An entry for a competition on Gaia Online, again. It's not long, and I had to use the prompt "I wept for seven hundred years" as the opening line. The whole thing was inspired by this quote. Please enjoy, and R&R?

A story complete.

"I wept for seven hundred years, waiting for the end. I wept for all my sorrow, and grief, the feelings that I know will follow me for life, and after." I paused a second, before sighing and cracking my knuckles. I laid out the sheets and sheets of paper before me, their order meticulously preserved with a stone paperweight. The neat ink lines across the page seemed to zone in and out of focus, as my eyes ran across the script. “The end.” There. I was done.

I turned away from the desk where I had spent so many hours with the pen in my hand, and the paper before my eyes, and slipped from the stool to my feet, dazed, I headed to the window. The sun was just beginning to set, the bright colours of the cold winter’s day had all but faded, leaving a mask of burgundy and mauve that spread across the sky like a watercolour wash in a famous painting. I glanced out across the horizon line, drawing deep breaths from the icy air that clung to my face. I felt the tears on my cheeks freeze, and my nose begin to drip.

Wiping my nose angrily, I took another breath and sighed with a strange sort of relief and longing at the ending of such a perfect story. My eyes continued to search the hazy trees and country lanes, out in the distance, so far away, for that small speck of man that I missed so much. And yet, as the day darkened further, I never saw my little man and his lazy horse, and I felt the tears prickle hot against my eyelids again.

So true, I thought, that Isabella should end with such a parting speech. I heard the words that I had written crawl across my mind, her soft and crystal voice repeating them in my ears. “I wept for seven hundred years...” The words were real, alive, and so much showed my feelings of loss that I was forced to leave the window and seat myself back on the stool to read them again, unsure if it was true. Bella, my darling baby, had spoken with a purity that only she could have dreamed up.

Enough, I told myself, stop it. Isabella is not real, she’s not a part of you, so shut up and face the facts: he’s gone Melissa. He’s not going to come back. No matter how long you sit here in your tower, however long you stare out across that expanse of dirty space, he is not going to come and save you. I shuddered with a silent sob, and closed my eyes, remembering his touch across the goosebumps of my skin. I held my breath, savouring the beauty of those moments, seeking only to keep them locked away forever in my mind. I knew it was silly, to feel this way after such a time, but it was simply a viper of emotion that I couldn’t ignore!

I’d written my novel for him, I’d lied and dreamed, and I would have died for him! Why couldn’t he see? My tower wasn’t such a beautiful place anymore, it’s marvels marred by his absent presence, and it had become almost a prison to me now. The cold grey stone walls were empty of former life, and the grand bed seemed dull and lonesome at best. How could I have let him slip away? I had let him go, like the time since then, like falling grains of sand, slipping through my fingertips and away out to sea.

Outside, it was dark, and I headed for the bed. I couldn’t stand to wait for him any longer, my cheeks flushed but no longer wet. I had spent many a year crying for him, praying for his return, and all of that in vain. So I pulled the pages of Isabella’s life from under the stone weight, tied them with string, and laid them on the pillow by my head.

Closing my eyes, I could feel the cold air from the window wrapping around my tired and weary body. I had completed my goal: I had told my story. Now what? Was there anything more to do? I imagined his lips on mine, his tender kiss, and squeezed my eyes shut hard. There was nothing more to do, I could rest easy. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

If Isabella could live without him, then so could I.

Soon, all thoughts were eradicated from my mind, and I found I could no longer keep a thought for long. At least I had my story. Nothing else would matter, at least when he came back for me, I would have the story, even if I couldn’t see his face.

“I wept for seven hundred years...” All the time that had passed, all the heartache and loss. I knew it was over now, my frail and weak body would hold on no more. I took one final look out across the horizon, thinking back to who I used to be. Beautiful, witty, and imprisoned. Now, all this time on, I was no longer pretty, and my humour had faded completely. Only one of my attributes remained...

He had left me. I had cried. That was my story. The child I had birthed was no longer mine, and the hand I had held in my own, now clasped onto another. My mind was fading, but isn’t it strange?

“He may have broken my heart...” I whispered to myself, “But I shall love him until the end of time, with all the little shattered pieces in my chest. I may have wept for seven hundred years, but I shall never, ever, forget.”