#etswtm

Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

“What did you think of?” He asks in her ear. “You,” She admits. “London.” She seldom thought of little else.

“This is yours.” He kisses her knuckles and her palm. “Crowned head of House Black.”

They turn towards him like he is the moon in the night sky.

Their final days together are summer. A last summer.

"Kassandra: All this way you have led me. To destroy me again?"

Like the curse of a prophecy, like Oedipus. A tragedy. An ouroboros mark. The snake's tail always bound to eat itself.

All this anger and what purpose has it served? The grudge she has held onto, every righteous reason and her stone-cold judgment fade beneath the shrieking storm that is memory and love.