The Heart's Prophecy

“Your Majesty,” In the periphery of her vision, Ilyana saw a man bow. She didn’t look at him.

“Isn’t the moon beautiful?” She mused. The man stood straight in his spot. “Please, have a seat,” she said, indicating on the empty seat across from her.

The man did not move, “You called for me, Your Majesty?”

She turned in her seat to see the man dressed in a black crisp suit. She smiled at him, “Damien, please, let’s drop the formality. It’s a nice evening, after all.” She turned and leaned back to her chair, “Things have finally calmed down. We deserve some rest, don’t we?”

“Of course, of course,” Damien took his seat across from her, glowing with grace and poise. She didn’t bother adjusting herself to face him and continued to look upon the view in front of them. 

They were on her balcony. Below them was the palace courtyard, on the right she can barely make out the ocean from the darkness. On the left, the city glittered with life. The crescent moon looked like a fresh scar in the dark sky. 

No one said anything. The gentle blow of the wind was the only music until she broke their silence, “You seem to be avoiding me.”

“Not at all,” he said, “What made you say so Your--Ilyana?” 

“I don’t know. I rarely see you nowadays.”

“I am only busy with court matters. It has been a millenia since the kingdom was put into a slumber.”

“I know,” She replied. “But let’s not talk about the court. Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist. Let’s pretend I’m not an inexperienced queen of a kingdom that was newly awoken from a frozen spell and you’re not an immortal prince-slash-court adviser that has lived for five hundred years. Let’s pretend it’s the only two of us being us.”

It took him a moment to reply, “What do you wish to talk about?”

“I wish you would stop being formal.”

“I can’t help myself. I’ve been raised like this.” 

“Then, tell me about Mary.”

“Shouldn’t you know about her already? After all, you both share the same blood, the same flesh, a mirror of her own, an echo of her voice--as is prophesied.”

“Will she come back?”

“Her presence will always be presen--”

“No, then,” She interrupted. Ilyana turned at her seat to look at him, “Is it disappointing?”

“What is?”

“That she is no longer with us.”

“She has been gone longer. I’ve accepted it.”

“Are you not hurt?” 

“That she is gone? No, I am proud of the sacrifices she has made. For me, for you, for this kingdom. For her people.” 

“Was it really worth it? Sacrificing your life, like that?”

“Sacrifices has to be made--”

“Don’t you think you deserve more after being alive for five hundred years searching endlessly for the impossible?”

“Impossible? The turn of events would indicate it is possible.”

Ilyana leaned forward, “Is it really worth it to prioritize others before yourself?” She searched his face. It was a mask. It has always been, “After all you’ve been through, don’t you deserve to feel loved? To be cherished? To be part of something?”

“I am loved and cherished. I am part of something. I have all of you.”

She leaned back on the chair and slouched, her queenly etiquette thrown out of the balcony. She knew he noticed it but he did not say anything much to her relief. Sitting with her back straight gave her more pain than slouching. “I don’t know everything about her. I only know little. Little about you and her.”

“There is nothing to know about. We were separated most of our lives, as you already know.”

She stared past him, her eyes unseeing. “There are gaps in her memories--the memories of her that she lets me see. It… prickles my skin. It bothers me.”

“That is, unfortunately, a side effect of transferring one’s memories to another.”

Her sight focused on him, “It doesn’t make me less curious, though. You know what’s funny? Most of the gaps always have something with you. Why?”

“I don’t know, only she can say--”

“Do you think we’re the same person?”

She could see him take a deep breath before he answered, “No. You two are completely different yet I can see some similarit--”

“Then, I am not her.”

“Yes.”

“Yet I wear her face. Does it… scare you?”

“Why would it scare me?” He chuckled, “What do you want to say, Ilyana? I feel like we’re going in circles here.”

“Her blood may be cursing through me but we do not share the same parents. Her flesh might have made me, but I am not her. She may have shared some of her memories with me but she does not control my thoughts, my emotions--what I feel.”

For the first time since he sat on his chair, she saw a flicker of emotion in his face. Was that confusion? Curiosity? “What do you feel, Ilyana?”

“What if I feel different from her? What if I do not want to rewrite the love story she had made a thousand years ago?”

“You know fully well that prophecies cannot be avoided.”

“Do I? All my life I have let things take me—the flow take me to wherever I should be. This time, I want to control it.”

“And, how would you control it?”

“I wouldn’t be able to do so without your help.”

“Of course, anything.” 

“What? No!” I slumped into exasperation. “How can you say yes? You don’t even know what it is! Are you not exhausted from helping everyone like you’re their nanny?”

“I exist to assist you, help all of you.”

“Aren’t you tired? The world is big, Damien. It’s time you put yourself first before others.”

“I am enjoying what I do. It is my mission, my task.”

Ilyana closed her eyes. She didn’t realize he would be this hard to get through. He sounds like a robot. Impenetrable. But then, he had lived for five hundred years and more. He has gone through worse than thousands of people combined. He has lived hundreds of years getting better in his craft: hiding what he really feels.

“Ilyana?” She opened her eyes at the call of her name. “Tell me anything, and I will do so.”

“I want you to help me stop the prophecy.” A picture of broken glass swam inside her mind. A faint sob ebbed near her ears. A flash of him staring at her--at Mary--with tears welling in his eyes, broken and hurt. They constantly appeared in her mind and lingered in her ears over and over again. It came when she willed it, but it also came when she didn’t. It haunted her, these fragments of memories she has no access to. Fragments of something… she didn’t know but Damien and Mary. The girl whose face she now wears. They seem to be taunting her.

“You know that I can’t—“

“I want you to put yourself first among others.”

“I am—“

“I want to put myself, too. I don’t want myself to be dictated by the past, by the present, by the future.” She stared straight into his eyes, “Your mission is done. Let yourself be free of the shackles of the past, Demetrius.”

He blinked at his true name. He had tried to bury that name along with the memories he had a long time ago. Few people know his real name.

“The flow of life is a wicked thing. Try to stop it and it will hurt you even more until you will eventually choose the path it has chosen for you.”

“I alone will choose what path to take.” Ilyana leaned forward to the table, “I will choose what my heart will take.”

“But what the heart and the mind wants are often in conflict.”

“Exactly, and I have allied with my heart. I am tired following what my mind wants to do.” Ilyana tipped her head to the side, “On whose side are you on, Damien?”

He didn’t answer.

“Would you put yourself first or the others?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“You’re the key on breaking the prophecy.”

“What are you going to do, Ilyana?”

“I told you, I’m going to follow what my heart wants,” Ilyana held his gaze, “Have you ever tried choosing your heart once, Damien?”

“I did, once. It hurt both of us. I never tried again.”

“Try now, then.”

“What?”

“Try now and let’s see what will happen,” Ilyana paused, “Don’t you want to see?”

“This conversation seems to be going unnecessarily long,” Damien stood up, “If I want to put myself first or follow whatever my mind or heart wants, I’ll let you know. Now if you will excuse me.” Damien bowed and started to walk towards the door behind her but Ilyana’s hand shot up and wrapped around Damien’s wrist before he could step farther away. He halted but didn’t turn.

Ilyana stood up from her chair, “I want to know now, though.” She stood in front of him. They were only inches away from each other. They were so close Ilyana could hear his breath, the drop and rise of his chest. 

“How would you know what my mind or heart wants?”

“Oh, I don’t,” Ilyana looked at him, and her gaze was met by his stare. It gave away nothing. “But doing this would easily tell which one you’d follow.” Ilyana cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips to hers. She didn’t dare close her eyes, expecting him to push her away. Berate her.

Instead, Damien pulled her into a deeper kiss, a hand on the small of her back. Ilyana closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, replying her own fervor to Damien’s desperate hunger. 

For once, she let her heart take the lead.