footnote: "lady of the sun" epilogue
Title: Lady of the Sun, Epilogue
Rating: T
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 593
Pairings: one-sided Shirley/Schneizel
Summary: AU. He had the option. He never took it.
Notes: Same as Lady of the Sun.
Warnings: OOC, spoilers for R2.
Kanon hands him the files on Lelouch's victims. Schneizel flips through them nonchalantly: nobles, knights, teachers, comrades, and—
He freezes when he sees her.
The face is more girlish and innocent, the lashes not nearly as long, the hair bright but not brilliant, and her eyes — don't make him laugh! The picture of the schoolgirl before him is a cheap mockery of her, but he would be lying if he pretended it didn't make his heart ache happily and his skin crawl.
He draws the paper nearer to him with his fingertips, breathing suddenly labored — he feels her sun flare up in him again, beneath the layers of false purity and self-imposed ice, scorching his mind and heart until the smoke blinds him. The elegant curvature of her name dances at the edge of his vision — he smells the summery perfume, feels the long fingers like melted ivory.
The paper is before him, and he hears windchimes singing old ballads, echoing faintly in his memory. Her empyrean image before him once more.
He skims the paper. Father: J— Skip that. Faith— No, she was a Goddess in her own right. Age: 18. And how could that be, I knew her when I was that age. Status: Deceased.
Schneizel has to pause and read it again, to make sure he is not dreaming. Status: Deceased.
Nearly eleven years after she has left him, he feels his world freeze over once more. She is dead. His Lady of the Sun, his Goddess, is dead.
Almost desperately, he lets his eyes skim to her name at the top, in large, elegant print: S— F—
And he stops himself just in time, jerking the paper to the side with the barest of dignities. Kanon looks at him oddly, but he doesn't care. S.F. — for sun-fire, the color of her hair. A lively color on a dead body.
"Sir?" Kanon's gloved fingers delicately touch the paper, as if it were poisoned. "Would you care for me to read this information aloud to you?"
"No." Schneizel's voice is quivering, but unnaturally firm and cruel in tone. "Don't ever show, mention, or speak of that person in my presence. Do you understand? Do not even dare, or I will..."
He looks up, and he doesn't think he's ever seen Kanon so frightened in his life. He decides he doesn't care, and he dismisses his aide with a flippant wave of his hand.
Alone in the room. Schneizel listens to the low hum of the air conditioning — sometimes she hummed songs, voice a low melodic murmur on the wind. He feels his face collapse into the palms of his hands, all the light blotted out. Her warm sun leaks out of his eyes in soft silent drops.
He doesn't need to read the report — it was Lelouch who was responsible for her death. Lelouch, his wayward little brother — he killed her. She couldn't even save Lelouch.
But, he thinks to himself, the sun slowly leaving him — I can save him.
An iciness washes over his soul and settles there like new snowdrift. A single pearly drop of her sun travels down his face, leaving behind a cold river before falling on the table. He stands up, glowing like a glacier-white star, smiling brilliantly, eyes like blazing comets.
He will save Lelouch, no matter what the cost. With the FLEIJAs. With her, born anew.
And to the silent room, he intones a chilling invocation:
To the fair! to the immortal! to the only Goddess in my world—
The Lady of the Sun.
Author's Note: Yay epilogue. The real Lady isn't dead (if you couldn't already tell, she's clearly not of this universe/timeline/dimension), but Shirley is.
Rating: T
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 593
Pairings: one-sided Shirley/Schneizel
Summary: AU. He had the option. He never took it.
Notes: Same as Lady of the Sun.
Warnings: OOC, spoilers for R2.
Kanon hands him the files on Lelouch's victims. Schneizel flips through them nonchalantly: nobles, knights, teachers, comrades, and—
He freezes when he sees her.
The face is more girlish and innocent, the lashes not nearly as long, the hair bright but not brilliant, and her eyes — don't make him laugh! The picture of the schoolgirl before him is a cheap mockery of her, but he would be lying if he pretended it didn't make his heart ache happily and his skin crawl.
He draws the paper nearer to him with his fingertips, breathing suddenly labored — he feels her sun flare up in him again, beneath the layers of false purity and self-imposed ice, scorching his mind and heart until the smoke blinds him. The elegant curvature of her name dances at the edge of his vision — he smells the summery perfume, feels the long fingers like melted ivory.
The paper is before him, and he hears windchimes singing old ballads, echoing faintly in his memory. Her empyrean image before him once more.
He skims the paper. Father: J— Skip that. Faith— No, she was a Goddess in her own right. Age: 18. And how could that be, I knew her when I was that age. Status: Deceased.
Schneizel has to pause and read it again, to make sure he is not dreaming. Status: Deceased.
Nearly eleven years after she has left him, he feels his world freeze over once more. She is dead. His Lady of the Sun, his Goddess, is dead.
Almost desperately, he lets his eyes skim to her name at the top, in large, elegant print: S— F—
And he stops himself just in time, jerking the paper to the side with the barest of dignities. Kanon looks at him oddly, but he doesn't care. S.F. — for sun-fire, the color of her hair. A lively color on a dead body.
"Sir?" Kanon's gloved fingers delicately touch the paper, as if it were poisoned. "Would you care for me to read this information aloud to you?"
"No." Schneizel's voice is quivering, but unnaturally firm and cruel in tone. "Don't ever show, mention, or speak of that person in my presence. Do you understand? Do not even dare, or I will..."
He looks up, and he doesn't think he's ever seen Kanon so frightened in his life. He decides he doesn't care, and he dismisses his aide with a flippant wave of his hand.
Alone in the room. Schneizel listens to the low hum of the air conditioning — sometimes she hummed songs, voice a low melodic murmur on the wind. He feels his face collapse into the palms of his hands, all the light blotted out. Her warm sun leaks out of his eyes in soft silent drops.
He doesn't need to read the report — it was Lelouch who was responsible for her death. Lelouch, his wayward little brother — he killed her. She couldn't even save Lelouch.
But, he thinks to himself, the sun slowly leaving him — I can save him.
An iciness washes over his soul and settles there like new snowdrift. A single pearly drop of her sun travels down his face, leaving behind a cold river before falling on the table. He stands up, glowing like a glacier-white star, smiling brilliantly, eyes like blazing comets.
He will save Lelouch, no matter what the cost. With the FLEIJAs. With her, born anew.
And to the silent room, he intones a chilling invocation:
To the fair! to the immortal! to the only Goddess in my world—
The Lady of the Sun.
Author's Note: Yay epilogue. The real Lady isn't dead (if you couldn't already tell, she's clearly not of this universe/timeline/dimension), but Shirley is.