The majestic crystallized throne room was tainted with the liquid that signified sacrifices, voluntarily or not, of both the conscripts and elites that joined in on both faction's vehement combat. The post-combat high died slowly as the echos of grunts, chokes, gags, and screams echoed to null, the density of fallen soldiers thinning out each inch closer to end of the room where the royal throne was situated. In front of the resting place of regalia stood the prim and proper mistress herself, panting heavily due to the recent fight with her perfectly kept pasty coat dulled with the colors of tussles and violence. The royal figure laid an unopposed glare towards the mare she was facing, an opposing warmonger with a tainted carnation hue that was the result of the same crux that spoiled the tyrant. The mare in question was in the same state of exhaustion, with her mane, torn and grimy, and her hooves, chipped and spent, from the years she dedicated against the evil system that was enforced by the black widow standing opposite to her.
"Your majesty..." The guerrilla leader spoke, with a venomous sting of loathing, masked with a malicious beam.
"Pinkie..." The fascist sovereign replied reservedly, with the given emotions identical to her rival.
Silence, with the exemption of the two's expeditious breathing, prevailed over the entire room. 'This was it' both of them thought and it was, indeed. Years and years of constant bickering, all of them forcing both sides to loose and gain repetitively, leading to a stalemate, but after one recent golden opportunity for the rebellion, they have finally come to this moment. All of the skirmishes, the killing, the public executions, the espionage, the betrayal, and other harsh decisions that they have made has made the intended outcome finally come to fruition.
But yet, none of the two seemed to move a muscle. Someone could walk in the room and think that they were having a staring contest, minus the dead bodies all around.
The individuals were yet again in another impasse. On Pinkie's mind, she couldn't get herself to end the horrible mare facing her for she had too much emotions running through her head: sadness, anger, grief, confusion, pity. She stood there, simply stunned by all of the conflicting thoughts on her mind. Rarity's situation was also the same, with all of her ruthless resolves towards her subjects and the recent revolution, she still had her own moral dispute to herself, leaving her as an iron queen to the masses, but a wailing witch in her quarter.
They both wondered what the hell they were fighting for.
As they held their standoff, the battlements outside had also resided. The sound of footsteps of the foot soldiers of Rarity's empire were gradually getting louder as they were ascending to the room that the two queens were in, following them were the furious shouts and rapid chase of Pinkie's people, ready to take both them and their leader down once and for all. The two squads finally met and started to exchange militaristic blows, bullets whizzing and swords clashing. The bloodshed had stumbled on to the entrance of the throne room. What followed had instantly ceased everyone's bickering to a standstill.
Pinkie slapped Rarity sharply, making the sound emanate across the room, cutting the noise of the soldiers' fighting beside them.
Both of the sides' pawns were stupefied by the action, but once was again spurred into motion with an officer's command.
"She has hit the grand empress! Kill her!"
The respective troopers of the empress' clique disregarded their current fight and charged to the freedom fighter leader, head on. This was halted as swiftly, however, by a wave of hoof by the vicious leader herself.
"No, I order you to stand down." The dusted pearl white figure instructed as she lifted her head back up to face the passionate eyes of her challenger, tears welling up on their sides.
The bandaged figure of the spark of change had broken down, her tears flowing down from her eyes, as everyone stared at her, subconsciously waiting for her next move. They were however snapped back to attention when another swift crackle rang across the crowd.
Rarity slapped Pinkie back, same welling liquid forming in her own eyes.
Silence, with the exemption of the two's expeditious breathing and sobs, prevailed over the entire room once again. Neither force dared to interrupt. All eyes were focused on the two embodiments of power as they were both sobbing, acting off character from their respective images and causes.
For the pair, there was no one else in the room, in fact, no room at all. There was no war, no death around them, no bruises on them, just her and her alone. Both of them constantly staring deep at each other, the same thing that they've been doing the whole time they were standing. Then, as though as they had the same thought, as though as they were one, they moved closer, no words exchanged, and in their thoughts, no words needed.
They both leaned in, made contact, and kissed with fervor and zeal.
They didn't know why they did, after all, they were mortal enemies, polar opposites, rivals, and yet there they were, simply letting go and giving in the intense moment. It may have been the confusing thoughts, the swelling feelings over the years they've fallen out, the sudden realization of their spontaneous love for one another. To them, however, none of that mattered now. The fighter and the autocrat, finally together, as one, with their love sealed, knowingly unbreakable. They pulled back, with a smile on their faces that shared both sadness and happiness. 'The irony...' They thought, reflecting about how their intimacy was revealed by fighting.
But in the end, they had each other. In the heat of battle.
Author's Note
Alternate Title:
Why I don't write romance fics
First draft reaction:
....the heck....
Editing:
What did I just write...
Publishing:
May Celestia have mercy on me.
So, on a more serious note: Congratulations! If you are reading this, then that means you have survived the horrors of the Tartarus of writing.
As I have said, this is a contest entry for the TSSSF contest, and I must admit, the story came out pretty horrid. I like it.
Fun facts:
The story has exactly 1000 words.
I made this a day before the end day mark of the submission to juice out cliche ideas in time pressure.
I didn't have coffee again.
Hope you have the desire to throw this piece of writing in flames! Don't worry, I'll get the pitchforks!
(If you did enjoy it however, uhm....thanks, but I would honestly suggest to ante up your taste a bit.)
