A chill ran down my spine as I watched the spectacle before me.
Flames engulf almost everything I know and love —half of my most loyal servants, half of the castle I have called home, my lover.
No one could've understood the pain I felt when my husband, the Emperor, pushed me away from the incoming rubble above us; the way his eyes looked—yet, not a hint of regret.
"You're so strong," he says. I could clearly remember his tears welling up as he began.
"And I fell for you because of that."
I could only shake my head in denial of the situation.
"You cannot leave us like this!" I exclaim, my voice desperate. I was never desperate. What was there to be desperate about, when everything was served on a silver platter?
And yet here I am—begging. Begging to my husband, to my servants, to God above; whoever could hear and grant my pleas.
"Take my hand, Gabriel!" I helplessly yelled, extending my arm—even when I knew he had no way out. "Our daughter- She needs a father, she- I- I need you, Gabriel, you do not understand!"
"Maybe I don't, Rosalia," he continued calmly, though the rubble had surrounded him, giving him nowhere to escape. At that point, my servants were trying to pull me away, yelling for me to leave. But I stayed. Stayed to at least listen to his last words.
"But what I understand is that you need to live for her. For our people. For me."
I fell silent. I wanted to retort, to tell him that after everything—I still needed him. I needed to wake up beside him. To help him with the nation's affairs. To raise our child together.
"We live to serve, my dear. Maybe God has concluded my duties here, but you need to keep going."
I didn't know when I started sobbing, but I did.
I couldn't retort any longer. I didn't want to understand, but I did. I wanted to keep begging.
But there was no way out for him.
"The greatest leaders are the most loyal servants," I whisper under my breath.
All he did was smile.
Then, everything was over.
Now I am here, outside with my servants, as hundreds of people try and take out the fire. I sit on the grass helplessly with my daughter, while I ponder on what will I do in the future.
I look down at the child in my arms; so small, so frail, so... fragile.
She has his eyes.
But she looks just like me.
She doesn't even have a name yet—I gave birth to her days ago, almost a week. What a harsh fate, shattering my hopes of giving her a happy, comfortable life.
But she is destined for greatness, I can see it. She will be better than me, than her father, than anyone in this nation. I will teach her how to be able to survive alone, because depending on people makes you vulnerable in moments like these.
My thoughts were cut off as she reaches up to hold my cheeks. Her eyes, barely open—glimmered under the moonlight, her innocent expression gazing up at me.
She looks at me, as if saying: Don't be sad. I'm here. Or maybe, I'm just drowning in sorrow—there's no way a baby could try and comfort me.
But the thought alone tugged at my heartstrings.
I will do whatever it takes to raise her. Whatever it takes to make sure she thrives, make sure she survives in this cruel world.
The Emperor is dead. A part of me, as well.
But for our daughter, I will continue living.