Hey! Just a short one to get back into the swing of things. No, I don't own Code Geass.


When you live seven hundred years, you see a few things. It's the remembering that's difficult. She had felt false love, manufactured affection, too long to remember what the real thing felt like. She had closed herself to any possibility of the stuff, for fear that its inevitable loss would plunge her deeper into the overwhelming shadow of time.

That's why there, in the chapel, C.C. cried. Not even a mile away- yet somehow a world away- she would lose again. She had forgot what it felt like to win.

"Do you love Lelouch?" Kallen had asked her. The confusion she had felt then was proof enough that she did.

"Men like him come and go," she lied to herself, as some last effort to comfort herself. Somehow she knew, even in the ebbing eternity that was her past, she had never experienced anything like this feeling. It was something to hold on to. She just hoped her grasp was strong enough not to let go.

Of course, as always, it wouldn't be.


Thousands cheered the bloodied emperor on as he took those final, small, steps towards his sister. As his broken body slid down the carpet lining his procession, the crowd's rancor audibly increased.

In one beautiful move he swept away all the sin he had commited. Now, only she was left. His one mistake. The one thing he couldn't fix. All the others: Charles, Mao, and the countless scores before them had never learned her true wish. So stale had that wish become that she herself had forgotten it. Only he was able to uncover what years of solitude had buried within her.

Three simple words: "To be loved." He had shown her love, she knew now.

But love is a curse, ever changing, never stagnant. And she wanted more. After all, she was only human. Wasn't she?

If he had know her as well as she knew he had, how could he leave her like this? Geass brings solitude, she had learned this one certainty by now. Could love exist within solitude- somewhere hidden deep beneath her endless life?

But love is a trap- without bounds it isn't love- only pointless affection. Its wanting would only bring more longing, more loss.

She dried her eyes and left. Her aim was distant, even to her. Her direction lost.


It was him who came to her, three days later, in a remote Japanese city. She had chosen Japan, in remembrance of him.

Though the cart ride was dull, the day was bright. She couldn't help feeling excited, like a child on Christmas morning- it was a feeling she had long since forgotten.

When you live seven hundred years, you see a few things. Solitude becomes a neighbor, boredom a ritual. Beauty is born of that solitude, however, as sure as the boy driving that cart loved her.

And love is a story, with countless pages waiting to be written.


Thanks for reading. Literally just sat down and started writing, so sorry for any mistakes or if its not really coherent. Also, the spacing is realllllly derping me out here when I upload, so sorry for that.

Please review!

Peace!