"Crowns topple easily. Thrones crumble like dust. Hearts cease to beat. Thorns draw blood."
In a country torn into two, there should have been no room for mistakes. Especially not at the very core of the royal family. That was what she was. Yes, a...
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Dreaming permits each and everyone to be quietly and safely insane every night of their lives. A respite from the misery of reality. A latibule for the ambitious and the madmen. A safe house for those who wish to expand the horizons of what is real and what is not, crossing the ever so blurry line between two lifetimes.
In all his years of living on this earth, Aleksander has dreamed of a lot of things. Even when he was tired, he could never get tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on an old soul such as his.
In dreams, he has achieved everything he has wished for. Ravka welcomed Grisha. He was not seen as a monster or a killer but as a hero. He was loved and he was free. To be whoever he wished, unburdened by the expectations of others.
In his dreams, he married Irina Lantsov. They were wed in a grand ceremony as was befitting a princess of a large kingdom. They were joined together in the eyes of the Saints and he would be happy. They would be so happy. To dream together for the rest of their very long lives.
Alas, though the line between dreams and reality is a very thin one indeed, it is still very much a line that is difficult to cross.
As Aleksander woke that very morning, a smile stretched across his face. He remembered the events of the previous night with Irina. She had forgiven him. She had believed in him. They would be alright.
They wouldn't be back to the way they were before, she said as much. But she had forgiven him and that was enough. To be seen as something other than a villain in her story was more than he deserved especially after his past.
He reached out to her side of the bed, expecting to feel her smaller form so that he may pull her closer to him. His eyebrows furrowed as his hand felt nothing but a soft mattress and cloth sheets.
He turned his eyes to where he was sure he had seen her the previous night. Nothing. There was no one on the bed. The side had not even been slept on as the area was cold. No sign that there had been anyone there in the first place.
Aleksander rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up and looked around for signs of Irina. It couldn't have been a dream. Surely she couldn't have been a figment of his imagination.
She was here, he was sure of it. He couldn't have imagined the way she looked when she had entered his tent. Half anxious and half hesitant about what she was about to do.
He remembered his hand on her face, his forehead on hers, his finger poking her dimple. The softness of her porcelain skin, her warm body, her hand over his heart, her amplifier scraping against his tunic. Those are things he certainly couldn't have conjured in his head.
Unless he has gone mad. Had he? Gone mad for his need of her? It was not something impossible. No, she had been here. He was sure of it. As sure as he was of himself.
