I saw it. I saw it before my very eyes. I saw it all happen. --.. This isn't one of my nightmares anymore. This is real. This has happened.
It was all too vivid of a memory. Even though Cecile knew perfectly well that no memories could remain completely intact, she couldn't help but allow her feelings to overtake her rational sense of thinking. In her lone cell, she stared out at the bleak view of the near-empty street in front of her. Thoughts flooded her mind like a tidal wave of regret and despair. She should have saved her. She could have saved her.
Why didn't she save her?
Slowly sinking against the wall of the cell like wax melting from the heat of a flame, the Durant was alone with her thoughts for longer than she would have liked. Good things never came about when she was left to her own devices. Even if it was more pleasant than the holding cells the common peoples were holed up in, at least they could keep each other company. Loneliness was a feeling that Cecile was far too familiar with. It's hard to even call it a feeling anymore. It's experienced so often it may as well be considered a disease. A sickness of her mind. Something that fed into her thoughts of self-loathing. Thoughts of guilt, of anguish. The Durant dances with her inner demons far too often. But this time, their whispers turned into shrieks.
Whilst she was nowhere near the frontlines of the battle, or really saw any of the action, she received more of a scar than the loyalists would have ever garnered. For it was Cecile who truly identified with the infamous dark Queen. Perhaps it was out of pure longing; of wanting so long to rise above everyone else, of wanting to have a hand in things. Freya gave it all to her. She was the only one who truly understood her - who had felt as she did. Surely, that was it.
However, the terminability of it all escaped her from the moment she watched her idol rise, and it shot right through her like it was the Durant having a blade pierce her flesh in that throne room. Cecile could only see it one way, from that room, in that moment. Her, or Freya. Her idol, her role model, the Queen of Regalia, or her own miserable, worthless self. It was clear as crystal for the ex-raven.
After pitifully pleading to a passing guard, Cecile was released with an (admittedly, rather dull) guard by her side. As she stepped out into the streets of the Holy City, she squinted. Her eyes were yet to adjust to the brightness of the city street, as she had closed her eyes for so long, it seemed. However, all of her other senses were alarmed - all she could hear were bells tolling and peasants chiming out in the streets, clearly celebrating their victory. Victory. Victory.
This was, most certainly, no victory for the Durant. The girl strode across the streets with a solemn expression, and in tow, an even more glum-looking guardsman; to say the least, the pair stuck out from the drunkards celebrating their minute personal accomplishments. Cecile didn't even bother to give anyone a glance, no waves, no visits, nothing. Emptiness.
In that very moment, surrounded in the bustling street with a guardsman escort, Cecile Durant felt more alone than ever before.
It was all too vivid of a memory. Even though Cecile knew perfectly well that no memories could remain completely intact, she couldn't help but allow her feelings to overtake her rational sense of thinking. In her lone cell, she stared out at the bleak view of the near-empty street in front of her. Thoughts flooded her mind like a tidal wave of regret and despair. She should have saved her. She could have saved her.
Why didn't she save her?
Slowly sinking against the wall of the cell like wax melting from the heat of a flame, the Durant was alone with her thoughts for longer than she would have liked. Good things never came about when she was left to her own devices. Even if it was more pleasant than the holding cells the common peoples were holed up in, at least they could keep each other company. Loneliness was a feeling that Cecile was far too familiar with. It's hard to even call it a feeling anymore. It's experienced so often it may as well be considered a disease. A sickness of her mind. Something that fed into her thoughts of self-loathing. Thoughts of guilt, of anguish. The Durant dances with her inner demons far too often. But this time, their whispers turned into shrieks.
Whilst she was nowhere near the frontlines of the battle, or really saw any of the action, she received more of a scar than the loyalists would have ever garnered. For it was Cecile who truly identified with the infamous dark Queen. Perhaps it was out of pure longing; of wanting so long to rise above everyone else, of wanting to have a hand in things. Freya gave it all to her. She was the only one who truly understood her - who had felt as she did. Surely, that was it.
However, the terminability of it all escaped her from the moment she watched her idol rise, and it shot right through her like it was the Durant having a blade pierce her flesh in that throne room. Cecile could only see it one way, from that room, in that moment. Her, or Freya. Her idol, her role model, the Queen of Regalia, or her own miserable, worthless self. It was clear as crystal for the ex-raven.
After pitifully pleading to a passing guard, Cecile was released with an (admittedly, rather dull) guard by her side. As she stepped out into the streets of the Holy City, she squinted. Her eyes were yet to adjust to the brightness of the city street, as she had closed her eyes for so long, it seemed. However, all of her other senses were alarmed - all she could hear were bells tolling and peasants chiming out in the streets, clearly celebrating their victory. Victory. Victory.
This was, most certainly, no victory for the Durant. The girl strode across the streets with a solemn expression, and in tow, an even more glum-looking guardsman; to say the least, the pair stuck out from the drunkards celebrating their minute personal accomplishments. Cecile didn't even bother to give anyone a glance, no waves, no visits, nothing. Emptiness.
In that very moment, surrounded in the bustling street with a guardsman escort, Cecile Durant felt more alone than ever before.
