Caraval: Forgive Me

Beautiful Dreamer

I stood under the wide decorative tree, Angelique fluttering her lashes at me in a way that made me want to ask if she had something stuck in her eyes.

"Do you think we'll be going to the capital for our next performance?" She had her head tilted, and I bared my teeth in a way I hoped she interpreted to mean go away.

Unfortunately, she didn't.

"I think that's where we'll be going next," I said, and she giggled. 

"And are you planning to steal the show again?"

I gave her a jagged smile, and her eyes widened as she wet her lips. I suddenly realized what she wanted, and I wanted to shove her away, yelling that I didn't want anyone but-

Scarlett.

Standing before me, looking like every dream I've ever had, wrapped in moonlight and stars tears. Her face, so beautiful and expressive, was closed, and a part of my heart cracked. Slamming down my drink, I didn't say another word to Angelique, and I left her gaping after me as I made my way over to the one woman I did want.

If she still wanted me back.

"Hello." Her voice was quiet, and her eyes were cold as they looked up at mine, no recognition lighting them, just a blankness. A terrible, horrible, emptiness.

"So is your name really something else? Like Caspar?" There was a reserved distance, the way she might have spoken if I was just another performer, a stranger. God, God, God, I couldn't do this. She has to forgive me. I let my eyes show my vulnerability, but I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave her a smile.

"Thankfully, my name is not Caspar."

She didn't return the smile. Instead, she surveyed me with an emotion bordering on disinterest. I rushed to add, 

"It gets too confusing if we all use different names. Only the performer who plays Legend does that."

"So your name really is Julian?" For the first time, a spark lit my Crimsons eyes, and I wanted to grab her, pull her close, swear I would never trick her like that again-

"Julian Bernardo Marrero Santos," I said, giving her an elaborate bow I hoped would at least earn me a smile. 

"I feel as if I don't know you at all," she finally said, and I straightened, dismay curling around me. Crimson, you know me better than anyone, I wanted to plead. But I knew she wouldn't believe me. Why would she?

"Ouch, you're wounding me, Scarlett," I tried to tease, letting my real feelings seep into the words, but her eyes widened with hurt instead.

"I don't think I can do this," she whispered, and as she turned to leave, I saw my life flashing in front of my eyes. Not the life I'd had, no, the life I'd lived was not worth remembering. But I saw the life I could have with her.

Scarlett, wearing a gown of white, glowing like the moon itself, her strand of white gleaming as we stood beside each other as twin souls, halves of the same heart. 

Scarlett, crooning to our first child in the dead of night when she thought I was asleep, my heart overflowing with love for my wife and child.

Scarlett, braiding our daughter's hair as I taught our son to play, in the countryside, away from Caraval, magic, and intriguing betrayal. Our daughter would be a replica of her mother, but our son would have his mother's ageless, wise eyes, and my smirk. He would have my devilry and her kindness. 

Scarlett, her hair pure white as she gazed out the window at our grandchildren playing on the lawn.

Scarlett,