. It said she'd leave many with a lasting impact on their hearts. Well, at least that section of it was honest. Pain, torture, tragedy. All those will be lasting impacts on the hearts of the lives she destroyed."
"I don't want to take any contributions in her name," she declared vehemently to her father-in-law as her eyes fell back down from the limbs overhead.
"I know, I know. It's not pragmatic of me. But any money in her name seems horrendously tainted."
"That's really his answer." The son's voice carried up the hill as he climbed it toward his father, away from the ruins and past more rows of white marble than he cared to count. "Silence. Whatever I'd lay at his feet, whatever it was, he'd just... stare at me, quietly."
Alain huffed out a relieved sigh when he reached the top of the hill and stepped into the maple tree's generous shade to stand beside his wife. "I always assumed it was judgment, contempt... disgust..."
Charles DeMuer
b. May 13th 2030
d. September 6th 2082
"Patriotism is the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime."
"I suppose I'll never know for sure, will I?" he added, the regret clear in his voice as he looked down on his father's headstone beside his mother's. His fingers reached out for Sophie's.
Pale blue eyes studied the name etched eternally in the marker. An arm lifted to cross over her chest, reaching across herself protectively and tucking beneath the opposite arm as its hand reached for his. All around them was the reminder of the tragedy and although the darkness had been defeated, it left behind a heartbreaking mark. Her fingers stretched towards his in reply, threading themselves through his own.
"He died impressed with you. For him, I believe that is truly saying something."
"It's what she always said," Alain said with another minute kink to his frown, turning weary blue eyes to his mother's headstone. "Honestly? If he were here, right now... and I could speak to him again?" An incredulous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Her eyes swept from the words in stone back to the dead man's son. It was hard to imagine that after so many years of this building, he had come out with only the cut over his brow. It would not even be lasting damage. In a couple months, it would have healed and disappeared. That, certainly, wasn't to say he wasn't without lasting damage. They all were. It was there in the heavy circles beneath his eyes and the way his skin fell a bit gaunt over his predominant cheek bones.
"What would you say?" Soft but vibrant shades of devotion and affection colored her voice, settling it into a gentleness she saved only for him.
"Whatever would piss him off," he answered bluntly. "I'd pick a fight. I can't explain it, but I know I would. We'd have it out, over everything that's happened, everything we've held back for eight long years..."
He looked over at her. She understood - the one who understood completely, who felt as he felt, who needed from him the same that she gave to him. She would understand this, too.
"It's funny because there's no other fight I'd want to have. I can't imagine ever wanting another. I'm... tired, Soph," he admitted, and lowered his eyes to look at their fingers. "I've been feeling so tired since this started building... All this death. If we can avoid any more..."
He looked up again, squinting at the daylight peeking through the branches of the maple tree. "I killed the woman who killed... a lot of people I care about, people who shouldn't have died... I also killed a man's wife, and a child's mother. That man has nothing left of her but her name and her empire... and if all he wants to do with that empire is change her name, and it helps the wounded and widowed..."
"I'm just grateful he hasn't turned to revenge. Not yet, at least. If doing this in her name gives him peace, keeps him from fighting... I think we should let him. There's not much else left of her..." He lifted his eyes to Sophie. "Nothing else we have to fear."
Truth was a steadfast companion between the two of them. No withheld truths, no white lies. There was no room for any of it. It could spell ruin, disaster, death. Therefore, she didn't even bother to hide the tightening of her features as her eyes swept away from him. She disagreed. Her rage still burned red hot even though his had grown as cold as death.
"I will not let go of Yaya."
But even as the words spilled bitterly out of her mouth, she knew them to be unfair. He wasn't asking her to let go of her sister. He hadn't even asked her to let go of revenge. Revenge had been had. Morana and her siblings was dead. Their father was destroyed. An appropriate response had been made to the threat. Killing John, laying waste to what was left of the woman's empire beckoned. They had destroyed one of her's and she wanted to bring a clenched fist of destruction down upon them. Still. After all these years.
But it wasn't reasonable. It wasn't responsible. It wasn't merciful. It was the inherent evil of all-encompassing, life-altering revenge. The type that could continue for generations.
"We won't. We won't ever. Let them do what they will, in whoever's name they see fit..." He turned fully to her, slid his hands up her arms to cradle them in his. "Look what we've done in Yaya's, for Icecrest, Vrashne and New Brittany. For thousands of Aurks. I didn't know her very long... but I didn't need that long to tell she was kind and compassionate... even to a sneaky bastard like me," he added with a twitch of a smile.
"I know she's proud. What you're doing for these people, in memory of her..." He shook his head slowly, in genuine wonder at it - they had helped so many thousands, tens of thousands... "She must be so proud."
Standing at the foot of his father's grave, he was reassuring her. Separating her arms from his hands she reached up to let her hands slide over his shoulders, falling over the arches to draw herself in towards him. Tears stung her eyes, burned her nose.
"Where do we go from here?"
"We rebuild. For her and for all of them, we build a new home for them... together. I'll be right beside you."
He curled his arms around her, fingers sinking into her hair as he cradled her head to his chest. Ad Lucem would be calling for him soon, the worries of his new duties loomed in the dark recesses of his mind... But for now, at least, they could face it all together.
Unsurprisingly, Charles DeMuer had no response for Sophie's outburst. Birds called to one another, the leaves rustled in the breeze as if so much death and destruction hadn't occurred only miles from here less than a week before. She exhaled a heavy breath of air, trying to bite back the bitter anger that threatened to overcome her. Her hands shook with it, her stomach churned restlessly with it. Leaning back against the thick trunk of the large maple that hung overhead, she shot a look upward into its leafy canopy.
"I couldn't be around the refugees anymore. Not after I read that obituary. A philanthropist, it had called her. Not a mass murderer. It said she'd leave many with a lasting impact on their hearts. Well, at least that section of it was honest. Pain, torture, tragedy. All those will be lasting impacts on the hearts of the lives she destroyed."
"I don't want to take any contributions in her name," she declared vehemently to her father-in-law as her eyes fell back down from the limbs overhead.
"I know, I know. It's not pragmatic of me. But any money in her name seems horrendously tainted."
"That's really his answer." The son's voice carried up the hill as he climbed it toward his father, away from the ruins and past more rows of white marble than he cared to count. "Silence. Whatever I'd lay at his feet, whatever it was, he'd just... stare at me, quietly."
Alain huffed out a relieved sigh when he reached the top of the hill and stepped into the maple tree's generous shade to stand beside his wife. "I always assumed it was judgment, contempt... disgust..."
Charles DeMuer
b. May 13th 2030
d. September 6th 2082
"Patriotism is the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime."
"I suppose I'll never know for sure, will I?" he added, the regret clear in his voice as he looked down on his father's headstone beside his mother's. His fingers reached out for Sophie's.
Pale blue eyes studied the name etched eternally in the marker. An arm lifted to cross over her chest, reaching across herself protectively and tucking beneath the opposite arm as its hand reached for his. All around them was the reminder of the tragedy and although the darkness had been defeated, it left behind a heartbreaking mark. Her fingers stretched towards his in reply, threading themselves through his own.
"He died impressed with you. For him, I believe that is truly saying something."
"It's what she always said," Alain said with another minute kink to his frown, turning weary blue eyes to his mother's headstone. "Honestly? If he were here, right now... and I could speak to him again?" An incredulous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Her eyes swept from the words in stone back to the dead man's son. It was hard to imagine that after so many years of this building, he had come out with only the cut over his brow. It would not even be lasting damage. In a couple months, it would have healed and disappeared. That, certainly, wasn't to say he wasn't without lasting damage. They all were. It was there in the heavy circles beneath his eyes and the way his skin fell a bit gaunt over his predominant cheek bones.
"What would you say?" Soft but vibrant shades of devotion and affection colored her voice, settling it into a gentleness she saved only for him.
"Whatever would piss him off," he answered bluntly. "I'd pick a fight. I can't explain it, but I know I would. We'd have it out, over everything that's happened, everything we've held back for eight long years..."
He looked over at her. She understood - the one who understood completely, who felt as he felt, who needed from him the same that she gave to him. She would understand this, too.
"It's funny because there's no other fight I'd want to have. I can't imagine ever wanting another. I'm... tired, Soph," he admitted, and lowered his eyes to look at their fingers. "I've been feeling so tired since this started building... All this death. If we can avoid any more..."
He looked up again, squinting at the daylight peeking through the branches of the maple tree. "I killed the woman who killed... a lot of people I care about, people who shouldn't have died... I also killed a man's wife, and a child's mother. That man has nothing left of her but her name and her empire... and if all he wants to do with that empire is change her name, and it helps the wounded and widowed..."
"I'm just grateful he hasn't turned to revenge. Not yet, at least. If doing this in her name gives him peace, keeps him from fighting... I think we should let him. There's not much else left of her..." He lifted his eyes to Sophie. "Nothing else we have to fear."
Truth was a steadfast companion between the two of them. No withheld truths, no white lies. There was no room for any of it. It could spell ruin, disaster, death. Therefore, she didn't even bother to hide the tightening of her features as her eyes swept away from him. She disagreed. Her rage still burned red hot even though his had grown as cold as death.
"I will not let go of Yaya."
But even as the words spilled bitterly out of her mouth, she knew them to be unfair. He wasn't asking her to let go of her sister. He hadn't even asked her to let go of revenge. Revenge had been had. Morana and her siblings was dead. Their father was destroyed. An appropriate response had been made to the threat. Killing John, laying waste to what was left of the woman's empire beckoned. They had destroyed one of her's and she wanted to bring a clenched fist of destruction down upon them. Still. After all these years.
But it wasn't reasonable. It wasn't responsible. It wasn't merciful. It was the inherent evil of all-encompassing, life-altering revenge. The type that could continue for generations.
"We won't. We won't ever. Let them do what they will, in whoever's name they see fit..." He turned fully to her, slid his hands up her arms to cradle them in his. "Look what we've done in Yaya's, for Icecrest, Vrashne and New Brittany. For thousands of Aurks. I didn't know her very long... but I didn't need that long to tell she was kind and compassionate... even to a sneaky bastard like me," he added with a twitch of a smile.
"I know she's proud. What you're doing for these people, in memory of her..." He shook his head slowly, in genuine wonder at it - they had helped so many thousands, tens of thousands... "She must be so proud."
Standing at the foot of his father's grave, he was reassuring her. Separating her arms from his hands she reached up to let her hands slide over his shoulders, falling over the arches to draw herself in towards him. Tears stung her eyes, burned her nose.
"Where do we go from here?"
"We rebuild. For her and for all of them, we build a new home for them... together. I'll be right beside you."
He curled his arms around her, fingers sinking into her hair as he cradled her head to his chest. Ad Lucem would be calling for him soon, the worries of his new duties loomed in the dark recesses of his mind... But for now, at least, they could face it all together.