The deed is done.
The war is won.
And at the last, gentlefriend, her song is sung.
I suppose you can say you know her now, at least as well as I did. The ugly parts and the selfish parts and the everything in between. A girl some called Pale Daughter. Or Kingmaker. A Queen of Scoundrels. A Lady of Blades. I like little Crow best of all. A girl who never knelt, who never broke, who never, ever allowed fear to be her fate.
A girl I loved as much as you did.
Look now upon the ruins in her wake. As pale light glitters on the waters that drank a city of bridges and bones, and a Republic’s ashes dance in the dark above your head. Stare mute at the broken sky and taste the iron on your tongue and listen as lonely winds whisper her name as if they knew her, too. I gave you all I promised, gentlefriend. I gave it to you in spades. And if her death didn’t unfold in the way you dreaded, I hope you’ll not name me liar for it. She did die, just as I said she would.
But even the Moon loved our girl too much to let her die for long.
The ink is drying upon the page. The tale is ending before your eyes. And if you feel some sorrow at this, our last farewell, know your narrator feels it, too. We are not made more by the stories we read, but by the stories we share. And in this, in her, I think we’ve shared more than most.
I shall miss it when it’s gone.
But to live in the hearts of those we leave behind is to never die. And to burn in the memories of our friends is to never say goodbye. So let me say this instead.
Goodnight, gentlefriend. Goodnight.
Never flinch.
Never fear.
And never, ever forget.