Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass. Nor do I own the song lyrics I somehow felt the need to insert.

Pairings: Not really. Kind of LelouchxCC

A/N: Okay, so I tried writing something Code Geass, and…this is all I could come up with. Joy. Lyrics are from "Wayside" by Deepfield. One line is from "Wasteland" by Trapt. Both songs happen to be favorites of my muse. Who is ignoring me.

Where will you run when your kingdom falls? Will you think of the world?

The prince has no one, does he? As he sits in his machine, playing his game of chess, spinning his words into a tangible thing – which he likes to call a mask, but we all know it's just a little wall for him to hide behind – he has no one. Shouldn't a prince have someone? Shouldn't a prince have everyone? A prince should have everyone he ever wanted. They should be at his beck and call, because that is the power given to the prince by the gods or by whatever powers that be. Isn't that right?

So why does the little prince sit alone in his dark room, playing the same song over and over again in his head, listening to the words being whispered into his ears, watching his eyes bleed from all the lies he's sown together. Why does the prince have to lie?

Because he failed. Because he's terrified of failing. He knows he will fail again and again and it will never ever stop. The only way for the pain to stop is to pretend like it doesn't exist.

Is that why the prince sits alone in his machine, dreaming of protecting and saving the people stolen from him by his own voice? Is that why he cringes at the incessant laughter he hears himself scream?

All the people who knew the prince – his queen, his knight, his pawns, his bishops, his rooks – why did they all leave? They knew him, didn't they? But they can't see the wall. Why can't they see the wall? Isn't it so large and ominous that anyone could see through it? Not even the queen can see it, can she? She gives away her wistful goodbye, not even touching the truth which falls from his existence. She didn't even touch it. Why is that?

The witch knows. Why does a prince need a witch? Why does it take a witch to see that he is lying? Is it her black magic? Is it her gift? What is it that gives the witch so much insight into the soul that was given freely at the price of a crown?

Where will you hide when your savior laughs in your face at the joke you've made of his name?

Does the knight see it? Such a pretty knight, dancing with his machine, never knowing – never admitting – just how much he loves the sight of the blood he spills. He can't see the wall unless the prince shows him. He can't even see himself – how could he possibly see the prince? What a silly knight.

Nobody sees the little boy crouched behind the wall, holding onto himself, trying so desperately to contain his sanity – but it floats away, like little butterflies, far away from his reach.

The knight can try to catch them, the queen can try not to see them, yet they remain there, out of reach, but in so plain a sight. So blatantly obvious.

The prince's ears trick him, and he mistakenly thinks, for an instant, that someone is calling out to him. But they aren't.

I am lost, I am lost, so crucify me on your cross

Such a sad scapegoat.

Why doesn't the prince have anyone? Why aren't there loyal subjects at his feet, begging him to so much as look their way? Is it because they are afraid?

What are they all afraid of?

it never ever fails

how the idiots prevail

Such a blind queen. Such a pretty knight. Such a…

…oh, but what is the witch? The witch isn't pretty. The witch isn't blind. Why is she so special with her black magic and swiftly altering faces?

…because before the witch, there is a wall. It is the same wall that hides the prince. It is the same wall that conceals her many tears, her one face, her truth.

A prince and a witch hide behind a wall. And it is the same wall. And they are the same dreams of things that can have an ending and a beginning. They have the same dreams of protecting and protection.

The prince sits in his room, playing his games, building his wall, spitting his lies at the world who can't see the tears falling down his face. He isn't alone. Beside him sits a witch, watching him play, helping him build, holding him, listening to him, drowning out those nasty whispers in his ears – with a voice so divine.

Here in this world, how would you know what the angels look like?

A prince and a witch hide behind a wall.

No one can see them.

No one would dare.

How would they know what angels look like?