Diamond Tears: Sneak Peek

             Golgata castle quivered violently under the strike of a catapult, debris and dust raining down onto the throne room floor. A cool breath escaped the emperor’s lips, but he gave no acknowledgement to the encroaching threat, sitting in solemn silence upon his throne. The cries of battle redoubled, Emperor Imre reaching behind his shoulders to throw a decorated hood over his head, all but two burning indigo eyes now covered in shadow. The war, and his suffering in it, were finally at their end. A shuffling at the doorway drew the young lord’s attention, his gaze breaking through the increasing darkness of night to track the new arrival. In a flash of firelight, a mere weasel of a man stumbled forward.

             “They have breached the city walls, my Lord!’ the entering servant cried out. “The queen and her troops will soon be upon us!” The timid man fell to his knees before Alexander’s throne, the claw of dread barely held back behind his lowered eyes. “The high council has fled, and they have requested you evacuate from the castle immediately to seek shelter in the outlands. There, you will be safe.” The middle aged man nervously swept graying locks of hair from his eyes, pointlessly straightening his tunic and buttoned overcoat, a means of distraction. “The cause dies without you, my lord.” His eyes fell once more.

               Emperor Imre looked down at the trembling man, pitying him for the hope he still held. Did he not understand that this was the end? That there were no second chances? Regardless of the moment's impotence, Alexander rose slowly in response to his servant's words, and turned from his black marbled chair to face the daunting windows behind, gazing off into the distant sea. The waves rose like mist to a mountain, so full of calm; and yet crashed down with thunderous applause, turning over themselves until there was nothing left. It was as if the momentary peace were nothing but a taunt. For the sea was terrifying. The sea was beautiful. But he had never taken the time to admire it, to appreciate its salty breeze upon his face, his feet sinking in the wispy sand, or the sounds of sweet freedom teasing his ear. It was a bitter shame. 

                Alexander focused onto his own shimmering reflection within the glass windows, his eyes passing over every scar and mark of time to finally meet his own gaze. In light of his impending death he could finally admit it: there was nothing left. High Emperor, lord, warrior, conqueror, king, was all that remained of him. His first name, his true name, meant nothing. Those who had even known it, who had spoken it with care, were long gone. What a pitiful existence. 

An explosion, nearer than the last, shook the eastern wall, cracking the beautiful stained glass windows down their center. The prostate servant cowered further, quickly throwing two pale hands over his head, as if that meager act would provide protection. The sounds of battle came closer with every second, counted down by wavering breaths and drops of sweat. It was true, Alex realized, focusing back upon the sea, he had fallen into the role, and fit the enemies narrative rather well. He was a dangerous war lord, dark magician, cruel king, false god, and every vile thing between. The world feared him, but not enough to bow before his will. His subjects and followers adored and respected him, but they were simply too small in number to stand a chance against the horrifying power of the enemy. 

           He sighed as the previous years of turmoil and loss played before his eyes. They had been so close to greatness, so very close; but his own naivety and lack of foresight had doomed them to fail. Just like his master, he had promised peace, tranquility, and lasting victory, only to learn that such things couldn’t last. A bitter taste seeped from his soul and onto the tip of his tongue. 

           “My Lord, if you refuse to leave,” the servant whispered once again, fear of imminent death leaking through every crease in his brow, “what are we to do?” It was apparent that his primal state as prey now outweighed any ingrained reverence for his emperor, lest he would not have spoken out of turn. It was fight or flight, and his choice was evident. 

Alexander overlooked the insolence of the man’s question, turning from the ocean’s entrancing arms. The moon’s reflection fired rays of wavering white light past his intimidating visage as he turned, eclipsing him in a pale shadow.

            “We stand for what we believe, my friend.” Alexander rounded his throne, leaning against it. “We fight for the better world we were trying to create. And we sink beneath the waves in peace, knowing that we have nothing left to give.” His words were spoken with such deep-set conviction that the pale servant was given strength to stand, though certain doom was likely the last thing he had wanted to hear. 

              The imposing young emperor, fighting through the man’s overwhelming weakness, saw a heart that had been willing to stand by his side for years of violence and uncertainty. He was a loyal man. If ordered to lay down his life he would do so a thousand times over.

              “You have served me well.” Alexander dipped his chin in recognition. “So I release you from your duties, if such an escape appeals to you. But I must stay. My life will fall alongside all those who have suffered and died before me. The little of my honor that remains holds me to this end.” Alex’s hand unconsciously moved to lay on his sword handle, a weapon once held by his most loyal friend. “We have begged the stars and gods above to grant us victory, to allow peace and prosperity once more... but we have been refused, just like so many before us. Eternal judgment is all that remains.” 

              The young emperor watched as the lowly servant shed a silent tear, bowing before the only one he had ever served. In that moment Alex could sense the man drawing towards the final glory of battle. A desire to bleed the valor of sacrifice and scream truth until the silence overtook him. But the light died in his eyes as his heart was drowned in trepidation. And if there was one thing that Alexander had learned, it was that such a power as fear was near impossible to overturn. The servant swiveled on his heel and fled, a sad melancholic smile blossoming onto his master’s face, shining in an almost charming manor. As if on cue, Alex heard the haunting cracks and groans of battle gradually approaching the doors to the throne room. His companions and brothers in arms were no doubt dead; slaughtered mercilessly for their daring to believe in something greater. And finally, he would be able to join them.

              The wall opposite of his throne quivered under yet another impact, portions of the stone crumbling under the pressure. His ever loyal councilmen, though they tried even now to escape, would surely be met with the same fate, their family names soon to be tarnished and ripped upon by history.  A flaming boulder flashed by the northern windows, striking the castle gardens in a sunset flash. All of the deep velvet pockets which had once been overflowing with gold and jewels of every kind were now dried and empty, years of their lives stolen as all hope was burned to a crisp. The last of his men, distant silhouettes behind stained glass, were cut down. Every city and town had been erased, every loyal citizen and believer executed. A battle ram pounded against the locked doors, rattling the metal fortifications. There was nothing left to fight for. All he could do was honor their sacrifice, and perish with a hellfire of defiance still gleaming in his eyes. 

              The young lord’s gaze fell upon the garden to his left, the last hedges barely visible from his throne. All the trees and flowers were ablaze, a peaceful sanctuary filled with fallen men, fallen memories. He remembered a day when he had danced in that place, beneath the moonlight, with the one he loved. A time when his burden was not so great, so lonesome. A silent tear rolled down his quivering cheek. The rage he felt was unparalleled by any living man. But soon, the fire in his stomach calmed to a mere crackle, he would dance with his love again; the sun would shine upon his face and he would not feel ashamed. The iron head of a battle ram cracked through the throne room doors, splinters sailing through the air.

                Alexander funneled waves of magic into his lower shoulders, setting free two dark feathered wings of ash-swelling shadow. He mustered a sad smile as they beat lightly against the air, sighing with great relief as his body connected to the fluttering waves upon his back. Their presence felt almost like meeting an old friend. The ram struck again, cracking like thunder as the door-hinges bent in half, surrendering to the enemy. He reached down to his left hip and lovingly unsheathed his only consistent companion through it all, the blade catching the torch light and reflecting silver beams onto the tall stone walls of the castle. The flames were all but mundane compared to Alex’s intimidating silhouette. He was an emperor, a warrior, a king. But what chance did he stand against a god?

               He continued to admire the pure and perfect blade, running his left hand delicately over the flat surfaces as the throne room doors came crashing down. Countless lives had ended to the song of this sword. Some had been deserving. Others had simply found themselves in the way. He remembered then, as a thousand souls danced upon his hilt, that violence itself was necessity to the nature of life. He had learned through blood and blade that those who tasted power, who drank the red wine of control, could never be satisfied by anything less than more. Self consuming desire, fear, and apathy, were victorious enemies of progress, of tranquil life. He exhaled slowly as the magnificent tall doors, lying half connected, were blown to dust in a great flash of viscous light, opening the floor completely for his new guests. Death had finally come for him.

                 Emotionless, Alexander watched as High Queen Aetheria strode confidently into the vaulted room, shining like a war goddess. Her chestplate was golden-plated and covered in diamond studs, with brilliant white vines that wove from plate to plate, creating an image worthy of her majesty. Greaves clung to her shins and pauldrons rested upon her shoulders, crafted of the same gold coated iron, and adorned with engraved white wings, every plate and stud worked to perfection by the finest aero smiths. She shined brighter than the sun, and demanded reverence with every step, radiating regality and wisdom that seemed far too great for one of her youthful appearance. Her broadsword, Titanis, was sheathed at her side, rustling with every step. 

                As her presence drew near, light was gradually cast upon the emperor’s once concealed face, revealing nothing but pure malevolence. Alexander’s eyes were blackened ice; his lips breathed hell fire, he held death in one hand and incontestable strength in the other. But his adversary would not be intimidated. The Queen opened her own grand white wings, extending them to full length, where they seemed to span the entirety of the room. Her feathers drifted and danced on an invisible wind and long golden hair lay across her armored back and shoulders, complementing the heart stopping beauty of her timeless face. She was a glorious presence, one that could eclipse even the darkest night. She was eternal, Alex knew, but not immortal. This goddess could die, and would, by his own hand.

                 Soldiers of the Aero Empire shuffled by the decimated doorway, but refused to enter; a wall of weathered warriors. The seated emperor didn’t engage, and as he had predicted, the Queen stopped at the center of the room. Though he hated to admit it, she was the closest any being would get to divinity. As far as the commoners knew she had existed since the beginning of time, and would live to see the sun burn out and the stars fade. But of course, he knew better. Alex’s soul burned within at the mere thought, and his heart turned black, clenching a fist around the handle of his sword. He would fight ferociously and without mercy, until his final breath.

                  A second group of adversaries finally entered, the soldiers parting like wild grass for their superiors. Walking with steady confidence, resolute behind the golden queen, were four gray cloaked wizards, every one a decorated member of the Councillium Venecus, and hand chosen for this very hour. They held curving iron staffs with unique gemstones at their heads, and a variety of sheathed single handed swords. Though their presence came as no surprise, Alex’s mouth instantly dried. Wizards were revered as some of the most powerful beings in all of Sola. Their acknowledgment of his preeminence during the war could have been a source of pride, but such vanity was unavailing when set against the ultimate truth that he couldn’t win.

                  “Death to the false king!” one of the soldiers cried from the rear guard. His cry  ignited a bloodthirsty cheer as the wizards encroached upon the Queen’s position.

                    The wizards halted their approach once they had fallen into line with Queen Aetheria, staring down her only son, the man standing between them and worldwide peace. Alexander ignored their glares to meet his mother’s broken yet unwavering gaze, a wordless declaration that his own willpower matched hers. Behind the walls of the throne room, scattered battles continued to rage on, metal ringing, soldiers roaring, and the ground quaking with reverence. Every man in the city was fighting till their last breath. Their blood belonged to the cause.

                    He knew very well that his mother had expected as much, but also knew that their desperation to win and survive was costing her and all of her allies dearly. The Queen’s lips couldn’t escape a desperate dip, her son catching the subtle detail. In some twisted way, she still loved him. Even though he had committed countless atrocities, somehow, her affection fought for life. She had raised him, cared for him, and would never lose hope for his redemption. 

                    It was true that his intentions had always been pure, and though they now hated each other, she understood him. Their final words before his banishment years before were evidence enough of that. But intentions wouldn’t amount to anything. She believed his perception of reality was forever blurred and meddled by his old master. And he believed that she, along with all the other leaders of the world, were nothing but conceited power mongers of one singular breed. He was forced to admit, looking upon the consequences of his war, that he had fallen in love with the idea of creating a new world, of being the hero, and had poisoned himself to believe he was righteous. Regardless of his own failure, the cause remained true, remained pure.

                    Silence had carried on, the soldiers shuffling in tension, ready to burst. Taking advantage of the moment, Alex began to cast defensive spells, unspoken words gliding about his mind in acrobatic fashion. The Queen was faltering, and her men knew it. Uncertain glances were passing between them. Silently, tears began to fall from his mother’s solemn and ever dignified face. It pained him to see her in such a state of anguish. Even after all she had done to him, and the innocents beneath her golden boots, he still cared for her, in spite of hating her. Alas, he could not explain it, nor redeem it. He had come to terms with that loss long ago. For nothing comes without a price. And the greater the reward, the more one must pay. He had always known, with no mercy to his soul, that the reward he was seeking was worthy of any cost. The fact that he still loved his enemy made him weak, and it consumed him with bitter loathing. Finally, his patience ran dry.

                  “So, this is the end?” Alexander began, motioning around the large room with open arms, his sword swinging past his enemies. “The holiest of heroes have descended from their places on high to liberate the helpless people below. To kill the false king.” His gaze bore into his adversaries one by one, credence in his own ability challenging them to make the first move. But as he had predicted, they stayed in place, awaiting the queen’s orders. “You’re pathetic,” he continued. “The strongest, richest, and most prominent men of the era, finally sacrificing their own resources, warriors, and lives, to stamp out the commoners’ last hope.” He dramatically turned his head, contorting his face in false consideration. “If I remember correctly, the famines, civil wars, and struggles of your neighbors were never of concern to you before. Why now, should you care about the people outside of your own walls?” He accused them with ferocity, sneering with an overpowering disgust. “We all know the truth. But even after your terrible lies and crimes, the massacres, the poverty, the subjugation and oppression; I still showed you the greater vision and the greater world, offering a path to redemption. But it was a fool's hope, they say, the actions of a boy. Some… are beyond saving.” Queen Aetheria’s eyes flashed with righteous light at the threatening warrior before her. There was no shame nor regret left to give. She had created this monster. It was her duty to lay it to rest.

                     Alexander allowed a moment to pass, inhaling the tension with a bitter grin. A final attack began slithering from the blackest corner of his soul to the tip of his tongue, subconsciously stalling for time.

                   “It was your fear,” he accused, “fear of losing power, that finally forced you to action. You haven't fought to liberate those I have conquered, or to save Sola from my wrath. You have murdered and wreaked havoc to preserve your order, and to keep those below you in eternal dependence upon your leadership.” The wizards narrowed their eyes at the audacious young emperor, mutterings of violence passing under every breath. How dare he insult the goddess?

                    “You brought this upon yourself,” Aetheria finally struck back, forcefully angling her body towards the shadow entwined emperor. “Even when you had freed the subjugated kingdoms, established your reign, and completed your empire, you still needed more. And when total destruction was the only path to remain, you still refused to turn back.” Alex gave a mirthful chuckle as he continued to stare her down, a flash of fire from the window seeming to seep into his jagged black armor.

                     “You’re right,” he conceded, derision rising with every word. “I brought this upon myself… when they slaughtered my people in the streets! When they marched on innocent cities under a banner of peace!” His arms were thrown out wide once again, a handsome face transforming into a vile tapestry of malevolence. “I could’ve let these sick kings live, I could have let the people suffer, I could have turned my back on a better world. Like you.” He paused to bend his lips into an arrogant and slightly regretful smile, beginning his descent from the throne down to floor level, his black cloak flowing over the steps. “But I was shown the truth, and I had to protect our people, our world, because you wouldn’t.” He imbued his voice with smooth confidence, but it's broken undertone, that he could not hide, was captured by the Queen. Through the flash of her eyes he knew it tore her heart. But he had lost more than even she could fathom. Though he tried to force it, there was not a glimpse of resentful satisfaction to be drawn from his last stand.

                     “I lied to you,” Aetheria whispered, “and that is something I cannot remedy. But Talose manipulated you into continuing this war. And if you still can't see that, then ask yourself, where is your master now?” She was prodding him earnestly, but Alexander didn’t give up any ground, for she knew nothing of the truth. The Queen leaned slightly forward, dropping a hand towards her blade as he slowly approached. “I understand the threats you saw in the future, the pain and persecution that you wished to take from the innocent. I know that your only desires were to save and to protect,” her voice reached out for him, a small candle of hope that had been pushed away still alive in the deepest caverns of her heart. “But you, my son, have crossed every line. And one way or another, you must pay for your actions.” The four wizards behind her began to conjure up countless spells and wards, preparing for what could very well be their final moment. 

                     Alex took note of their tension, but did nothing. He had reached the final step and was now directly in the enemy's line of fire. With a deep sigh his cloak and hood wavered upon his heavily armored form, the salty sea wind invading through the various gaps in the decimated walls to dance with his black locks of hair. The wings upon his back were shimmering in a playful dark mist, tense and ready to move. Though he looked forward to the peace before him, he would still miss the touch of life. It was a terrible struggle, a culmination of misery and regret; but even to feel at all was a blessing he took for granted. His work was far from over, a remaining dew drop of despair to torment his soul. But he had come to terms with his own inevitable demise long ago. He still had hope, even if only a little, in the dream… though someone else would have to carry it on.

Under the violent symphony of war, a whispering order rose from Aetheria, her voice soft like that of an angel.

                     “End this.”

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                                                                                                  Chapter ???

                Alexander entered into the castle gardens, running a hand over the soft petals of an evening primrose. The flowers glowed in the navy arching sky as a gentle brushing breeze laughed through every thin bush. Liata was waiting in starlight, sitting upon a stone bench while staring up at the clear shimmering moon. Her long brunette hair swayed gently with the breeze, and her smile put every iridescent flower to shame with its glow. Her skin was clear and slightly pale in the yellow light and her brown eyes swirled with constellations as she soaked in deep thought. Alex stood for a moment at the entrance to the central clearing, leaning against a blossoming pink cassia tree, hidden in its subtle shadows. Liata slowly lowered her chin with a cool exhale. She spotted him out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t contain her laughter.

              “Is it polite to stare in capital culture?” she called, Alex smiling as he swept from the darkness. 

             With but a step he was out onto the mossy stone square, approaching the center fountain adjacent to the beautiful maiden, his eyes never leaving her. Stopping at the bubbling water, he stuck his left hand into the chilling waves. Then, without any words, he accessed just a little of his power and fired a spray of misty water at Liata. She cried out, covering her face. It was now Alexander’s turn to laugh as she swept wet and heavy strands of hair from her face. He leaned against the edge of the dark-stone structure and caressed the magic runes that made it possible, feeding a little extra power into it. The fountain grew in size.

             “Would you like some more water?” he chuckled.

             “No, I believe I am quite refreshed.” Lia drearily rose and approached Alexander, with eyes of golden desire. He opened his arms as she approached and held her close by the waist. Standing on her toes, she stood face to face with him and leaned in. Alexander closed his eyes. Then he was falling, crashing into the water behind him. Lia was bent over laughing as Alex pushed himself up from the thin pool, his clothes now dripping wet.

             “Now, we are even,” she stuttered through her spasms of laughter, “I don’t need unfathomable power to get my revenge. And you shouldn’t forget it.” Alex frowned as he looked at his clothes, but it only took one look at Lia for his frown to transform. He couldn’t look at her without his soul raising a cheer. Without wasting any more time, he lifted himself out of the fountain and approached his true place of belonging. She looked at him with a playful nervousness, as if she were expecting a retaliation. The thought did cross Alex’s mind, but he elected to go another direction.

             “How about a dance?” he said, raising an eyebrow. Lia scrunched up her face in suspicion, expecting a trap.

             “I don’t see why not. It’s been a long time, hasn't it?” 

             As soon as she spoke the truth out into the open air, any thought of childishness vanished. Suddenly they both wanted to dance with an urgency, with a passion. The last time they had done so had been years ago, when she knew him not as Alexander the emperor, but as Alexander the wandering apprentice, who knew history by heart, who could best every swordsman in town, whose charm had enthralled every woman, but who could not dance. Alex opened the palm of his hand and sparkles of purple light jumped from his skin. Seconds later a small band appeared from deeper within the garden. They were not royal entertainers, but rather, local bards brought in by special request. They immediately struck up a lively tune. She had expected at his request that the music would be elegant and slow, but instead she was reminded of home. Alexander’s hands were warm as he took hers. She looked at him and realized he was completely dry from head to toe, and sure enough, after a quick examination, she was as well.

             “That’s a neat trick,” she scoffed, poking him. Alex couldn't remove his smile, shaking his head in amusement.

             “Can we dance now?” Lia rolled her eyes and stepped closer.

             “You are so dramatic sometimes. Fighting a war seems to come easy to you, when a minor inconvenience like sleeping on the floor had you complaining for weeks.” 

             Alexander blushed with embarrassment. He wasn’t proud of his younger self. But Lia was smiling, and on her prompt they began to sway and swing about the square, circling the whispering fountain with elegance. They danced for what felt like hours, both wishing for the moment to last for eternity. What good was the war, was freedom, if they couldn’t dance alone under the stars? The music drew to a close, the end of a song, and Alex gave Lia a passionate kiss, one that took her by surprise. A red flourish was drawn onto her cheeks, and she sputtered out an almost unintelligible response.

             “You shouldn't do that here, the musicians are watching.”

             “And?” was his only response, smiling as her eyes grew.

             “I can’t sleep,” a new voice declared, interrupting the tension. Laura, standing at the entrance to the garden, accused the pair with her eyes, as if it were their fault. Liata blinked, not entirely processing that her little sister was indeed standing right there. 

             “I can’t either,” Timothy suddenly cried out, appearing from behind Laura, crossing his arms, “and it’s no fair that you get to hang out with Alex while we have to sleep!” Lia sighed, a motherly smile now taking over.

             “Well, come on then. What did I tell you about sleeping late?” 

             Timothy and Laura ran from the fiery entrance and into the delicate garden light, both embracing Alex just as they had done before. He laughed, but also gave Lia a look of pain and regret. The look made her join in his laugh, and soon enough they were all sitting in the grass beneath the colorful trees.

             “I figured it out, mother,” Timothy said, aiming his big eyes at Lia. “I thought really hard under my covers, and I couldn’t sleep because Alex was here, and so, I knew that I would only be able to sleep if he was here.” Lia nodded slowly and allowed him to crawl into her lap.

             “Well, your mother and I couldn’t sleep either,” Alex interjected, poking Timothy on the nose. The boy frowned and turned away, not at all empowered by the gesture. 

             Alexander used to feel a discomfort when Timothy called Lia his mother, as it aroused a sort of jealousy towards an imaginary man, but once he had realized that he was but an adopted orphan, he fell in love with the idea. By connection he had become like a father to both he and Laura, and he loved them truly as if they were his own children, his own flesh and blood. As he thought about it more, subconsciously toying with a strand of Lia’s hair as the two children rested between them, he realized that sometime soon they could truly be a family. When the war was over, when he no longer had to bear the weight, they could get married, have a home, and live freely.

             “When it’s all over,” Alex began, Liata’s head descending to rest on his shoulder, “I want to get away from here, away from everything.” She said nothing, but his words were vague, almost ominous, and caused her brow to furrow. “I want a house on a hill, overlooking the sea. A green field and a forest that belong to us. A small town where I know everyone’s name. And a hole in the ground where I can bury my sword forever.” Laura shifted so that her head lay against Alexander’s chest, breathing slowly as she drifted into a new realm, her still slightly chubby cheeks puffing out with every exhale.

             “That sounds perfect,” Lia whispered, swinging an arm around both the children so that they were all connected.

             “Timothy and Laura will play in the trees,” Alex continued, “and I will tell them to be careful. You will finally be able to swim in the sea and taste the salt. And I will be the happiest man in all of Sola.”

             “So I am also a part of this dream?” Lia asked, a dew drop of her mischief returning. Alex positioned himself so that he could see her face and freed a hand to caress her face.

             “You are the dream, Lia; you, these two kids, and our life together. If you are still willing to have me.” Liata was on the verge of tears, water circling her vibrant iris. She closed her eyes as the warmth of his hand continued to hold her, inhaling deeply through her nose, the tickling scent of flowers enlivening the night.

             “You really are dramatic, aren't you? How can you say all of that without the slightest shame?” Her concealed emotion broke through as her voice cracked, and Alexander kissed her once more. The movement woke up the children, but both Lia and Alexander knew they couldn't stay there all night.

             “I was having a good dream,” Laura cried, frowning.

             “Oh? What was it about?” Alexander asked, lifting her back onto his lap.

             “We were all back home, and the flowers came with us!” All her previous grogginess faded at the opportunity to share. “I wore a bright blue dress, and we danced in a town where the sun never sets. Dishes were washed by magic! And I lay out with the daisies.”

             “That’s quite the dream.” Lia adoringly fixed Laura’s hair, rising to her feet. “So how about we all go to bed so it can continue just a little while longer?” Both children pouted at the attempt, hiding behind Alexander’s legs, who had also risen from the soft grass.

             “How about one last dance, Lia?” Alex requested, giving her a pleading look as if he were also a child and not the emperor. She gave a false groan and a wave of her hand.

             “All right, just one.”

             The music pranced from every lyre and violin, battling with the conversations of the night; the hoots of the owls and the howls of wolves from afar. The children jumped to the sound and began to twirl and jump to the tune, squinting their eyes as vibrant smiles overtook them. Alex, with a guiding hand, placed Laura onto his feet and held her hands, waddling along in a slow circle. She cherished every moment and found her dream partly coming to fruition. Timothy, wanting to follow Alex’s example, danced with Lia, standing on his tip toes and stiffening his face to appear as manly as possible. She played into his act and curtsied before dancing slowly along. What was meant to be a moment lasted for hours, until the children’s legs died underneath them and they napped all but exhausted on the pillowy lawn. Liata and Alexander were left alone once again, dancing ever so slowly by themselves in the silence of the night, nothing but the beat of their own hearts to guide their steps.