A/N: This has several hints of incest, so don't read if you don't feel comfortable with that! Please don't say that I didn't warn you in advance.

x x x

the world is too heavy

too big for my shoulders
come take the weight off me now
rubik's cube, athlete

x x x

Blue and red, all the time. Flashes of color cloud your mind. It's tough to believe you're such messes now considering you were named after kings and queens – but even the most tightly bound kingdoms get overthrown at some point to make way for a new era of democracy over monarchy. Your reign will only last so long, it seems, and to make things more confusing you're not sure whether you're ruling alone or with the support of your almost lover. You weren't supposed to play Elizabeth, but there's not much else to do when the devil is at your doorstep. You've left that door unlocked for years and years so it's almost a mystery why anyone needs an invitation to enter. They come. They try. They leave. They don't come back. There's no potential for things to turn out differently. You make sure of that.

x x x

The original Luna and Sirius, can they hear? Are they aware of the extent of their namesakes' tragedy? Lily Evans and James Potter The First aren't much to be thought about now, because they already know. You can make out their careful reassurances, loud and clear, speaking to you when you're more lost than anyone could imagine, and yet not saying much at all. That's how it always goes, and then you sneak to your eldest brother's bedroom in the dead of the night and voice all your deepest doubts to him. Albus doesn't have a clue, or at least he pretends not to.

x x x

Flashes of red and blue, that's what you remember. The euphoria you get on a swingset when your eyes are shut but you can still feel the sun shining through them, bright as ever. Your legs sway back and forth. The wind rushes through your hair and James' hand rests on your back as you follow the rules of gravity and the swing makes its way back down to the ground, tracing patterns of never and maybe but mostly never. You're still kids, walking home from the park hand in hand, all smiles and unrealistic hopes. You've got this one day to live your life the way you want to and then hold the memory against your chest tightly enough that no one can take it away, because the real world is rough and once the kingdom called childhood comes to a close you won't be allowed to be anything other than a play put on for the entire world to see.

x x x

They all watch. You get talked about like no other. A stare here and a whisper there about things you certainly didn't do. You keep quiet and focus your full attention on the contrasting red and blue walls of your dorm and his, recalling the nights you lost your innocence. Once, twice, thrice, unceasing, countless. There's something about it, it's hard to explain – they might be talking about you, but you don't change. Let them assume the worst. That way anything you actually do won't come remotely close to the rumors you've casually let them accept as the dirty truth.

x x x

Blue and red, like an incomplete painting. There's always something missing – possibly the welcome inevitable. In another life you would have mixed and made a color other than predictable old purple. That must have been how it was with your ancestors – there was something about their combined colors that made them acceptable. You're bitter. Jealous, even. There wouldn't have been someone to love your grandfather as much as your grandmother did, and that's how it is with you and your brother. At least, that's how it should be. It would be a cruel joke otherwise that you were given the names you were. But it wouldn't be the first.

x x x

You're holding out for a miracle that allows you to go back to being Lily and James and not be scared to confess your true feelings. It's madness and blame games, almost an excerpt from a poorly written medieval era tragedy. If you close the curtains and your eyes at the same time you can see a hint of violet coming on, reminding you of the days that will flash past eventually when you're lying on your deathbed, fingers crossed that it'll all end sooner rather than later. A dead queen is surely better reminisced than a queen who's done more surviving than conquering.