by Nikki
(SalvationForSanity)
(SalvationForSanity)
Red | Somber | Sanctuary | Unquiet Grave | Winged Surprise | ButterflyFairy
Blue | Glacial | Defiance | Departure | Dad's Chair | This Night Is Mine | Summoning
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His quest had taken him away from the city, from his life...
his love. She had blown him a kiss, the love for him filling
her soft eyes, from the terrace of her home as he followed
the other soldiers down the worn and well traveled path
that led from the city; a path that spoke of destiny and
honor, and of freeing themselves from the bonds of the
monarchy that ruled their lands. So young, these soldiers.
Many of them would return as men, others would not return at all.
She had never waivered in her faith of him. Not even when the invading forces stormed the village. Not
when they broke down the door to her home. Not even when they took from her in indescribable violence.
His name was the last breath she breathed, the last word she spoke. The image of him was the last sight
that she witnessed as her eyes closed to the burning home around her lifeless form.
He did return, with countless horrid images that lingered in a vision once so pure. He returned to find all
that he had once loved lay in ruin. There were survivers that told the tale of the seige after the soldiers
had left to seek their fame. Of a helpless community with very little defence, of the screams and fires that
blackened the sky. For so long, he had dreamed only of returning to the woman that he loved, of showing
her that he had returned a man that held honor and experience, one that would give her the world upon a
silver tray of desire. He had longed to touch her hand, look into her vast eyes, and ask that she never
leave his side again.
Dreams... Scattered into the wind within the fires and smoke that took his love... his life. With his
shoulders slumped he slowly made his way to the sacred grounds that housed her mortal remains. The
flowers he picked along the way each represented the things he had wished he could have said; a rose
for his love, a deep hue of red that none could deny, a carnation as pink as the cliched passion that had
burned through his soul for her, the wildflowers of the countryside that represented the freedom of spirit
that she had blessed him with.
He knelt at the sight of her grave. No tears would fall, but there was a loss within him so great that it would
break the hearts of the angels that watched over his world. In his mind he saw her as she was the day he
left, beautiful in both body and spirit. His voice was choked with the emotion that he restrained, "My love...
I've returned..."
his love. She had blown him a kiss, the love for him filling
her soft eyes, from the terrace of her home as he followed
the other soldiers down the worn and well traveled path
that led from the city; a path that spoke of destiny and
honor, and of freeing themselves from the bonds of the
monarchy that ruled their lands. So young, these soldiers.
Many of them would return as men, others would not return at all.
She had never waivered in her faith of him. Not even when the invading forces stormed the village. Not
when they broke down the door to her home. Not even when they took from her in indescribable violence.
His name was the last breath she breathed, the last word she spoke. The image of him was the last sight
that she witnessed as her eyes closed to the burning home around her lifeless form.
He did return, with countless horrid images that lingered in a vision once so pure. He returned to find all
that he had once loved lay in ruin. There were survivers that told the tale of the seige after the soldiers
had left to seek their fame. Of a helpless community with very little defence, of the screams and fires that
blackened the sky. For so long, he had dreamed only of returning to the woman that he loved, of showing
her that he had returned a man that held honor and experience, one that would give her the world upon a
silver tray of desire. He had longed to touch her hand, look into her vast eyes, and ask that she never
leave his side again.
Dreams... Scattered into the wind within the fires and smoke that took his love... his life. With his
shoulders slumped he slowly made his way to the sacred grounds that housed her mortal remains. The
flowers he picked along the way each represented the things he had wished he could have said; a rose
for his love, a deep hue of red that none could deny, a carnation as pink as the cliched passion that had
burned through his soul for her, the wildflowers of the countryside that represented the freedom of spirit
that she had blessed him with.
He knelt at the sight of her grave. No tears would fall, but there was a loss within him so great that it would
break the hearts of the angels that watched over his world. In his mind he saw her as she was the day he
left, beautiful in both body and spirit. His voice was choked with the emotion that he restrained, "My love...
I've returned..."
