Promise to Forget Me

"Promise me one thing before I go, Aya: promise to forget me," Marie whispered these last words into a barren, loveless room. Aya nodded absently, looking through the wardrobe while she waited for her grandmother to pass.

"I will, Marie. In my memory, you will be nothing more to me than my first kill." Aya looked back, tearless, at the bed that was no longer occupied by anyone living. Suddenly, the room seemed to smell of rot and death, the sensation causing Aya to gag. The room had transformed from a bedroom to nothing but a giant coffin in the span of that instant, and Aya ran out as fast as she could.

Marie's death was too late. In the distance, horse hooves pounded towards Aya, threatening even from the horizon. She had to escape; the clutches of the revolution were too strong. She could only hope that by killing Marie she'd gained at least a little time for the Prince.

Chest heaving with fright and exertion, she wrestled open the cellar door. It was dark, damp, and it smelled of old wine and rats. It was the perfect hiding place-

"It's too late, Aya." A revolutionist reached down from his horse and grasped the nape of her neck, lifting her off the ground.

Aya's cheeks burned with pain, rage, and humiliation. If anyone were to be treated like a naughty puppy, she thought, it should be those betraying the crown and murdering loyals!

"Aya. Did you kill Marie?" Even without looking at him, Aya recognized- and despised- the voice speaking to her.

"Officer Kendrick," she greeted, " Is this what you were planning when you askedfor my hand?"

Kendrick's hand released Aya's neck, she thudded to the ground. Aya hurried to pick herself up, ignoring the newfound pain in her ankle from the fall.

"You did kill her..." Kendrick's eyes widened. It took him a moment to think about, that his fiancee had murdered her own grandmother in cold blood. It was a good thing Aya had cast away his ring; he wouldn't have been able to bear seeing his late mother's ring on the dainty finger of a killer.

"She betrayed the crown, and so did you. You are all nothing but worthless scum, not even fit to grovel at the feet of our Prince!" Aya screamed out the last part, but quickly regained control of herself. "You are all killers, and now, proving my point, you are going to kill me, too. But Marie is dead, and without her, you can't kill the Prince. Go ahead and kill me out of temper, you mongrels. The Prince will make it out safely."

Aya doubted herself as she said this; if the revolutionaries had made it to the bridge, they would block off the Prince's escape from the capital, and it would end in victory for the enemy.

Kendrick smiled, almost gently, at his fiancee's hopeful ignorance. It was alright; he told himself. Marie's sacrifice was tragic, but not worthless; leading Aya out to the country had enabled them to draw her away long enough for the other troops to arrive at the bridge unnoticed. The crown would fall, and victory would go to the hands of justice. Marie...and Aya, too, were both tragic but necessary sacrifices for Kendrick on the road to the true betterment of the nation.

"Dear, sweet Aya..." Kendrick began. Aya's eyes widened, half of her expecting the sword that lifted from Kendrick's hilt, and the other half of her screaming in fear and betrayal.

"Justice has already been served; my troop is waiting at the bridge for the prince's arrival. Your undying loyalty to him is honorable, but unfortunately misplaced. I'm sorry this had to end this way, my sweet: you a truly a beautiful person, in many ways."

Aya did not say her last words aloud, they were only a prayer, a fruitless, hopeless prayer that the Prince might somehow make it out alive.

Kendrick did not stay behind and say goodbye; he would do his best to forget her as Aya. Instead, she would only be remembered as his first real kill. He had killed, before in battle, and he killed after, in the final fight in the capital. Kendrick killed those whose misplaced loyalty led them to violence against a noble cause. In Kendrick's eyes it was sad, but necessary: all for the betterment of a nation.

He found himself unable to forget that first kill, even through the last battle, even through the final, disgraceful end of a disgraceful line of royals. Aya's prince gasped for air and begged for his life. Kendrick lifted his sword in response, stamping on the back of a person once so high on his horse, no one could reach him with their fingertips, let alone their boot.

Kendrick considered explaining all of this to the prince. He considered explaining Aya's brave sacrifice, his people's betrayed trust that had led up to therevolution. They had killed the king, his father, and yet those people were only further betrayed by a lack of passion from his son.

He considered explaining all of this, in hope's that the prince could change, and would. But Kendrick knew, in his head, that the prince wouldn't change no matter how much he explained, and Aya wouldn't have changed no matter how much he loved her.

Kendrick said few words before he pulled the last root from the ground, a little tendril that was the remains of a long-lived plant of corruption.

"We will all forget you. Die."

Kendrick sat on stone steps a few minutes after this, looking down at city of carnage. It occurred to him, on those castle steps, that the carnage was just a physical expression of the struggle which the castle had looked down on for 3 generations. It didnt bother him much, and he dismissed the thought.

The war was finally over, and the nation would finally be at peace. It was better, infinitely. And yet...his mind races back, over and over, to happy memories; memories of Aya. There was no one there to help him forget.

"You know what, Aya? I may not be able to keep promises, after all. I promised I'd marry you; you died unwed. I promised I'd protect you; I killed in my own power. I promised I'd forget you; and yet, here we are."

The rest of his prayer was silent, to himself more than to any spirit listening in. I promise to forget you Aya. But for now, let me remember just a little longer. Not for the betterment of the nation. This time, just for me.