Bearing a guilty crown

[Nate]

“How can I protect those that I love?” Sheila asked to his gathered household. Cradled in his arms, the broken and now crippled Juliet slept softly. The stumps of her arms reminded Sheila of yet another failure at protecting the tiny girl. “How can I show those that view mortals as cattle the weight of a human soul? How can I save a life when the world is so full of callous murders and villains, who would so casually take the future away from these brilliant dreamers?”

Sheila’s employee’s, and at the same time his closest friends, eyes glazed over as he called upon memories almost as old as the human race. The Mists, that supernatural boundary between the Dreaming and reality, would protect them from Sheila’s rambling. So he continued talking to himself, and perhaps to his adopted daughter.

“How can we hope for a future when we forget that we were made, created, born to lead a young humanity to a beautiful existence? Now there are nobles,” he spoke that word with a sneer, contempt and hatred breaking his voice before he could continue, “and commoners alike who would snatch any future from these wondrous creatures.

“But that is an unkind term for these mortals, who have for so long been the playthings of my kith and kin. Every one of my contacts, every single person that I have negotiated with, I love deeply. I see the world through their eyes. I experience their entire lives in the instant our gazes meet. My heart breaks with their grief. I am brought to tears by the depth of their joy. I am humbled by their aspirations, and lifted by their compassion. Even the simplest, most mundane mind can still see so much beauty in this broken world.

“How can the blinders be removed from the changeling race, which have grown cold in their eon long reign? To those that would orphan children with so little thought, widow loving spouses as easily as wiping sleep from their eyes, how can I force them to share my burden? Even the humblest commoner in this realm seems to carry a terrifying weapon of war, or are themselves perfect weapons, with little regard for life remaining in their soldier’s soul. In such a war-torn world, who would dare share my burden? Who in their right mind would take up a circlet of blades and spikes? Who would dare bear the weight of this guilty crown?”

And as the silence filled itself with the screams of the long dead, and only the innocent dreamt, Sheila wept.

[Nate]

Failure. Complete. Failure. Irrevocable. Failure. All-consuming. Failure.

The desk that normally holds Sheila's paperwork is covered in brightly wrapped boxes of various sizes. A visitor might have been been mistaken and thought they were gifts for some happy occasion. Only one was open, and that one box, that one gift, had shredded Sheila's psyche.

My weakness has slaughtered an innocent. Perhaps the only truly innocent left in this world. My poor actions or inaction had killed her. She was murdered by a monster, I know that, but my weakness allowed it to happen.

A memory played in his mind. "You're too serious, you're going to unmake yourself."

Of course I've been serious. I know better than most the weight of a human soul. I have tried so very hard to keep those in my life living and happy. I didn't want strife for any of them, human or Fae, so I took the burden upon myself. I am going to have to sacrifice one more mortal, this body, if I am going to stop a murderer. I can only hope that his soul can forgive me, even if my own is shredded into oblivion.

More memories dance in Sheila's skull. Older visions showing him a line of countless bodies, spread out over the years since the Sundering. Blood drips steadily from beautiful, lifeless bodies, as regular as a demonic clock.

That isn't me anymore. That wasn't me this time. I could have been a good person this time, I was careful not to exert my blood-right without cause. But my kind cannot afford to be kind. Kindness is a weakness. Compassion will only ever be exploited. Hope only leads to weakness, misdirecting effort away from personal improvement.

"You wanted me to kill for you. So here I am. Your murderer."

Weakness only leads to failure. Of all the passions in this world, hate is surely the strongest. All consuming, never-ending, uncaring hatred. Blind hatred. Hatred pushes a body past its limits, even as it consumes the self.

Strength at any cost. This world will be my weapon.

Power at any cost.

Is this good enough, my Acusla?

[Nate]

"What do you love?" Sheila wrote. "What are you willing to give your life for?

"You have raised your hand, and cast this world into darkness and fear. By taking the throne, you have made this world colder, and less wondrous. In this one action, you have undone what every member of the Changeling race has striven for since time before memory.

"We exist to better the human race, these beautiful dreamers. Our purpose is to show these children the path of nobility, and the romantic way. Ruling for the sake of oneself is ignoble and will only tarnish that crown resting on your brow. Ruling without love for those beneath you only breeds dissent. Dissent brings about revolution, and hollow Kings and Queens are toppled from their thrones.

"You have become far to cold, O my Winter Queen, to feel the heavy bite of a crown. You have traveled for far to long alone, O my Lady of Darkness, to remember the warmth of the human condition. Your have given too much of your soul to nightmares, O my Lady, to remember the joys of Dreams. You have shed blood by the gallon, and for that, my Acusla, you can never again be pure.

"I have also walked a trail of blood, not that long ago. I had also given up my passion to despair, and become cold. I was reminded of hope, and beauty that shines even in the darkness night. I was led out of my solitude, but was blinded by the light I had grown unaccustomed to.

"I have found a path between the extremes, and live a lukewarm existence. I walk this twilight path, blinded by neither the darkness nor the light, and I can see a clearer picture. My heart is neither frozen cold nor burning with passion, and I have found a different fount of love. I know that nightmares exist to contrast dreams, and so I cherish them both.

"I cannot condone this long night, I must not be a part of this killing winter. I will not be your murderer, no matter how much a beautiful monster you have become."

Signed,
Sir Sheila LaLouche ap Liam,
Member of this Emerald Court,

[Nate]

Atop the Iron-works, Sheila stood coatless and shoeless on the roof, his cigarette smoke lost in the mist of his breath. The cold bit deeply into his hands and feet, as the sun slowly set. It was Sheila's favorite time of the day, these twilight hours, where the grey of the Seattle was painted a hundred shades of red, even as the brilliance of the short day faded. One aspect of the world dying beautifully so the next can awaken.

But dying isn't the right word, for some things are never truly gone. Even on the cold roof of a building turned to nightmares, it still remembered the heat of the fires that gave it its name. It was a faint comfort in the cold, but it was only made more relevent when contrasted with the extreme opposite.

The darkness is made blacker by the memory of light, and is richer for the terrors it might hold. Spring is so sweet not for the blooming flowers, but the rejoicing of Old Man Winter's retreat. Dreams and Nightmares need each other for the contrast. One without the other is lessened to the point of despair. Even Hell needs hope, otherwise we become accustomed to the environment, and the horrors are made bearable. And what is hope without the chance of failure? Why climb if you can never fall?