The Queen of Traitors
Page 68
So why does it feel so wrong?
I rub my mouth with my hand as my stomach contracts, sickened by where we’ve ended up. I’m still no closer to reclaiming my lost lands and she’s still enshrouded by glass and metal. My vicious Sleeping Beauty. This is our violent fairytale.
To the world, she’s a martyr and a mascot of all that is good and free.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Dear God, it isn’t lost on me.
I stare at her golden sarcophagus.
Not dead, but not alive.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to wake her. I need to let her see sunlight for the first time in nearly seventy-five years.
But.
I can’t go back there. Back to a time when I had a weakness. When I lost control, and lost loved ones and territories in the process. The WUN still remains out of my hands. If I woke her now, what would I lose next?
I don’t want her to see the man I’ve become. I don’t want to fall for her all over again. It took decades for the pain of her absence to dull.
Here my wife’s safe. And so is my heart.
So is my heart.
104 years later
I SLIP DOWN the passageway and head straight for Serenity’s subterranean temple. This visit should be like the thousands of others I’ve made over the last century.
But it isn’t.
The sarcophagus lid is askew, and the chamber inside—it’s empty.
Serenity’s gone.
I rub my mouth with my hand as my stomach contracts, sickened by where we’ve ended up. I’m still no closer to reclaiming my lost lands and she’s still enshrouded by glass and metal. My vicious Sleeping Beauty. This is our violent fairytale.
To the world, she’s a martyr and a mascot of all that is good and free.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Dear God, it isn’t lost on me.
I stare at her golden sarcophagus.
Not dead, but not alive.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to wake her. I need to let her see sunlight for the first time in nearly seventy-five years.
But.
I can’t go back there. Back to a time when I had a weakness. When I lost control, and lost loved ones and territories in the process. The WUN still remains out of my hands. If I woke her now, what would I lose next?
I don’t want her to see the man I’ve become. I don’t want to fall for her all over again. It took decades for the pain of her absence to dull.
Here my wife’s safe. And so is my heart.
So is my heart.
104 years later
I SLIP DOWN the passageway and head straight for Serenity’s subterranean temple. This visit should be like the thousands of others I’ve made over the last century.
But it isn’t.
The sarcophagus lid is askew, and the chamber inside—it’s empty.
Serenity’s gone.
