He started to leave. Down an unknown path. A pang of pain tore through my soul. â€œIs this the end?â€ I cried. The man I had battled the world to wed, is leaving. For good. No words can now bridge this divide, this chasm of silence - silences we had once filled with mischievous smiles and stolen kisses. I wish the world would end now, or perhaps, my life.
I looked down, through tear clouded eyes, into my arms. I smiled. I have my son, all to myself. To love and raise as I please..
â€œWhere three roads meet, at crossroads, decisions are madeâ€, she had said. â€œI shall wait here tomorrow. If our love means more than a passing college affair, come find me here at duskâ€.
The next day was spent in torrid confusion. Did he love her, did he not? He stumbled but reached the agreed spot. One day late.
And it was there that he waited ever since - on a cold stone bench, where three roads meet.
They called him a beggar, they thought him insane. Some left him money, some bread. Each morning he woke, he thought, â€œPerhaps today...â€.
She was born a princess. She had every doll she could desire; she never smiled. She donned precious rubies, emeralds, sapphires; her pallor caught the eye. Eighteen tutors laboured to teach state affairs and law and exotic languages; she never spoke a word. They pleaded, they prayed, they despaired. Her eyes stayed vacant.
â€œTurn her outâ€, they said. â€œThe Devil has her soul. She shall never be Queen.â€
In the corn fields, dressed in borrowed rags, she breathed deeply in. The simmering sun, the dusty fields, the ravenâ€™s cold breath. She uttered her first word â€“ â€œFreedomâ€. And smiled.