G
Guardsmen Militia
Guest
[Written by Bladius Dart]
There were so many things left to say. Never had he thought that the morning he had left her in tears, the morning after the night which had first shattered and then seemingly salvaged their marriage would be their last.
Yet that was indeed last time he would ever see her, the final time he would gaze upon the woman he loved so fiercely yet betrayed so terribly time and time again.
The casket had presented a unique dilemma, whilst he longed to confirm it, longed to determine whether she truly had vanished from his life, he knew the tension rippling over his shoulders would break him, would reduce him to a hysterical mess as it had at the sight of Claire.
No, Claire could never compare to Tanya, he could not even begin to imagine what the sight of Tanya would provoke. He would look upon her once they were safely in Yew, far from the questioning glances of those who suspected him of her murder, far from the awkward tension that surrounded the entire occasion.
However, he would never have that opportunity, nor would the children who had clung to every morsel of hope that their mother still lived.
He could not imagine what had possessed them to attack. Whilst he continually warned of the dangers of Vesper, reminded others of Vesper's solid advocating of the Mill, he could not quite believe they were monsters, could not quite believe they were so devoid of humanity.
He had committed terrible acts as a soldier, ones he relived every day and ones he could never ask others to commit in equal measure. They had left their scars upon him, as they had on all of the veterans.
This was different however, this was unnecessary, this was wanton desecration.
He had lain battered upon the ground beneath the trees, watched on as the inferno engulfed the entirety of the casket.
He could not bring himself to respond in kind, as he cursed the restraints of his conscience he knew a reply on a similar scale was beyond him, he would have to find another way.
He would drink, perhaps then he would be too drunk to form a sentence capable of breaking Louisa's heart when he stumbled through the front door, too drunk to remember why the pit of his stomach felt swollen. First though a letter must be drafted, a resignation tendered and a career crumpled and tossed into the fire.
No, resignation could wait.
There were so many things left to say. Never had he thought that the morning he had left her in tears, the morning after the night which had first shattered and then seemingly salvaged their marriage would be their last.
Yet that was indeed last time he would ever see her, the final time he would gaze upon the woman he loved so fiercely yet betrayed so terribly time and time again.
The casket had presented a unique dilemma, whilst he longed to confirm it, longed to determine whether she truly had vanished from his life, he knew the tension rippling over his shoulders would break him, would reduce him to a hysterical mess as it had at the sight of Claire.
No, Claire could never compare to Tanya, he could not even begin to imagine what the sight of Tanya would provoke. He would look upon her once they were safely in Yew, far from the questioning glances of those who suspected him of her murder, far from the awkward tension that surrounded the entire occasion.
However, he would never have that opportunity, nor would the children who had clung to every morsel of hope that their mother still lived.
He could not imagine what had possessed them to attack. Whilst he continually warned of the dangers of Vesper, reminded others of Vesper's solid advocating of the Mill, he could not quite believe they were monsters, could not quite believe they were so devoid of humanity.
He had committed terrible acts as a soldier, ones he relived every day and ones he could never ask others to commit in equal measure. They had left their scars upon him, as they had on all of the veterans.
This was different however, this was unnecessary, this was wanton desecration.
He had lain battered upon the ground beneath the trees, watched on as the inferno engulfed the entirety of the casket.
He could not bring himself to respond in kind, as he cursed the restraints of his conscience he knew a reply on a similar scale was beyond him, he would have to find another way.
He would drink, perhaps then he would be too drunk to form a sentence capable of breaking Louisa's heart when he stumbled through the front door, too drunk to remember why the pit of his stomach felt swollen. First though a letter must be drafted, a resignation tendered and a career crumpled and tossed into the fire.
No, resignation could wait.