Magical Sailor Fuku

What is it I saw in your eyes, that night?

I looked around that darkened room, and there they were, those eyes that sparkled with something, something... extraordinary. I sat beside you and we chatted for a while, about our own lives and the lives of others, about the weather and the war that raged far away. The words didn't matter, though, did they? For at a single meeting of my eyes with yours, all that could be said was said.


What is it you saw in mine, that night?

In throes of passion, I happened to meet those eyes again, those wonderful azure orbs. But the emotion I observed was not the lust I would expect at our actions; no, in your eyes, I felt only sadness, longing. This was not what you truly desired. Not the love of another. You did it... for my sake, I have told myself since that night.


What is it I see in your eyes, today?

We happen across each other again, this day. You look as wonderful as ever, even so long after our first meeting. I smile and call a greeting, and you return the favor. But I can plainly see that you do not remember me. The rumours circle town, as they always have, about the war, and about the disappearance of the princess, all those years ago. You listen to these rumours intently, I notice. Perhaps you heart belongs to her...


What is it I see in your eyes, this dark night?

The frontline has at last been breached. Within the hour, soldiers of the North fill our small town, ordering us around like we are war spoils. As I am herded into line with the others, I see you out of the corner of my eye. You argue with the captain of these men in a language I almost do not recognize, so long it has been since last I heard it. You speak in the Holy Tongue, a language of royals and clergy, pleading with the armored man for our freedom. In his gruff voice, he denies you, knocking you to the ground and drawing his sword.

In desperation, you chant quietly, and I see something truly extraordinary: Light, bright and hot, flashes throughout the streets, blinding all present. And when that light fades at last, and my eyes have adjusted, I see not the man I fell in love with on that night, long ago; instead, dressed in his simple clothing, our lost princess, fair-haired and slender. The general seems as astounded as I am at the spectacle. Once more you plead for our safety, in a soft voice that nevertheless evokes strength and nobility. The man grudgingly agrees to you terms, and you look back once as they drag you away. In your eyes, I see not resolve or courage; only naked fear.


What is it I see in your eyes, this wretched dawn?

The road is long, and fraught with danger. But I travel it nonetheless, desperate to see you once more. The capitol of the North is a forbidding place, its spires reaching far into the heavens, a great claw rending the flesh of God. The rain starts up again as I enter, hurrying through the crowds to where you await.

And there you are, your hands and feet shackled, before the gallows. An official reads out your "crimes" as onlookers, both Northerners and Southerners, watch and wait in silence. I push through the assembled masses in desperation, coming as close to you as I know I will ever come in your life. I call out your name, or rather, the name I had known you as for so long. Startled, you look down at me, and all self control leaves my body. Tears stinging my eyes, I confess in that moment every thought, every feeling that I have ever had for you. I tell you that, no matter who you are, no matter who I am, I will always, always love you.

The pain I feel in my heart is only matched by that from the dagger plunged into my chest by the guard in front of me. My confession had drowned out the magister's words and interrupted the ceremony, a crime punishable by death. I begin to fall, but the guard forces me to stand and watch your last moments of life, the noose tightening around your neck, as my own fades away. The last things I see, as darkness claims my vision, are your eyes, glistening with tears. What is it I see, in my last moments? Are you afraid for me? Afraid for yourself? There's nothing to be afraid of, I try to say as my consciousness comes to an end. Nothing at all...

Loren was seven when the big men took him away from his home. It was a sad day, he thought. After all, grownups only cry when they're sad, and his mama and papa were crying and screaming so much. Loren didn't know where he was going, but it seemed like it must be a bad place. He didn't say anything as the big men took him to the bad place. Didn't cry, either -- he was seven, after all, not a baby anymore.

It was still a sad day, though.

When Loren finally got to the bad place, he saw that it wasn't really a bad place at all. It was a great big house, much bigger than the one he lived in, painted white and red. The big men told him to stay quiet as they went inside, that if he behaved himself and didn't act up, he'd be very happy. They brought Loren into a big room with a table longer than he'd ever seen. In a chair at the end of the big table was a tall man with fancy clothes. The big men made a sign at him and went away, leaving Loren all alone with the fancy clothes man.

"Why, hello there," he said, smiling like grownups did when they weren't really smiling. "What's your name?"

"L-Loren," Loren said back. "Who are you, Mister?"

The fancy clothes man chuckled and smiled for real for just a moment. "Oh, don't worry about that for now. Tell me, Loren, do you want to help me with something?"

"Help you with what, Mister?"

"Why, help me keep my little princess safe, of course."

"A princess?" Loren asked, surprised. The fancy clothes man needed his help? And to protect a princess? He pinched his arm, afraid he was just having a dream. It hurt a bit, and he knew it was all real. "Sure, Mister, I'll help you!"

The man kept smiling his fake smile and led Loren through another door without saying anything. Loren didn't know why, but suddenly he was scared.

It was starting to seem like a sad day, after all.

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