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The war had taken its toll on them all. It had not been easy for Pansy to accept the changes it had brought, had not been easy to accept the consequences… It had not been easy to cope.
The war had taken its toll on them all, even on her, no matter how despairingly she were to deny it, no matter how often she were to force herself to smile, to smile at those who looked at her with such concern within their eyes, to smile even at her reflection within the mirror as though she were capable of deceiving herself. The war had taken its toll on them all.
She had not believed in the way her parents had believed, had not fought in the way they had fought, the way they had been forced to fight, and yet… Yet she, too, seemed to be blamed, yet it did not seem to make a difference.
The war had taken its toll on them all. Pansy had been lucky, she knew, had emerged alive, not seen her closest friends fall before her very eyes, had not lost what others had lost… But still, it was difficult, so difficult as the world she had believed to know so very well had changed, as nothing, nothing at all would ever be like before. It was difficult…
It felt like a punishment at times, a punishment even to leave the house and to feel the gazes burn upon her skin, to hear the whispers resound within her ears, a punishment for her family’s mistakes, for crimes she had not committed… A punishment… It felt like a punishment… Her punishment… It felt like a punishment at times to breathe, to still be alive, to live when others had fallen, and yet like a sin to admit it. It felt like a punishment… A punishment…
She had been lucky… Pansy had been lucky. Yet it did not feel at all like this, yet now everything seemed less, so much less than it had been before. Only few of her friends had remained, too many of them had escaped, too many of them had turned their backs to her as though she were nothing, as though merely for believing she were at fault for… A punishment…
How could this be her life? How could this possibly be her life now, after everything she had once known, after all those years of fighting, struggling, worrying? The war had taken its toll on them all, had taken any hope from her, had taken any will to go on from her parents… They had lost themselves, were no longer the same, none of them were the same…
It had not been easy for her to accept the changes, to watch her entire world, her entire life, collapse before her very eyes, to watch those she had once believed to be the strongest people she knew break. They all had broken, one by one.
She had always been there to give comfort, to her parents, her friends who had received the news they all had so constantly dreaded to receive, even to strangers she had seen perhaps once before at a dinner party. She had always been there to give them strength, as she had been lucky, so lucky not to have been injured, so lucky to be alive, so lucky to still be with her family… She had been so lucky.
But who had given her comfort? Who had given her comfort in the nights she had required it more than anything else, who had given her comfort throughout the war as she had been waiting for her parents to give notice that they were all right, that they lived, sometimes for weeks and weeks at a time? Who had given her comfort when she had believed for the darkness to reign within her forever, who had given her comfort when she had been lucked into the Dungeons, incapable of assisting in the final battle, full of uncertainty of whether they all would live to see the sunrise?
It had been her own fault.
It had been her own fault… For too long Pansy had laughed at the questions whether she was all right, for too long she had turned her back to the few people who had offered their assistance… For too long she had pushed away those who would have given her the comfort she had never dared to admit she, too, required, until one day they had stopped asking. How she regretted that now.
The war had taken its toll on them all, even on her.
It seemed so easy to surrender. It seemed so easy to slip into madness, like many of them had, seemed so easy to accept her life as lost, lost perhaps forever due to her parents’ crimes that would project upon her, to face the truth that the ghosts of the war would haunt her forever, that they would sigh even within her sleep.
Her life… Lost. Lost forever…
No. No! She was so young, Pansy was so young still, had been merely a child during the times of battle, could not surrender… She could not surrender, could not possibly surrender like so many of them had, not now, not yet… Hadn’t her family once dreamt of a life in peace? Hadn’t it been all they’d wanted, all they’d ever longed for, to find peace? Peace had come yet not for them, had come indeed, so differently than they had imagined, but it had come, peace had come, the fighting had ceased, and perhaps the hatred would too… She could not possibly surrender. She could not… She could not surrender!
The war had taken its toll on them all. But perhaps one day it would improve. Perhaps one day her life would be worth living again, perhaps one day the whispers would fall silent, the gazes upon her be averted… Perhaps one day the old crimes would be forgotten, and the children forgiven. Perhaps one day the madness would fade… Perhaps one day they would find their peace, too.
