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#And like... That whole thing of Miquella divesting himself of all that is gold or whatever the synopsis reads.
luminaryofblood · 1 month
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Despair...
All those days... Months... Years...
Years of plotting. Years of bloodshed. Years of sacrifice. Years of preparation. Years of doting, and years of brooding.
Years. And years. And years...
He had shared in his pride and accomplishments. He had shared in his anger and frustration. But what's more, he had shared in his humiliations. His sorrows. His anguish.
He had shared in things he shared to no other. He had shared in things he thought he never had -- or maybe things he had long since thought were lost. He had shared passion. In love.
So much of himself he had shared. But now he wept. Hot tears dampened the cold, stony ground of his palace.
Years of plotting. Years of bloodshed. Years of sacrifice. Years of preparation. Years of doting, and years of brooding. Visions of a grand dynasty, and they were naught but wild dreams and delusions.
All the things he offered, and all the things he shared of himself, wasted. In all those years, he had bedded nothing more than a corpse.
'... Ahh, Miquella...
... Why do you abandon me...?'
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