By: Faust
From: The Faust Tapes (1973)
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I promised that I would came back. How long, how many steps it took for you to came here again? I may have saved the world, but not my own. I've refused to do it so, while I agreed for myself that another menace could be threatening the entirety of Gaia, as if one, or two wars weren't enough. My strenght alone wouldn't suffice... you aren't alone, because everyone is an extention of my thoughts. I am the only one who shares of a life, while the others are also part of my life, or so they all are meant to become someday. If positively, or negatively affecting me... both as well. The day I was born, the day I've became a Dragoon knight, the days prior I struggled to be recognized as such, or something who is acknowledged as a symbol of hope, a symbol of something above me, and us. That's one of the main reasons why we agreed to live together... because everyone needs someone to be considered one.
If those around me, in theory, are extensions of my life, then why do they exist? Why do I exist? Better, why do I agreed to help them? I do only wear of this coat, and they proclaimed me a hero already. In fact, it took a certain amount of time, that doesn't matter for me. Nothing changed in centuries, and this ain't the first time this Kingdom had been rebuilt from its ruins. Once our ancestors were deemed as empty in souls; what I only see are empty pages, for empty books. Our main knowledge, the alphabet and the words we use to speak, the crops stocked within the granaries... they all are originated from exports. That's one of the reasons why the nations of Gaia agreed to live together... because it's boring to be secluded within a place. Remember how many you've befriended during your childhood? I do remember. Jumping ropes, jumping on the bed, hopscotch... only a few had the privilege to spar in the garden.
Yes, the gardens... they were once lively. We wore green clothes, but how could they be hidden in the burnt soil of the fields, were once grew tall grass? The smell of fire... and blood. Within time, they disappeared from the sight of the main populance. No, they don't, because they are me as well. I, like everyone, still recall it, not only belonging to my own skin. The sun loves everyone, so does Alexandria. All they wanted was to share of their sun; now they share of a light of hope, at the same time any source of light from those belonging here is enough to make us blind. For five years, I've lived in the darkest of the frames, but I've stood like a sunflower, following of the only sun, as much as I had been guided by the moonbeams and the halo of the twin moons. Further than any other Dragoon Knight could had been, yet a piece of home always stood within me. That may be the same others do feel, because they are me.
— Hello, my dear. I have a question for you... – a shadow came over me... – mind if you answer me what does it feels to be a burmecian for you? – I've became same shadow, interrogating every infant on these streets. We all wanted to become Dragoon Knights, because we felt that being burmecians wasn't enough. I've came across a little girl who stood with her feet on the squares, avoiding to step on the lines. She isn't doing it because its fun, like any other child's play. No, she is in shock. Who wouldn't be when facing the pieces of a house that do not fit like jigsaws? Those tiny hands can't do nothing but shake in anxiety, just like her tail.
I don't recall how many times I've made this same question; our Majesty, Puck, had sent the remaining Dragoon Knights to question everyone about how they felt with themselves... That's it. Some still had not returned from the outskirts of Lindblum and other nations, most of them will never return from those places, same for the amount of bodies now incinerated; the soil couldn't take them all. The process of cremation is reserved only for a few ones, like Puck's father, who became of same sand alike Vube's. They both, same for the ancestors, besides being called by 'King', they used to be called by 'Burmecia' as if they were us as a whole. So did other nations, and that Alexandria ruled by Brahne. Garnet may be a kind one, but this fact isn't enough of an opportunity to make us forget. How could we pretend they didn't invaded us and also pretend for us to forgive them by merely taking a kitten out of the tree?
— Where is mommy? – the girl asked, instead of answering my question. I know she is lying, faking to her own safety that mother is somewhere else other than below her. Why do I know it? Because she is me. It wasn't only Puck who had called all Dragoon Knights, soldiers, royal guards, anyone who is working apart from the settlers who made of this same kingdom's unique masonry.
It's easy for Lindblum and Alexandria's houses made of bricks and cement to be rebuilt within a week, as easy as it is to shatter a vase of clay, whose pieces can be taken with the tip of the fingers. Now, what were once aqueducts and its pillars, the dome structures once within the houses dry of the rain, the market streets full of empty barrels once filled in by apples, so does many of the trees whose trunks remained burnt... There are far many reasons why is taking so long to rebuild this place, besides the nations being on their same own space like they did before. Lindblum may have invented airships that used to move with the power of the mist, but since same had been gone from this entire continent, those engineers began to search new resources, but they all are the same as the mist: bodies. The power of the deceased is what sustains those nations, including Burmecia, the youngest of them all. Cleyra isn't recognized as a nation, only a settlement easy to be attacked, so they did.
Not with swords, but with the power of Odin, an Eidolon. That wasn't fair. Lindblum may had been eaten by Atomos, but sure they did had the power to defend themselves, unlike the Cleyrans, who used to believein the power of the sandstorm that used to sustain them, so did the walls belonging to that house. My house... Not only these people had been harmed, so did my dignity, but that was way before the invasion of phalanxs happened. People seem to allow others inside themselves, to invade thoughts, alike a disease that bends your back... Many rusty tips, fingers cut by same blades, and people lying on the beds, trying their best to not allow the tetanus to break their spine. I remember when the pillar of a structure became faint enough to collapse and almost fell above Kal, who seemed to have given up, unlike Wei, the one who bared of their children. They couldn't had been moving, since one had been paralyzed, so did the another, standing with swollen ankles and a chest deamed to be an easy target for easy suffering, but I was there, so did my allies.
Yet, they had not been useful that much, because of me. Zidane and Vivi could had stood behind me, willing to help the many people as they could as I went on my own to the palace's doors, but instead they had to follow me, one of the few belonging to this place that could run, or even stand erect. My concerns were revolved around the King and only, don't know why... Still I don't. Now I am able to bear the sight of the burmecian palace, reconstructed as a whole; that other me would be glad, but now that I look to those houses I've avoided back them, I just can't bare to only look at it and let it be. The same I do in regards of Fratley, who is there only as a frame of a picture he was. He still looks alike a picture, being hanged on by me; another picture, but the scene is still the same. At least, he is one of the few that I didn't forget about... Dan is dead, gone in the middle of the oblivion, forgotten by the general populance, unlike the stories meant to be told by Learie, another widow whom I at least know of the name, to his descendants, living in Lindblum. I'm sure that they won't came back, alike Dan.
— Hi. Could you answer me what does it mean to be a burmecian for you? – I asked again, to a boy that I saw near me, standing on this street gray alike ours. There is no end for this... Only two sons, but that is enough to sustain of Dan's legacy. Of a family of seven, only three seem to live that long. With many sons born out of a hundred offsprings, the tendency left is that many of them die. A nation that still holds the ancient belief of many lifes generated meaning far more prosperous lifes... This is Burmecia. I don't even know how many brothers and sisters I've had in blood, but I'm glad that I am alive, and besides, everyone here is a cousin of someone whose blood is red for everyone. Same may had been washed by the rain, but it still remains within us.
— It's shite – he said, on a rather rude tone. Being that raw... what surprised me is that he was younger than the others I had interrogated. So young... but anyone who had been there for days would say, or feel, the same. I only stood here between the twilight and the dawn, not even a full day or a week like the remaining burmecians. My concern back them was about the cleyrans, defenseless like we, but anyone with a mouth can say anything to harm another. This boy, otherwise, had just been harmed far more than a broken arm and a tail crushed by things far heavier than any footsteps, belonging to the enemy and ourselves, the enemies of the world. the boy kept talking, and I only could hear a few things, like – ...these alexandrians may be shite too, but at least they had been colonized by decent people – he had an argument, yet I can't decide for sure if he was right or wrong. What is to be right and to be wrong when someone else took something far more than your innocence?
Besides, he is only a kid, part of many, whose defences were only the debris belonging to their own houses. When the alexandrian forces came to aid this same country, carrying on of their swords as usual, even if they were hid on the sheath, boys like him kept throwing rocks, anything that stood on the ground unlike themselves, mostly the survivors who could had been hid. I used to play hide-and-seek when I was an infant as well, but never that I felt the fear of being found... this is unnaceptable, so does this boy's descriptions. I am no different from they, since I also had been using of my own home as an excuse to get into many fights, and to endure them as well. I did lose control on many ways, and this fact still scares, pursue me until this day, a year after. If I can't trust myself, how can I win back the trust of an entire nation? And how can an entirety of people win the trust for their nation, their identity? Nothing is that easy, except the triggers that allow us to feel such anger, and fear naturally...
...The wounds may heal within time, but the ocean and its tidal waves remain salty; I am the one who needs to hold back of those impulses mostly. Fratley used to stand beneath me, taughting me his own way of being a Dragoon Knight, and so I followed of his. They said he was a fearless man, yet he still holded of fears beneath that skin, still he does, but he can't remember it... He is lucky to not remember them, how painfully they had been to his. This ain't only a matter of luck, because nobody deserved such thing as they did to Fratley, whatever it may had happened, and I don't want to know about the process, as I still feel the consequences of same instead. If by being hit by a blunt object right at the top of his skull, by falling out of the peak of the heights, by drowning in the sea of sand... Sometimes, I used to wonder if Fratley had forgotten for himself, even if it meant for his to forget everything belonging to his past. I would do the same if they did those scars at me, to later sew them with a pointy needle afterwards.
...I know who did those things to Fratley, but they are all dead, not for the general history as it seems... Why can't I just forget they and move on? Yes, to keep moving on, brick after brick, stone after stone, awaiting the answers for the many questions I've asked before. And the two shall become one... Fratley is just there, yet he does nothing else but hold of my hand. Still I hold on of his ribbon wrapped at the tip of my tail for some reason. It ain't because it's one of the few things that remained from Fratley, but because it's also one of the few gifts a man ever had given to me. Same man whom I've used to love, or maybe those were only the tips belonging to the growing pains, a sort of pain that later became devotion, to efforts coming from a fanatic who lose its goal. Besides, Gizamaluke sunked on a pool of what was once clear water and the church is under repair, so does Fratley, and the whole of Burmecia...
...You seem a bit tired... remember how uncomforting you felt when hearing of these single words being uttered by his? And you've just answered then to left some impression other than the anger you felt when interrupted by far more than his raw voice and a claw upon your cold shoulder? Fratley... If he could become a Dragoon Knight, then so I could, like anyone else. Now, he just kept staring at me, unable to do anything. Not like a person in shock, but Fratley rather looks like a statue; standing still, yet the heroes who managed to became one of them had done so much for us to rest, not only on the ground we step, but to be given a chance to lay on your memories as well. Only a few... what remained of the few. Never that I had been fond of books, but every child who managed to live this long know something about Burmecia's history, while foreigners only know of its aspects. There is this rain that pours down forever, a gift for many, or a curse for a few, besides the fact of being a burmecian...
...Remember, only foreigners speak about the rain, and how you do look alike for them. Well, it has been years since I've came back to this place, an year after those years, to be fair. Somehow, I feel that I do not belong here, into these ruins... this kingdom was already a ruin built above another, for those who know of its story. Stories... not history. Mainly about legendary knights and its javelin's names, like a saint who fought against a grand dragon while on the moon... I've used to sleep all the time when they were told for me. Now they do not have any effect on me, other than I being awake at the nights, and daytime as well. The sky is so gray, unlike the colors that belonged to my imagination. Instead of gazing at the stars, I've tried to imagine how they looked alike, since I couldn't draw them well. Nobody can... the shape of the stars and the hearts are nothing but recreations of the unseen. It ain't everyone who can see a heart from inside a chest, or a tiny dot shining in the skies...
...Fratley saw both with the eyes... so I did. Like my own name, I still remember how does the stars look alike, and how insignificant I was for them. Atop the highests plateaus, deep down the blue sky, stepping on his scorched earth... When I went to Lindblum and Alexandria, I couldn't see them as clear as the water running down a river, mainly because of the air belonging to those kingdoms. They all look the same, so does their sky, whose only star is the sun. A source of warmth, and blindness as well... just like Fratley. His green eyes remind me of the sea... just like the smell of fennels, they make me sick the further I keep drawing my attention to them. And this already happened way before he came to lose of his past memories. It only have gotten worse. People refuse to kill each other, so do I refuse to throw away anything out of me, even what I still feel for Fratley because, like his... I don't remember... No, I don't feel the same as before. I don't want to just feel Fratley alike this rain, once cold for a day, and nothing else within a week...
— So how d'ya been, Freya? – soon I found myself inside this palace, as if there isn't a sign anymore of the holes and cracks within the walls. Like this same place, I also recognized of Puck's voice, but not his as he looked like. Wearing such tiny clothes, Puck looks alike another person; talking like that, he doesn't look like a King, but rather a child who had been living in the slums. There is none of them at this kingdom, as much as there are a few burmecians alike Puck, not on size, but rather on colours. I don't bother if he shares of a limpy tail and brown fur, so do the others who don't say anything because, well, he is a Prince. Was one, but still Puck ain't a King, althought he is dressed like one. How cute... no matter the value of these clothes, he still looks like a page boy. From rags to riches...
— I'm fine, as always – I said to his. During our conversations, the only way I had to be careful with Puck is in regards to his tail. Only this corridor and that royal outfit being wore by Puck reminds me that he is a King. Unlike the rulers that came before, including his father, Puck is still young to reign on his own, so instead of Burmecia being on his tiny hands, he has a council of people older than his that rule on this place. They act as a sort of regency, just like each Cid who ruled Lindblum, but each time there is an important event, all of them, Puck goes from this Palace to anywhere he needs to be going on a charrel moved by the chocobos found at the barn. While Lindblum's engineers had already began to built airships that can move without the power of mist, Puck came with the idea of using chocobos for transportation, a better way to be moving around these plains instead of using our own feet.
...If I had learnt how to ride a chocobo, the search for Fratley would had endured half an year, or less. If I stood a bit longer on the places I had been as well... If I stood on Cleyra, only my teeth, and a point-blank range hole made in my stomach would make me recognized by others as a victim... Maybe I wouldn't, if I hadn't been wearing this same helmet atop my head, who would melt and bend with my skull, same for the spear in hand or at my back, if I had been burnt alongside them. No matter the path I had taken, there'll be a time when I shall do of my sacrifice and deem it as the last one, yet everyone wants to live on a bit further. So does Fratley, whom I've once thought he is just alive because he forgot to die... The main reason nobody decides to take their own lifes immediately is because we all share of a goal that can be only accomplished when alive. Same goals can be also deemed as the reasons why someone decides to commit suicide, not only they do it because enough is enough, nothing is enough for a land whose rain hits the ground like bullets. In sort, to follow of a goal is to slowly decrease the chances of dying prematurely...
...There are some people that are obssesed with the death, while others censor the fact that everyone, everything must come to an end. They are neither right, or either wrong, althought I pretent to estabilish a limit for both, because I'm still young, yet old enough to make of my own choices. Your own choices... you are old enough to know you don't have none. Old enough to tell others that they share of their own destiny, but if you truly believed on each statement you have uttered, then you would just let him go, but I can't. I promised to Fratley that I would do my best to make him remember that, somehow, our lifes interwened on each other. Not only that, but everything that came prior, including his own life, or should I say his own memories, including the ones we both shared. That's one goal I can fullfill, for sure...
— Nice shoes, Puck – I saw them just when I looked down at the floor. My nails, they are sharp... they do not need of any polishment. Puck doesn't share of any of them, despite his crown and those pointy tips. He shares of a personal guard, including me as well. No, I was referring to his father, though I am someone close of his son, so does Fratley. He ain't here, but I know he's somewhere at Burmecia. Once a Sir... still he is one, but people do not recognize of his title anymore. Even if Puck, a friend of his, proclaimed Fratley to be a Sir again, that wouldn't be so much of a change. I cared for Fratley beyond his position, his title... I want to care for what he is, not what he became. I am trying...
— Oh, you've noticed them? Ya know that my feet aren't alike yours, Freya – the whole of Puck ain't alike me. He began to talk about his shoes, which ain't a great matter to bother about, nor it's something as shallow as the topic of small talks. They are a waste of time for some, guarantee for many. So many corridors, an only path that feels like a hundred, and they don't stop, unlike Puck and its ideas. At the bottom of his heart, he is still a child, even if he might deny it so just by looking at his size. Puck has much to learn yet, in order to commit less mistakes – so... It ain't that I am hiding them, but because it feels comfy when I wear them. What do you think about my shoes?
— Don't get them wet – I gave Puck a clever advice. A straight one, simple to follow. How much I wish that everything could be that simple...
The corridors and their turns... these polished walls, some floors that are covered with carpets, many rooms for few people, guards that look alike statues that they shall become someday, wearing cyan to detach from the blue walls, so does the red coat I am still wearing, attached to me as if I was born wearing such... to where are we going? I don't even ask. Puck seems awfully quiet, for an impatient kid he used to be. I already took a walk on this palace before, and only a few things strikes my sight as a sort of novelty, like the new King who stands at my side, below the height of my waist. The statues surrounding the large path I've fought against Beatrix have no sign of any cracks, so does the watery floor I rebounded like a rock and the walls I clashed, so did my bones. Only a few had been taught to learn Regen, and to be blessed by Rei's Wind to keep moving on, or else I would had given up already, and let my body stand on the ground where my spirit didn't belonged...
— Pops... – I heard Puck, as we went to his bedroom. The guards, as much as Puck, allowed me to be within that same room. A well-made bed, a window pane, a carpet... nothing new, except that portrait above the fireplace. As part of the many traditions surrounding the royalty, besides the forks, a painting decipting a noble one is made and hanged on the next noble's bedroom. They do it so to make the next heir feel intimate of the predecessor and its ideals. To consider then certain to be taken, or to refuse them and create a new ideal; that's for what Puck is struggling for. Kain, Oberon... these were mainly the names taken by the Kings who came before, but for Puck, the one who is there is just meant to be called by father – I didn't even had the time to say bye for his, did I? – Puck asked, when sat on his bed, bigger than his own size. It's a double bed, with an empty size, meant to be occupied by someone other than Puck. 'Just tell him that I said hi'... Only a few times that Puck had patience to say it so, by himself. He had other people, some who are still working for his, like the maids and the guards, to tell it to his father. Even me included.
— Of course you did, Puck – ...as much as you had spent your time with his. I let the last lines restricted to my thoughts, I hope Puck is convinced of the words I spoke, and the face shown to his, even when we aren't looking at each other, unlike our backs. And... that's all you had to say to Puck? You aren't even trying anymore, Freya. To ignore people... I used to, so I do borrow of this same silence. The rain speaks instead of me, an only word... cold. Even inside this lonely room. They were so cold, but their foreheads burned as people outside the window pane enjoyed of Lindblum's sunny days. The smoke rising in the air; soulless were the many factories destroyed by the power of Atomos, soulless became the vessels of the workers, but they are fine when compared to us, belonging to a land whose sun abandoned us, and thus the soaked curtain of its grief came down to us. Everything that belongs to Burmecia came down, so did my descent.
Speechless. I touched its right shoulder, maybe it was the left one, but we shared of a contact. Puck is here, but there layed someone other, yet important as this individual I've once called by 'rodent', in my thoughts due to his royalty, but his... that damned. Lucky bastard. A touch once lost, who belonging to myself, so did my love for Fratley. Born again. On a bed. Only a few bones and his spine went broken, unlike my heart, or whatever was it whom I still blamed for that day. Like a child, blaming someone other than me for my faults, my desconsiderations, my betrayals. It ain't my heart... because it also reached my soul within time. Days lost, years crossing throught the fields, restless in the nights that chained me on whatever came up as a sort of bed, any kind of medicine for the wounds across my body, hidden under my feet, ulcers peeling and their remnants dissolving inside my stomach... I saw many of them at the tip of my javelin, and almost that I saw one of them working, and again, the javelin had been used to something other than stabbing at the chest, but instead to cut it and let a door open, and how many of them I left closed...
— ...When I was younger than this, father used to hid me away from the public because of my appearance. I didn't knew who mom was, because she passed away as soon as she brought me to this world, or so father told me it so – Puck said, as I went all ears to his, besides the owner of those words. No, nobody own them, as much as I couldn't own anything I learned from Fratley. Half of it, just like he became half of what he was once. Stripped of his uniform, a chest bandaged, so did both of his scorched hands. How many times they were burnt before, and civilians went alive... only a few belonging to the settlement of Cleyra survived, but in the end, we all died since that day. Even me, without any burnt left, except the one these cold surfaces manage to take out of me – and to be fair, how could she live any longer, knowing that she gave birth to a half such as me? – Puck then turned to my direction, leaving a question in the thin air, as if he squeezed it out of his tiny lungs.
— Don't say such a thing, Puck. Any mother would take her own life in order to protect her own son – so did mine. Mother had a name, besides Crescent, before she passed away... Frigg. Just mom is fine. She wasn't a Dragoon Knight, but I believe that she was as strong as one, not only by hearing her name. Puck used to hid those eyes when wearing of his old hat, the shape of an acorn once atop his, but unlike me, he didn't shared of a hair as long as this one, or a helmet heavier than the consciousness within my mind. To only share of a few times with his... was it better than nothing? Only Puck to know, in regards to his father.
— There isn't a single portrait of mother to be found into this castle. Only paintings and statues of other ladies, whom I deemed to be my mom. None of them were, besides being my company – I have no idea of how lonely it must had been for Puck to live inside this palace, half of his life hidden due to its appearance. Even without details, or briefly into his own speech, I can't have any idea, just a feeling of how it might had been for his. He had not even a chance to see his mother, only imagine her. He then looks at me, gladly that I do exist – and you too, Freya, but at least you can reply to any talk, and you have eyes that look to something other than me. You are alive, but here, breathing, listening... Are you listening to me?
— Yes, Puck. I am all ears.
— Really? See, maybe you weren't. Don't worry, because I would be glad if you weren't listening to me too. Those dolls didn't acted without any hands to move them, but either way, I only lived into an order, done by father, and done by me as well. He never answered me who was mother, or even described her once. Just the word mother was enough to satisfy his, but not me. See, Freya... even without any source of her image, I feel like she, whatever it may be her name, mom is with me, even thought she is dead – Puck, even after pulling a chair near the fireplace, can't reach his father's picture. Only look at his, like he did throught the entire life spent with his. From the birth, to whatever it may be the choices chosen by the young one. He shares of a plenty of time to make the right ones, and a whole to make of himself a tyrant, whose guidance would be fueled by the hatred and loss felt by the people, all of them deemed to be his, but in the end, all that Puck wants is some kind of attention. Only a person at time is enough. Only a lap may be useful for someone to sit upon, and both arms are meant to be avaliable whenever a hug is meant to be delivered.
— My majesty – we heard a muffled voice from outside, belonging to one of the guards. He called for Puck. How long it took for the word 'King' became so insignificant for me? Maybe it did after I knew Puck better than a brat he was once before, calling people by jerk whenever they stepped over his tail. A sort of invitation to discuss an important matter; any problem, and the regency should be able to solve it for Puck, but it seems important for the King to attend a reunion.
Puck would refuse it so, but I know he grew up enough to bare any kind of boredom, and with me alongside his, he knows that there is someone who is able to give him a kind of support. They are alike child's play, Puck told me so, and he may be right. I follow his, as usual, no sign of Fratley, only the circumstances that led to his fall. Mine as well. My descent, and the ascension of troubled minds. Puck... a young King whose throne do not guarantee any power to his, so does the crown, sharp like the many javelins belonging to the armory, but their tips become rusty with the time, unlike a crown of gold. I ain't so close enough of his to know or tell if his heart is made of same material, so I only felt those peaceful heartbeats... How much I wished they were mine. This is as unbeliavable it may be to change someone with a single speech...
— Brahne Raza Alexandros XVI was a queen that shared of many contrasts... – Garnet said. She is the current queen of Alexandria, only related to Brahne by the surname both share. She is on her own, surrounded by rats. If Garnet was like her mother, which it may be something that will never happen, or ever happened, then she wouldn't even be there, on this room, surrounded by mere rats. I am a sort of familiar figure to her, a slender one as well, and the crown Puck wears says that he is the King, even thought they didn't met each other outside reunions like this. Nothing, but a long speech... there are many of us doing something to rebuild this kingdom, instead of demanding us into a sort of mutual apology. We are sorry... that's how it looks like. We aren't falling asleep, anymore. The hair hids most of my features, including the sight from those further away from me. So does this Alexandria, from that Alexandria, a fist who came right into our faces, leaving more than a purple shade – kind, well-liked, benevolent... Brahne was a leader, monarch-
— Psychopath – I said. An only word which echoed into the room like a thousand. Voices. Screams. Desperately I was dragged to this place, who became pitiful because of people who deemed us to be pitiful, filthy alike rats. Nobody had the guts, or anything to say in order to prevent this single word to came out of me. Only once. A single word, a bit offensive, yet truthful to the reality not only restricted by the people from Alexandria. Some called Brahne by fat-ass, douche, ugly-butt, bullfrog... I choose what my soul demanded to be said. Not too vulgar, and not too complex to define Brahne in a single word. The Brahne I, like the rest of Gaia, unfortunately knew, and shall remain know by, but Garnet is someone else, an only person, who lived at the palace, even if she weren't born there.
— I would say mother instead, Freya Crescent. That's how she would prefer to be remembered afterwards – it ain't a matter of blood, but Garnet wants us to look at Brahne with another sight. She won't be able to undo it on her own. I won't be able to give her any assistance, delivered to my people instead. The destruction of Burmecia and Cleyra and its casualities could had been easily erased, if it wasn't for the amount of survivals left. Me, Fratley, Puck... all of them included.
Fratley was one of the few who foreshadowed a war, but not it's intensity... I can still hear the cries of the babies, and then I cried when they ceased. Those were both tears of joys, but grief overcame me the most, and the unknown fate of them as well. I refused to hear my people, old and young; I left before I could hear something other than the rain, and it's people falling. They already fell, some can't even walk again, or even crawl. Laying on this bed, I am able to change my position, unable to cry alike one of them. At least, my crib didn't suffered of any damage. What was once a hole burnt above had been filled in by a same ceiling, and a hollow place by the name of bedroom. This ain't my house, because it feels more like an inn, and I a stranger from another land, so does Fratley. What a day... And he is sleeping soundly tonight. How many stones had been holded with his hands? Count the bricks at the wall next to you. Both of them. Thanks, Fratley... Was it really you who did it so? I believe, somehow... that's all I can do, instead of bringing questions... I'm tired of them.
...When I look at this room, only a few cracks remained in the wall. Not a hole in the chest. Then, I look at the window, and another hole is made. It wasn't only my house that had been fixed, and it won't be the last one. The war... It was a masterpiece; the work of a criminal above the law, who could have changed the laws anytime, but Brahne prefered to play fair. Nothing is fair when you mess up with the balance of life, and only a monster could have enjoyed it so... Brahne was many things, shared of many roles before she became the queen of Alexandria and Garnet wants to preserve such legacy in regards of the many things her stepmother once was, yet many of us, alexandrians and lindbluniams as well, shall unfortunately remember Brahne Raza Alexandros XVI, and her entirety diminished within an only role... The role of the executioner.
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