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This time, I’m going to dance with you.
His intentions rang clear within her mind, she still recalled the boldness, the brashness of those words he dared to utter within her presence — such arrogance, others would not dare to speak to her the way he spoke to her. Yet, it would be a lie to say that Edelgard was not drawn in by his natural charisma nor the boyish insouciance that he feigned within the view of others. Edelgard saw him, she noticed the mask he so meticulously donned — perhaps, it was a projection or perhaps, it was the truth. He smiled so sweetly yet, the smile was evidently a mask he wore to shield himself, much like how she donned an armour forged from ice, he wore the sunshine as if it was a meager adornment for him to don. As if a moth to a flame, she graciously took his hand into her own.
That night Edelgard had danced with others and yet, all came with intentions to scheme to lurk within the shadows of the future emperor for their own gains. Such acts and such lavishings they dared to promise her only came with the emotions of agitation, of numbness, and of disenchantment. Not one figure saw her beyond the armour she donned nor the wealth her family could offer and yet, ironic as it was, it was Claude von Riegan whose eyes could pierce through her own and gaze directly upon the soul she so desperately hid from the views of others.
Through her eyes, he was the true witness to her soul: his bright eyes brimmed of sincerity, unmasking and thawing the icy barriers she conjured around her heart. In truth, her heart beat faster than she could have ever anticipated — as if it was palpitating, as if it gnawed at her bones and only wished to leap out of her ribcage and into Claude’s palms. In his eyes, she witnessed sincerity, she witnessed the glean that she never seen in the past — his smile never reached his eyes, much like how she could never smile for it too, would never reach her eyes. And yet, the flame burned so brightly, so brilliantly that she could’ve sworn his presence blinded her.
Eyes so bright remind her of the sun that glares along the coast of Enbarr, the shores that bring golden sand. Memories that tasted so sweet, that tasted of the comforts of saltwater and seaweeds. A memory that has been corroded with the vitriol of blood in her mouth, a memory that was contaminated by the marrings on her flesh. The phantoms never forget. They ache at the point of laceration, they ache when she feels his gaze searing into her soul, as if her heart could not bear the sincerity he carries.
It is guilt that palpitates through her bloodstream. She, who wears the mask of the Flame Emperor once ordered for his head, for his life to be taken without hesitation. Corroded souls does not deserve tenderness that he offers. In his name, she scribed the title of foe without hesitation and in cold blood, she would not hesitate to take his life. The girl who once offered her heart to the world had long died, now, only the fruition of the Hresvelg legacy stands Edelgard von Hresvelg — she, who would not blink to take the lives of others if it means fulfilling her ambitions. first, there was Dimitri — oh, the boy she so proclaimed to be her first love, the person she ever learned to love… he was her brother, he was both of kin and of kind. golden locks that remind her of the wintry weathers of Faerghus, of the nights where they would settle before the fireplace and bask in each other’s presence. He tasted like soured nostalgia, as if a memory of a distant past that she so desperately much hold onto, even if it pains her to wonder… if, and only if she stayed in the warmth of her mother’s arms and remained in Fhirdiad — then perhaps, she would’ve never suffered. Then, there was Claude von Riegan. He, an enigma wrapped up in a boyish insouciance charm, a smile so bright yet so false. She was wary of him when she first laid eyes upon him — a mystery heir that seemingly appeared out of nothingness, a man with intentions that she could not decipher. Perhaps, she was projecting her sense of falsity onto him but she knew, it was more merciful to have taken his head than to have him suffer.
But he was fighting to survive, just as she was.
He fought, he fought valiantly and triumphed. Perhaps, that is the price of underestimating him. Perhaps, to see even a flicker of the flame that burned within him, the flame that carried his soul in his eyes caused the guilt to only palpitate, to ache through her bones as if she understands that she has no right to this brilliance. Her gaze remain heavenward, mesmerized by those verdant eyes. He reminds her of the beaches of Enbarr. The cool, esoteric exchanges between them as she follows his lead. He, the guiding wind, and she, the content follower allows him to lead her on a journey she did not realize she had embarked upon.
Then he dipped her.
In that instance, her lips parted and she felt the warmth in his touch against her. She felt the warmth that emitted from his extremities, and goodness, if she could she would allow herself to drown in him. In that instance, she shed her armour and tore down those castle walls that she so carefully built around her.
She recalls the faint fragrance associated with him and her heart races at the thought of him. He, ever so brilliant as if the sun basking the others in his warmth, in his radiance, and ever so imposing and she, akin to the moon, lurks in the shadows and exists in solitude. The sun and the moon are never meant to cross paths — yet, here she is, lured by his charm, by his smile and his presence. Here they are, standing at the crossroads between heaven and earth.
He, the embodiment of a heavenly light that nourishes, that nurtures, that invites the presence of others, and she, the very representation of hellfire. She burns, she singes, and is every way calculating as she is manipulative. Edelgard is the kindling of a funeral pyre, the one to burn this very establishment to the grounds and into ashes — she, like wildfire only have investments in her own ambitions, in her own goal and would demolish whatever obstacles that come her way.
Oh, monstrous is the Lady of Hresvelg. Underneath doe eyes, twinkling gazes lie the ambitions of a demon that inhabits her body. Two crests should not mingle, the monstrosity of the Crest of Flames, carried by the King of Liberation — the thief, nemesis and the holy blood of Saint Seiros herself. She, a hybrid of conflicting ideals, of bloods that corrode one another only amalgamates her very physicality.
Claude von Riegan is playing with fire.
With that devil may care smile, that insouciance he portrays he is surely going to be burned. Burned at every edge and every inch of his flesh. She has no right to his brilliance, no right to think about the possibility of sharing their hearts for if he pries deep enough, he would surely turn his heels and run. After all, what kind of person orders the death of her peers without so much as to batting an eyelash? He’s playing with fire and she knows of her own dangers, she knows the pyres that burn deep within her chest — there is no room for coexistence. He would never understand and she does not expect him to.
Thus, she only raises her brow in his direction. Such confessions, such professions must be of the shallow nature — for if he even dared peek into who she truly is, it would surely shatter this image he have of her. The Flame Emperor and her are one, both culminating of rage, of vengeance, of sorrows wept by the Adrestian people. For too long, had she suffered and yet, here he stands, the very embodiment of a heartbreak.
Never would she allow herself to bear her sorrows onto him. Never would she allow him in only for him to leave for if he never saw, never gained her trust to begin with then the heartbreak, then the betrayal would amass to nothing. But if she is to allow him to enter into the space beneath her skin, into the ribcage that guards her heart… then, the chances of her surviving is slim to none — and she knows if she is to shatter her heart, then she could never guide the land to prosperity.
"What is it that you hope to gain from this, Claude?" her words coated in the frigidity of winter, as if the barriers that once barricaded her had arise from the ashes once more. Hand by her side, she balls her fingers into a fist whilst resisting the temptation to clench, to show any signs of distress or uncertainty. Amethyst eyes steel itself to meet his, and her resolve remains unwavering.
And for a second there, she is ready to cave.
Her gaze, longing, as if wishing to tell him that his affections are mutual; wishing to tell him that she too, feels compelled by him and he too, lures her as if a fish to a bait. Yet, she could not bring herself to utter those words of sentiments. Her lips tremble, and she only bites back on the utterance of her true sentiments.
Thus, Edelgard turns on her heels and walks away.
She longs to see the sun in his eyes, to see the brilliance in his smile.
But Edelgard does not.