Cut the strings and set me free

Part 3- a puppet tied to countless strings

The knowledge that it is his lips that are the final thing to touch her before she retires for the night, that the weight of their relationship exists as a tangible physical reminder on her finger begins to outweigh the proof of our love, of our unexpressed feelings that lie resting on the intimate, delicate skin of her throat, there for the world to see and yet all eyes are drawn to the much smaller jewellery that rests on her hand.

The passing of the days and nights are like blinks of an eye, time slipping through my fingers and as desperately as I flail and try to clutch at it, it evades me- the mocking ticking of the clocks reminding me that this link, this connection is beginning to breathe its last.

And as the eve of her wedding approaches, I find myself drifting to the orchard, drawn to the place where it all began, unsurprised to find Tae seated under the large tree, peering up with wistfulness.

He just sighs and leans to rest his head against me once I take a seat beside him, fingers inching out to rest on my knee, warmth seeping out from under his touch.

"How many seasons have passed with us returning here?" he asks.

"Years. I've seen the world outside the palace walls change, but this place, the orchard remains the same. Stuck in time. Perhaps just like us- unwilling and unable to move on from that moment." I say, voice heavy with despair.

"Does such a world not exist where we could hold her and take her away from all this? Where the three of us can live forever happy? Can this orchard not exist beyond time and keep us safe within it?" Tae muses, fingers drawing letters into my clothed thigh, absentmindedly I realise writing her name over and over onto my body.

I lean my head to rest atop his, feeling bitterly nostalgic as the scent of him carries to me, the scent that young (Y/N) had no qualms about marvelling over, rubbing figures onto his skin to see if it would carry. There was a spicy sweet scent to him, like crackling embers over soft mallows, the spicy tone to fruit tarts and the heat of something intrinsically him.

"I wish for it so much Tae. I wish for it so much I could die from longing." I murmur, gently allowing my hand to rest atop his, to turn to press a whisper of a kiss to his head.

"Then why do we hesitate? Why do we care for the titles, for the laws, for the vows we made that were bound with blood, bound with our seals?" he muses aloud, to himself than to me.

I am a mere spectator to this existential question.

Why can't we break free?

Why are we like the curling stray vines of plants, the wild berries that grow without being planted, the exotic birds trapped by an ornate, lavish cage? Why do we not fit? Why do we not get the chance to grow and live as we will it?

And yet the question is swallowed up the slightly chilly breeze, consumed and taken away without a response.

"We care because without them we are nothing. We care because we have no choice but to. We care because we never find the key to unlock the cage and set us free." A delicate soft voice calls, brushing over us like the wind, invisible and soft and yet slowly comes into appearance as the skirt of a soft pink gown comes into sight, the shade of blooming roses in the midst of spring, the colour of the sweet blush that decorates her skin prettily. A gentle shade of pink and as our eyes trail up, they come face to face with (Y/N), not the princess. But (Y/N).

Looking devastatingly her with her hair unbound, free from the ornate knots and braids and twists that pin them back, her hair cascading over her shoulders, tumbling down her back, lifted up slightly as the wind ruffles through them, kisses them. Face bare, dressed simply with no cloak to shield her from the chill. Unbothered by it even as I see her skin pebble, see the small puff of air as she breathes.