Sieben Stunden
Fandom: Sound Horizon
Album: IdoIdo + Märchen
Character(s): Elisabeth von Wettin
Warnings: death, dying. Also first fic for Sound Horizon.
Complete.
Seven hours. That was all the time it took for Elisabeth von Wettin to die on the cross. Seven hours for her emotions to run from love and determination to rage and grief and back again.
Sieben Stunden
Seven hours. That was all the time it took for Elisabeth von Wettin to die on the cross. Seven hours for her emotions to run from love and determination to rage and grief and back again. Seven hours to come to the boundary between life and death.
"Instead of loving falsely all my life, I would rather die true to myself," she had said. She refused to regret those headstrong words. She wouldn't grant her brother that satisfaction.
And yet… and yet, with her shoulders burning, her blood drying in rusty streaks on her sleeves, her breaths becoming ragged, she wonders if her childhood love was worth it all. If that childish, naive thing they had could even be called love at all.
Seven hours. For seven hours she wonders.
-o-o-o-
Der Ersten Stunde:
In the first hour, she mourned. As she was dragged bodily along the church aisle by her brother's men, as she was forcibly chained to the roughly hewn wooden cross, she mourned that to the end, her brother did not, could not understand how she felt.
As the nails were hammered cruelly, relentlessly into her hands at her brother's word, she mourned that she couldn't make her brother understand the reason for which she refused to ever marry.
Hanging from the cross by her wrists, she mourned for the boy named März von Ludowing, the boy who she had loved and will always love. The boy who she resisted her brother for.
And now, the boy she accepted her fate for.
In the first hour, as she hung easily from the cross, she mourned. Because there was nothing else she could do.
-o-o-o-
Der Zweiten Stunde:
In the second hour, she persevered. As her weight pulling down on her trapped hands began to tear and widen her twin wounds, as the chains began to cut into her flesh, she persevered still.
When she defied her brother and refused to marry, she had already decided that staying true to Mär would be worth the pain and humiliation that she would have to endure at his hands. She had told herself that it was an acceptable price to pay. And she would never go back on her word.
Elisabeth would never renege on a promise, never. Because she knew all too well the feelings of sorrow it left in its wake.
In the second hour, even as raw purple flowers bloomed on her wrists, she refused to cry out. She merely persevered.
Because there was nothing else her Ego could allow.
-o-o-o-
Die Dritte Stunde:
In the third hour, she grieved. As her shoulders ached and burned and her blood trickled down her arms, she grieved.
She grieved for her mother, who had to be restrained by her handmaidens to stop her from trying to suffer with her daughter. Her mother, who had disguised her identity, had run off unguarded to save that same daughter.
She grieved for Walter, who was more of a father to her than the man who demanded she address him so. He was there too, watching her gasp and struggle and die on the unyielding cross.
She grieved for her brother, the one who ordered her crucifixion. Because he never knew, and would never know the kind of love she did. The pure, innocent love that lasted for lifetimes, unceasing, undying.
But mostly, she grieved for Mär, who had died so young, so long ago, not knowing that they would never meet again.
And in the third hour, she also grieved for herself, who would be soon joining him in death.
-o-o-o-
Der Vierten Stunde:
In the fourth hour, she raged. As her head drooped in the light of the setting sun, as the pain and exhaustion overwhelmed her mind, she raged.
At the receiving end of her ire was her brother, for causing her this pain. Her fingers twitched, in pain or fury she did not know, because each was fuelling the other and she was helpless to stop it. She hated the one who heartlessly ordered his sister's crucifixion, as though she was nothing more to him than a broken tool to be discarded. Who had sat watching his tool suffer and die in smug satisfaction.
But mostly, she hated the tiny birdcage that surrounded her, its iron bars mocking her as she flapped her wings futilely. Because eventually, her broken, bloodied wings will slow and stop, and crimson feathers will litter the ground around the once-white bird.
Much like the trails of blood circled the girl on the cross. The wingless girl who was beginning to wonder if perhaps spending her life by Rhein-Pfalz was preferable to this torment after all.
In the fourth hour, she raged. Because she despised how she couldn't resist the deadly sin that caused her to be here in the first place.
-o-o-o-
Der Fünften Stunde:
In the fifth hour, she wished. As it became progressively difficult to breathe, she wished.
What she wished for were simple, yet unattainable things. She wished for the wild roses she planted around his well to grow and bloom, so that they could embrace her love. She wished that she could know for sure that what she gave her life for was love, but even something as simple as that was out of reach. She wished that she could remember Mär more clearly, but those childhood memories were simply that, the recollections of a child not yet old enough to understand the world. Merely simple images with a strong warmth behind them.
She wished she knew for sure that what she was suffering was worth it, but it was a wish that couldn't be granted by anyone. It was a wish that only she could grant herself, and her heart was too overwhelmed to convince her that she was right.
In the fifth hour, she wished that her heart was stronger.
-o-o-o-
Der Sechsten Stunde:
In the sixth hour, she dreamt. As the feeling of pain dulled, as her senses became numb, she dreamt.
In her dream, a bird with pure white feathers took to the sky, free and alive. In her dream, she was once again a child, running about the forest at night with stardust sparkling in the sky above her and beautiful flowers below. In her hand was the warmth of another hand, and when her gaze followed that arm up to the owner's face, she saw a smile as gentle as the moonlight.
It was a truly peaceful dream, she thought as she hung from the cross. A dream far removed from the cold night and insistent pain that she was beginning to not feel.
In the sixth hour, she dreamt of the corpse of a bird returning to the earth. She dreamt of walking through a starless night, holding a familiar hand. But when she turned to face März, she only saw a pale face framed by white-streaked black hair, wearing a sad smile.
-o-o-o-
Die Siebente Stunde:
In the seventh hour, she sang. As her consciousness faded, she sang.
In the end, she decided that it didn't matter if her love was naive and childish. It was her life, and her heart, and what she chose to define as love was what she had lived by. Why should it change just because she was dying?
Ah, she had no regrets about how she chose to live. It was her life, and what cemented her identity as a person, as Elisabeth, was her love for März. Even if she were to be crucified a hundred times over, she would still love him, and him alone.
In the seventh hour, Elisabeth von Wettin sang as she died. Because the bird finally took to the sky, and she was finally free.
Album: IdoIdo + Märchen
Character(s): Elisabeth von Wettin
Warnings: death, dying. Also first fic for Sound Horizon.
Complete.
Seven hours. That was all the time it took for Elisabeth von Wettin to die on the cross. Seven hours for her emotions to run from love and determination to rage and grief and back again.
Sieben Stunden
Seven hours. That was all the time it took for Elisabeth von Wettin to die on the cross. Seven hours for her emotions to run from love and determination to rage and grief and back again. Seven hours to come to the boundary between life and death.
"Instead of loving falsely all my life, I would rather die true to myself," she had said. She refused to regret those headstrong words. She wouldn't grant her brother that satisfaction.
And yet… and yet, with her shoulders burning, her blood drying in rusty streaks on her sleeves, her breaths becoming ragged, she wonders if her childhood love was worth it all. If that childish, naive thing they had could even be called love at all.
Seven hours. For seven hours she wonders.
-o-o-o-
Der Ersten Stunde:
In the first hour, she mourned. As she was dragged bodily along the church aisle by her brother's men, as she was forcibly chained to the roughly hewn wooden cross, she mourned that to the end, her brother did not, could not understand how she felt.
As the nails were hammered cruelly, relentlessly into her hands at her brother's word, she mourned that she couldn't make her brother understand the reason for which she refused to ever marry.
Hanging from the cross by her wrists, she mourned for the boy named März von Ludowing, the boy who she had loved and will always love. The boy who she resisted her brother for.
And now, the boy she accepted her fate for.
In the first hour, as she hung easily from the cross, she mourned. Because there was nothing else she could do.
-o-o-o-
Der Zweiten Stunde:
In the second hour, she persevered. As her weight pulling down on her trapped hands began to tear and widen her twin wounds, as the chains began to cut into her flesh, she persevered still.
When she defied her brother and refused to marry, she had already decided that staying true to Mär would be worth the pain and humiliation that she would have to endure at his hands. She had told herself that it was an acceptable price to pay. And she would never go back on her word.
Elisabeth would never renege on a promise, never. Because she knew all too well the feelings of sorrow it left in its wake.
In the second hour, even as raw purple flowers bloomed on her wrists, she refused to cry out. She merely persevered.
Because there was nothing else her Ego could allow.
-o-o-o-
Die Dritte Stunde:
In the third hour, she grieved. As her shoulders ached and burned and her blood trickled down her arms, she grieved.
She grieved for her mother, who had to be restrained by her handmaidens to stop her from trying to suffer with her daughter. Her mother, who had disguised her identity, had run off unguarded to save that same daughter.
She grieved for Walter, who was more of a father to her than the man who demanded she address him so. He was there too, watching her gasp and struggle and die on the unyielding cross.
She grieved for her brother, the one who ordered her crucifixion. Because he never knew, and would never know the kind of love she did. The pure, innocent love that lasted for lifetimes, unceasing, undying.
But mostly, she grieved for Mär, who had died so young, so long ago, not knowing that they would never meet again.
And in the third hour, she also grieved for herself, who would be soon joining him in death.
-o-o-o-
Der Vierten Stunde:
In the fourth hour, she raged. As her head drooped in the light of the setting sun, as the pain and exhaustion overwhelmed her mind, she raged.
At the receiving end of her ire was her brother, for causing her this pain. Her fingers twitched, in pain or fury she did not know, because each was fuelling the other and she was helpless to stop it. She hated the one who heartlessly ordered his sister's crucifixion, as though she was nothing more to him than a broken tool to be discarded. Who had sat watching his tool suffer and die in smug satisfaction.
But mostly, she hated the tiny birdcage that surrounded her, its iron bars mocking her as she flapped her wings futilely. Because eventually, her broken, bloodied wings will slow and stop, and crimson feathers will litter the ground around the once-white bird.
Much like the trails of blood circled the girl on the cross. The wingless girl who was beginning to wonder if perhaps spending her life by Rhein-Pfalz was preferable to this torment after all.
In the fourth hour, she raged. Because she despised how she couldn't resist the deadly sin that caused her to be here in the first place.
-o-o-o-
Der Fünften Stunde:
In the fifth hour, she wished. As it became progressively difficult to breathe, she wished.
What she wished for were simple, yet unattainable things. She wished for the wild roses she planted around his well to grow and bloom, so that they could embrace her love. She wished that she could know for sure that what she gave her life for was love, but even something as simple as that was out of reach. She wished that she could remember Mär more clearly, but those childhood memories were simply that, the recollections of a child not yet old enough to understand the world. Merely simple images with a strong warmth behind them.
She wished she knew for sure that what she was suffering was worth it, but it was a wish that couldn't be granted by anyone. It was a wish that only she could grant herself, and her heart was too overwhelmed to convince her that she was right.
In the fifth hour, she wished that her heart was stronger.
-o-o-o-
Der Sechsten Stunde:
In the sixth hour, she dreamt. As the feeling of pain dulled, as her senses became numb, she dreamt.
In her dream, a bird with pure white feathers took to the sky, free and alive. In her dream, she was once again a child, running about the forest at night with stardust sparkling in the sky above her and beautiful flowers below. In her hand was the warmth of another hand, and when her gaze followed that arm up to the owner's face, she saw a smile as gentle as the moonlight.
It was a truly peaceful dream, she thought as she hung from the cross. A dream far removed from the cold night and insistent pain that she was beginning to not feel.
In the sixth hour, she dreamt of the corpse of a bird returning to the earth. She dreamt of walking through a starless night, holding a familiar hand. But when she turned to face März, she only saw a pale face framed by white-streaked black hair, wearing a sad smile.
-o-o-o-
Die Siebente Stunde:
In the seventh hour, she sang. As her consciousness faded, she sang.
In the end, she decided that it didn't matter if her love was naive and childish. It was her life, and her heart, and what she chose to define as love was what she had lived by. Why should it change just because she was dying?
Ah, she had no regrets about how she chose to live. It was her life, and what cemented her identity as a person, as Elisabeth, was her love for März. Even if she were to be crucified a hundred times over, she would still love him, and him alone.
In the seventh hour, Elisabeth von Wettin sang as she died. Because the bird finally took to the sky, and she was finally free.