He did what men always do. He wanted it, and so he claimed it.
That is the part of being king. Of being queen. Making choices that will hurt some but save others. And often not knowing until it is too late who will be hurt and who will be saved. I am sorry you have to share it, but I am glad to have the company.
Not seeing, however, is just as telling as seeing.
We do not need a dark queen when we have so much darkness within ourselves.
It was not easy, revolving around someone who did not revolve around her.
Even when the stories told were true, they never talked about what happened after the quest. About all the wounds–visible and otherwise–that lingered long after the neat close of the tale. They had rescued the damsel. The end. But there was still so much pain there, and perhaps there always would be.
She had constant tension from her magic knotted into the rooms and surrounding city, and even if that had not been the case, she found herself perpetually mulling over the figurative knots of her life and choices, checking for weaknesses, for where she could have done better.
The flock of birds always living in her chest these days had been startled. They flund themselves against the confines of her ribs, beating and flapping in a frenzy inside of her.
How unfortunate that nature was both the most peaceful and the most dangerous place possible. But that was its duality. It gave life and it took it, provided and withheld, offered beauty and danger in equal measure. Camelot was safe and ordered and structured, so many things put in place to separate people from nature. Roofs and walls. Pipes for water. Swords with men to wield them. The separation was a protection but also a loss.
Pain is often the price of pleasure.
Even mountains do not want to be unmade.
There was a dangerous magic in pretending. Pretend long enough, and who could say what was real?
An old, battered dragon was still a dragon, and the darkness had always loved them.
Anything with a purpose to obscure could not help but reveal in equal measure.
We all of us must be better than our fathers. At least Merlin leaves you nothing to atone for. Only to live up to.
Such is the nature of science, though. At some point theory must be turned into reality, and there will always be more work than anticipated.
You are a strange girl,” Matthias said fondly. “I am a dragon,” she answered.
Ah. Yes, that is the price of being clever. We win, and we hurt other people, and we always, always hurt ourselves.
If we cut off everyone whose choices differ from our own, we would stagnate and cease to learn, cease to grow. We must let people choose their path, and let them go as they see fit, but always leave a door open for them to return.
People pretend things aren’t wrong, even when they can feel the truth, because they’re too afraid of what it means to look right at the horror, right at the wrongness, to face the truth in all its terrible glory. Like little kids, playing hide-and-seek. If they can’t see the monster, it can’t get them. But it can. It always can. And while you aren’t looking, it’s eating everyone around you.