Forty Years Isn't So Long. . .

by Hidden Brony

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Sad, Dark
Length: 1157

Some hold up to the test of time better than others.

Some hold up to the test of time better than others.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-19 17:30:16 UTC

. . . Because Eternity Is Forever

Forty years. That felt like forever, once.

Seems like a long time, doesn't it? To some it is. In the eyes of a mortal, it’s nigh on an eternity. Imagine it. Forty years is over half of the average age of a mortal. Many of you are not even forty years of age at this moment, so you cannot accurately imagine the immensity and minisculity of that long, too short period of time.

To the immortal? Those same forty years are like the blink of an eye. Just ask my Aunts. Time had made them so jaded, it took a thousand years of absence for them to feel it. I had a love, once. We were so happy. Forty years of happiness.

And now it seems like only a second.

I loved him so dearly. I can almost remember. Time passed so quickly. Our springtime love bloomed into a summer of passion, yet as my sun remained high and bright, his set into a bittersweet autumn.

Eventually, he left me. With one last weak kiss, he left me.

My husband, my King.

Only a handsome statue beside a tomb. Not enough. Not ever enough. It snowed for the first time in the lives of the new generation. I fear it worried most of the older citizens into their graves as well. The last remnants of the old rule. Even with all that had occurred, I stayed strong, even if alone. A bright shining star for my people. A perfect example until I was behind closed doors.

Time passed, as it does. With the passage of time, came the fading of memory. His voice, his scent, his touch, all started to be lost to me until I had a wonderful idea.

I set about freeing a few of my subjects from their duties, sending them to mine fresh, virgin crystals. I took volunteers, of course. I couldn't force them to return to the mines after hearing the horror stories from their elders. Within days I had dozens of volunteers. Waiting to serve me, to do what it would take to ease my pain.

Not even days later, I started receiving loads of unspoilt crystal. Spiriting them away to my private vaults, I imprinted everything onto them. Every one of my memories.

Babysitting his sister with him. Her young squeals of terrified joy as he chased her around the room, only to be foiled by her ever-impregnable book fort. Her sighs of disappointment when we put her in the other room for bed, to have the rest of the night to ourselves. To be friends, and eventually for him to decide he wanted us to be more. Of course, I obliged him.

Dating. His fumbling attempts of keeping proper posture and vernacular. His stuttering attempts to explain the thoughts going through his head, always sounding more adorable than he intended. His inevitable blushes whenever I teased him in just the right way. His offer to walk me home after every dinner or play. Asking me for another date with nervousness under the imposing height of the castle facade, never finding it easier than the time before. Of course, I obliged him.

Kissing. His shock at the feel of my lips on his. His fumbling, adorable attempt to ask for another one before I went inside. The slow lengthening of each caress, until one day we were forced to come up for breath, embarrassed and unwilling to ask for more, even knowing that the other wouldn't say no. The welcome home either of us received after a trip of any length. The welcome home I received one day after being gone for a month.

Of course, I obliged him.

Our wedding. The feeling of bliss as we used our love to banish those that would feed off of it. Righting all the wrongs of the past. The perfect wedding. The lovely singing voice of his sister providing the backtrack to our slow dance. The way that everything faded around us, leaving just the music, him, and me. All alone in a group of dozens. His whispered words, promising that he would always love me.

Our marriage. The many years of our rule. Pouring everything we had into the happiness of our people. The diplomats we hosted, the countries we traveled too. Learning that I would never bear foals of my own. The breakdown. The talk of adoption, and the decision to make our people our child.

Our love.

I spent every second I could reminiscing in those vivid holograms. I appointed a regent to handle all but the most important parts of running the country, opting to lock myself in my room, to never be away from my love any longer than I needed to be. To never lose him again. Not again.

Quickly I shut down a few unnecessary programs, diverted more labor into the mines. The crystals flowed more frequently, but never frequently enough. They never had enough supply for my demand. Each passing day I forgot memories before I could imprint them and keep them forever.

It was unacceptable.

Day and night I kept the mines open, and every day I poured more of my people into them. The economy waned, most jobs besides mining faded away. I hardly cared. Nothing besides my love mattered to me.

Nothing.

You can understand my pain when I came to my chamber one evening and found my favorite bedside crystal cracked and useless. It was the most important memory of my wedding night. Not the entire thing, neither ceremony nor sex. Just the memory of him kissing me on the dance floor and promising to love me forever.

Gone.

Gone from my head, gone from my heart, a large rend in its side rendering it useless in its storage.

The maid’s pain was not one hundredth of my own.

Every second of the next three days was spent doing everything I could think of to hurt her, to make sure she understood the pain she had inflicted upon me. I taught her with whip and brand and knife, her pitiful blubbering attempts to ask me to stop only provided more fuel for my wrath. She swore that it wasn't her. She lied. I broke her.

Completely.

She passed a few days later. There were a few new crystals for me to lose myself in after that day. To remember her face, her flesh, her screams. My subjects have taken to calling me the Weeping Queen. I find it hard to care.

A cold blizzard came that evening. I took to fur cloaks to stay warm. Memories of summer days long past could not warm the flesh, but they kept my heart alive—my pain at bay—as long as I had them. So long as I had them, I still had him. I still had my love. I still had my. . .

Crystals.