Break Us Free

My wife warned me that this story wasn't supposed to be told, at least not by me, I make things prettier than they're supposed to be. I plant flowers in graveyards. But one plants flowers in graveyards to honour the dead, not to make their death prettier. Death is not pretty.
The following is a tale of love and not of war.
It's not about a group of heroes who saved the world, war is not that simple neither is love.
Eight threads of one mistake united by some mysterious force, not to save the world, but to help it burn down. Eight souls that fought till the last day but loved way further than that. We were not especial or chosen, not by the motives you might think, we were just children that were unlucky enough to cross each other's crooked paths that deserved a happy ending but all we got was a shallow new beginning.
My wife told me that this chapter of our lives should be buried and locked, that we could only be happy if our past was left behind, hidden in some trunk. And for many years that's what I did, I buried it and I locked it and I hid it. I nailed my past's coffin and planted flowers all over it's grave.
But I can't hold the door for much longer, my ghosts come back to me at night, and I see them everyday flashing behind my children's eyes screaming at me:
Break us free.