You look down, eyes wide, staring. She's there, in your arms, already dead. Blood seeps across her pure white wedding dress, her head falls back limply, and all you can do is stare.
The sounds around you are muted, muffled, unimportant, just like that part of your brain screaming at you to do something; anything, just don't just sit here…staring, just staring at the woman in your arms. Somewhere in your mind, you know that you should be screaming, shouting, weeping; blind with rage and grief, and yet you just sit here, looking at her. Like she's Sleeping Beauty, waiting for a kiss from her one true love, and then her eyes will flutter open, smile and ask why they aren't at the wedding party. Except, she's not sleeping beauty, she's your very own princess, and no kiss is ever going to wake her up now, and all you can do is stare.
Someone is crouching on the other side of her now. They're saying something, but the words make no sense and their meaning is lost on you, and she's not your princess, so it doesn't matter. You're staring at your Princess, her white dress spread out around her, like a field of snow, or flowers, yes, she likes flowers, except for the red, the red that soaks so much of her dress now. It's ugly and hideous, and you hate it, but you can't stop staring.
The woman opposite you tries to take your princess away from you, her hand round the body. She tries to pry her away, but you feel your hands tighten. At least, you assume that's what has happened, you think your princess is closer to you now. You think, because all you can do is stare. Like how you think this woman is talking to you, but you don't hear. It's not important. You're staring at what's important, so nothing else matters, right?
But you're forced out of your dream, your nightmare. There's a hand on your shoulder, and you can't ignore it. Hyne, you try to, you keep on staring; staring at your princess and hope the intruder will go away. Instead the hand shakes you, it wants your attention, demands it as it calls your name over and over and over, while that damn hand shakes you. Each call of your name is stronger. Each call more demanding until you can't ignore it any more;
You stop staring.
You turn and look at the owner of the hand, the man is so much older than you. The man looks relieved, you think there's pity and understanding in his eyes. You're not really sure; maybe you're just throwing names to emotions. You're just not sure. You're not even sure if you remember which emotions are which.
"Son," you're sure that this should annoy you, but nothing, so you just look at the man, blank, "She's dead."
And the spell is broken.
You take a deep shuddering breath and shake your head.
"No," you deny it, "No," you know it's true, "No," if you repeat it maybe it'll come true, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," pulling your princess closer to you, burying your face in the crook of her neck as the chanted words change to her name. The words running as quickly as the tears down your cheeks, as the words become louder, more passionate till they tear from your throat with your sobs. It hurts, but you can't stop, it fills your every fibre, till once again you can't hear the words around you or the movement of those surrounding you. They don't matter.
The words fade, turning to sobs and still you clutch to her, like a drowning person. You can hear the woman speaking again, but you don't care.
Arms enclose you; pulling you, trying to pull the knight away from his princess. The man calls your name again. You ignore him. Again, more softly, but with command. You continue to ignore the man, you know what he wants and you don't want to give it to him. You don't want to lose this link.
"Son," the word you know you should hate cuts through to you, "You have to let go of her."
You shake your head; you can't, not your princess.
"I'm sorry," the man says, and there are more hands and arms on you. Stronger arms surround you, this time ones that can easily pick you up. Other arms are on your hands, your arms, disentangling you. You want to tell them to go away, to leave you alone, but you can't, just like you can't resist the hands detangling you.
There's a sharp stab in your heart and your stomach clenches as they pull you away. You make a feeble attempt to reach out to her, a child reaching for his mother, but the strong arms have pulled you too far away.
The woman has your princess now. She shakes her head and calls to another. A man steps forward, and something tells you that this man shouldn't be so serious, but another girl steps forward, placing a hand on his arm, and slips down next to your wife. You think she's your wife any way, you got far enough to be husband and wife. Hyne, you've already been a widow longer than a husband.
Through the haze of tears you see the man crouch down in front of you, saying your name yet again, but you don't acknowledge anything else he says. You don't want to go anywhere. The man looks past you. The strong arms have not released you yet; too worried, you suppose.
The man steps next to you as the strong arms let you go. One of your arms is slung around the man's shoulder and you are hoisted up; pulled to your feet. You make no effort to stand on your own and soon find your other arm round another pair of shoulders. They take you away.
"She's dead," you hears yourself say. You're sure it's you anyway.
The two men pause until the man says, "Yes."
You feel tears falling again, and your throat tightens. "I didn't say goodbye. She'll be mad; she hates it when I don't say good-bye."
The man squeezes your hand, "That's fine. She'll understand. It's OK son."
You know you should hate the word; but it's a comfort to you.
A/N: I've never done and 2nd person story, and never intended to. I was just writing this and then I get to the end of a paragraph and I'd realised that I've been writing in second person with out realising it. After some feed back from betas, I decided to keep it 2nd Person. I hope it doesn't disappoint.
Ok, this actually turned out NOTHING like I thought it would. It was very different in my mind, partly because I was gonna do the lead up, and where the fuck did Laguna come from? Honestly, I have no idea how he wormed himself in there and how he got so much time. Crafty bastard.
Btw, thanks JustBob, wonderful brother of mine, for the beta reading, also a thanks to InstigateInsanity. I've had this in my head for a while, but it was only after becoming addicted to his fanfic, 'I Made a Promise', that I was inspired enough to write this. It did put me in a very good mood, so naturally I would a death fic…..