Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(19th Century, unknown location)
My eyes flitted around, taking in the beautiful sights of the city at our feet. He promised it would be ours, and alas it now was. The wind lifted my hair and pushed the strands to dance in the breeze. The chilly December weather was nothing against the warmth blossoming in my chest as I heard the galloping of a horse draw near.
"What did I tell you, Lyverah?" He sounded satisfied with himself. He should be. This was ours, this and more. "I told you."
"Yes," I agreed, my lips lifting in a wry smile. I turned my head, only in time to see him drag a hand through his disheveled hair. "You told me so."
The horse neighed and dropped its head, coming to a stop beside me. It was as beautiful as the man who rode him, his dark coat matching the hair atop Mavachai's head. I smiled at him before turning away and looking forward. The city was in ruins. Many people are dead. There couldn't be much left besides rubble and bones, and anyone who survived must have been wise enough to flee. Mavachai had rode in like Death, claiming anyone who attempted to deny him—us—what we'd been working so hard for.
None of that mattered. The city was ours now, and we would rebuild it.
He climbed off his horse. My eyes fell upon his again as he extended a hand towards me. "You will look beautiful with a crown on yourhead."
I slipped my hand in his and allowed him to help me down. My boot-clad feet landed in the soft snow and he pulled my hood over my head. His eyes bore into mine, dark and beautiful. We had everything, once again.
"This is ours now, my love." He kissed my forehead and my eyelids slid shut in content. "This is home."
