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His gaze probed her once more, and for that, Yue felt worthy. The role of the Empress was such that she could rarely pull back the ornate drapery to reveal her true self. Her needs were secondary to those of her dynasty; her wants were ever irrelevant. She could give so greatly that it was all anyone sought from her: favor, answers, or response.
There was little depth to any of it, besides the decisions she made in war or great transition. When her leadership was called upon in masses, the empress shone.
Here, she was nothing more than a woman. One who wished she wore the hide bequeathed to her by this very man, for she needed a shroud around her shoulders, but it lay inert upon her bedside. Her ability to deflect, to fight, had already left her – the last of her defenses were intangible, nothing more than wishes.
Wishes, easily released.
She must be as she was now, digesting the different paths that lay before her. Weighing them all, and then weighing all that Batu claimed she could not imagine. It was not often a beautiful and demure process, though the lessons Yue had learned in school would lead anyone to believe differently.
The Empress believed Batu had hedged an invitation – one to inquire about all those possibilities, to allow his conjecture to continue to guide their interaction. The Empress already knew, and she paused to teeter upon the edge of insanity.
Then she dared not another step, and her nose constricted around her exhale, breaking the breath off shortly.
Imagination is what remains to me.
Her mind was one that ran wild, filling with ideas of a better world and the perilous route to get there. But, just because she could think it, did not bring it to fruition. If she had this power, no mothers would ever weep – not Kexin, nor ever another.
Heaven’s Mercy wished she had such ability, but instead she was blind and bound by the very ideals that gave her power. She was a vessel for the Emperor, from her birth unto her death. An empty vessel, full of only wishes.
That was the true danger of imagination: to live in it forever. To depend upon her mind to satisfy every desire she allowed to remain unfulfilled, to process every tragedy, to follow every clue unto its end – the danger was when it became preferable to life's truest form.
The orchid turned a pale cheek, breaking their shared gaze.
You see far.He saw far, and he saw deep. What he glimpsed felt raw. She didn't need to be saved.
A less painful reality would be appreciated, though.
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