Crescent Clad Crest

A Dream Forgo!

(1)

I know your heart has no room remained left.
In the pits of a queendom covered in ice, ruled a warm queen. Her gaze, surprisingly warm, and her heart like waterfalls, bestowing generosity and kindness on her people. They loved her tenderly, the kind of love that cannot be bought by fear nor mighty power.

Suitors from warmer kingdoms came from every direction of such queendom, seeking her hand. There was a spark of greed in her heart, an old lady carrying a bag of leather filled with velvet edged tarot cards. The old lady had shuffled it lightly, a toneless tone humming over them, as she clasped her hand around the card that would define the rest of the queen's fate, vice or virtue, it shall play a major role.

Unless, if the queen didn't believe in fate, these cards would be rendered useless. Its power muted from glimmering emerald to muted jade.

"Ah," the old lady mused. "I have not seen this card much in my lifetime."
The queen, young, mid-thirties, folded her hands on her lap. "Greed?"
It was the first time they met eyes, in mutual understanding. And respect.
"You know what you are without seeking the constellations and the universe." said she. "You are not simply a queen in name, but a queen in spirit."
A laugh. Tilting, a note from heaven, perhaps, left the chambers of the queen's mouth. "You humor and compliment me, far too much. For it is common sense for man to know what he is. Is it not?"
It was not a question stated to be answered.
"Greed is a dangerous sin."
"I have everything I already need." The queen whispered, her voice low that only the tarot-weaver could hear. "It baffles me to know I am greedy."
"It is greedy to want something other than what you are."
"I am more than my vice and vices. I have a heart." She clasped her chest, like a locket, skippering around the air.
Then it clicked.
It made sense.
The universe was written in a single equation. Equaling everything thus came after——
"Your heart is not for another?"
It was another question that wasn't made for answering. But this time it was from the tarot-weaver.
The queen settled down in her seat, so childlike despite the age and the crown.
"You want a match made in heaven. You seek divine love."
The queen was silent, and it was answer enough.
She had heard enough, she stood fast, a servant pulled the chair fast before a screeching sound could be made in her presence. The handmaiden scuttled to carry her long dress. Her eyes met once more with the wrinkled pristine pair and she nodded firmly. A sign of admiration.
"You know what to do," she said to her swordsman, who stood on the corner of the room, his eyes admiring her even from afar.
Unrequited love, thought the old woman, pitying the lad.
The worst kind of love, indeed.
Even worse than not finding love.

(2)

"I couldn't rest until I told you that I love you"
"No, you mean that you couldn't rest until you burdened me."
Hushed whispers, occurring in the queen's private chambers, with no one in it, other than her sworn sword.
He was like her own shadow, that at this point, they were one. And the same.
Her heart rattled in its cage, like a frantic hamster, at this confession of love?
"You must be mistaken," she hissed.
"I wanted to," he admitted, his long blonde curling hair seemed to make a light noise as he twisted. "it would only make my duties difficult, my loyalty not, for I have always loved you as a servant before a lover."
She wanted to muffle her ears at the last word, throw the word out the window, until it melted under the everlasting morning sun. "We are always together, maybe you mistook familiarity as love—"
He took a step closer, as she shuffled back, when he saw her hesitate, he bared his distance. Not a step more. None.
"Love is a burden." she mused, to no one but herself.
"No, my queen, love is freedom." his face had the frantic look of wanting to shake her to her senses. "I am not speaking of myself, what I have with you." said Hesan. "But of a love that you are destined to have, it would free you."
"It would behoove you to behave." snapped Queen Frostrianna. "Destiny is man-made, and love is freedom is a madman's reprieve for the vile sin he has committed."
"My queenly queen, what leads you to think this way? Your mother wed for love."
"That's what she wants you to think, she wed for power, she told me on her deathbed."
It could've been a different tale, though. Perhaps her mother had wed for love, back when she was young, and that love has faded so much, that even her memory denied it, and therefore she confessed a confession that was made in flawed analysis. Missing pieces of the whole picture, painting something else entirely.
"I don't have time for love," she replied.
A background image played in her head, of a younger dazzling white-haired doe who had her eyes, who dreamed of love and knighthood and a history long engraved. Dazzling, a dancing trickle of light, the trick of the eye, moonlight.
She found his mouth moving, there must be noise coming out, stringed up sentences, but she was so distracted by this dream long forgo that it snapped her spirit in half.
"I am sorry," she heard at last her own mouth move. "I do not mean to break your heart, for you have been a lifelong companion and a necessary advisor."
He kneeled, then, on the cruel tiles of her bed chambers. Accepting his fate. He was always gallant and brave, and daring—braver than she, even. "I yield. Very much so. Though, my heart cannot change, I shall try letting my mind change it."
That was how much he loved her.
She loved him, too, but not in the sort of way he did.
Water dancing around her eyes, daring to drop—
She held them back, straightening her spine.
He left the room, while her heart stood there cold.
The windows were shut, curtains drawn, and she dropped head first into bed.
In her dreams, the words repeated in her mind, so fast it did not care if she comprehended them.
You want a match made in heaven. You seek divine love.
You want a match made in heaven. You seek divine love.